Everybodys Wounded

Everybody's Wounded II

How the Light Gets In Chapter 10

They left in a flurry of hugs, and cheek kisses from Laura on her tiptoes. Scott and Josh headed upstairs to Josh's condo; Bran and Laura headed out into the frigid night to Matt's car. Since Luc insisted Matt use Luc's car to ferry him about, Matt was lending his to Brandon.

"Beats waiting for a bus to get back to campus," said Bran, accepting the keys.

Now, he and Laura made their way across the outdoor guest parking lot. Bran knew her mittened hand in his was an act of faith, of trust, and he loved the way it felt -- so small and, despite her gymnast's strength, so fragile in his. He held it gently, like the precious gift he knew it to be.

"I think he's in love with Scott," Laura announced suddenly.

"What?"

Bran's voice came out louder than he intended, and too obviously shocked and surprised. Of course Matt wasn't in love with Scott. He couldn't possibly have had time to fall in love with Scott. Matt was in love with Josh -- though everyone seemed determined to deny it, including Matt himself. Couldn't she see that? Couldn't everyone see that? God, his brother's pain was so obvious to him.

Laura pulled him gently to a stop. "Luc," she said softly. "I was talking about Luc."

Bran flushed, and was grateful for the dark. He was so focused on his brother he hadn't even thought about Luc. Now he wondered how much he should say. All those hours he'd spent listening to Scott in his confusion about Luc, about Josh. He didn't know Luc, only what Scott had said about him. He wasn't sure that Scott even knew how Luc really felt.

"What makes you think that?" he asked finally.

"A few things," she said slowly. "Partly the fact that Luc had left the suicide message on Scott's phone. And partly what Scott said -- about how he thought it was mostly about something that happened before, but was also a little bit about him."

"Maybe," said Bran slowly.

"But it's more than that," Laura continued. "It's also the way he watches him. Didn't you notice? The way Luc watches Scott when Scott's not looking at him?"

Bran had to admit that he hadn't. He'd been watching his brother, acutely aware of the pain Matt tried so hard to hide on seeing Josh again.

"He watches Scott really intensely when he thinks no one is looking," she said. "Kinda like the way Matt watches Josh."

Bran just stared at her.

"Yeah," she said softly, taking his arm and walking once again toward the car. "I noticed that, too. I may be female and blonde, but I'm not stupid, you know."

Bran just shook his head. What could he say? "And you think Luc is hung up on Scott?"

Laura nodded. "And in retrospect, I think he has been for a while. The reason I noticed it tonight is that I was paying attention to him, and I realized that he's always watched Scottie like that. I mean, I'd never consciously noticed it before -- maybe because I didn't know Luc was gay before -- but tonight I realized that the way he was looking at Scott was really familiar to me."

"I think you may be right," said Bran slowly. "Scott was kinda hung up on him for awhile, back before Christmas."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Does that surprise you?"

"It does, kind of."

"Why?"

"Because Scottie and Josh are just so -- perfect together. And so crazy in love with each other. It's so obvious."

Bran hadn't noticed that either -- despite the fact that Scott had told him as much.

But to be honest, he kind of made a point of not watching Scott and Josh. He knew they were a couple, accepted that they were a couple, was ok with them as a couple... and didn't think about it beyond that. For one thing, it bothered him on his brother's account. For another -- the gay thing kinda got to him sometimes, when it was up close and personal, so to speak. Not anything Scott and Josh had done -- he'd seen the little kiss at the door, and he was comfortable with that -- but things he'd witnessed with Matt...

As much as he loved his brother, he wasn't comfortable with the blatant sexual flaunting Matt had indulged in with his former friends. Like Stevie the other day. Or that guy in the apartment in Whistler. And perhaps worst of all, the string of guys he'd had to ward off to get his brother home. Those were memories that made him shudder.

He didn't think he was homophobic, he really didn't -- he had the same distaste for hetero flaunting. But he did not want to think about it.

"You really think Scott and Josh are crazy in love?" he asked.

She laughed. "Don't you ever pay attention?" she asked. "You'd have to be blind not to notice that. And," she paused, her eyes widening innocently, "Josh is soooooo hot."

Bran groaned.

Matt.

And Scott.

And now Laura.

What was it about that guy, he wondered. He seemed nice enough. And good looking, he supposed, as far as guys went. But he really didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Laura was laughing softly. "Aw, come on. You can't tell me didn't notice that?"

"I guess he's just not my type," he said with a dramatic sigh.

"So what is your type?"

They had reached the car, and he flashed her a grin as he opened the door.

"Little munchkin gymnasts," he said.

The others were gone and this was it, just Matt, alone, with the pretty, fucked up Quebecois boy who was the centre of everyone's concern. Matt had watched him through the evening, just as he'd watched everyone. That's what outsiders like him did, after all. Watched.

He'd noticed how uncomfortable Luc was. How lost. He felt sorry for the kid.

All through the evening, Luc had watched Scott, carefully, in tiny glances, when he thought no one was paying attention. Matt hadn't decided exactly what that meant yet. Anything from a crush to hero worship, he supposed.

Ah well. It would be easy enough to find out. Matt knew boys like Luc. Scared boys who thought they wanted to die, but really wanted to be rescued.

But he wouldn't explore it now. Now Matt was tired. It had been a difficult evening, watching everyone, knowing everyone was watching him. It had taken a lot of energy to not be obvious. And even more to meet the added challenge of projecting calm, control, all the while looking for opportunities to study Joshua unobserved.

Studying Joshua had been almost unbearably painful.

He was still beautiful. Achingly beautify. The bones, the green eyes. If anything, he was even more beautiful that Matt remembered.

But there was something different about Joshua, as well.

For one thing, he seemed older, and by more than the two and half years since their last meeting. He was more determined. More sure of himself. The expressive face he remembered so well -- God, the pain, the heartbreak he had witnessed in that expressive face -- was carefully calm. The smiles, even the glances, were controlled.

The Joshua he'd known had not been capable of that kind of control.

Part of it, Matt realized, was that he'd cut his hair, done away with the wild black curls that had had made him think of Joshua as a kind of raven-haired adolescent god -- or martyred saint. The short, controlled cut suited him, flattered the elegant bones of his face. But it also disguised the fragile boy quality that had spoken to Matt so deeply.

At first, Matt had thought it was altogether gone, that fragility. Healed by the years, perhaps, or just lost to them. But then Joshua would turn his head, part his lips, offer a tiny almost smile, and Matt would catch a glimpse of it again. It was still there, that fragility -- just buried deep, protected beneath a reserve that was entirely new, and which, Matt expected, had cost Joshua dearly.

And the pain was still there in him, too. Matt could sense it, though he could also sense that it had lost some of its immediacy. He wondered if Scott had done that. Scott -- or just the healing years of Graham's absence.

But the most painful thing for Matt to observe had been not the calmness, but the swift, sudden flickers of intense emotion on that careful face. Because every now and then the emotion was there -- especially when Joshua looked at Scott.

Matt had caught them, the little looks between Joshua and his lover. The quick glances. The secret slow-motion smiles.

Whatever Scott had, Matt had to accept that he had Joshua -- at least for the time being.

"I'll tidy up the kitchen," Matt said now, heading back into the living room to gather up wine glasses and beer bottles.

Luc followed behind, picking up a couple of glasses with his right hand. He'd removed the sling, but still cradled the injured left hand against his stomach.

As they tidied up, Matt confirmed their plans for the next day. Luc was either painfully shy or still uncomfortable with Matt being responsible for ferrying him about, and getting details from him was difficult. It took a lot of questioning to confirm that Luc was to keep an appointment with the plastic surgeon in Halifax late the following afternoon.

"It's no problem," Matt assured him. "I have classes from 10 to 2 tomorrow. You can drive in to the university with me or I can come back and get you. Either way, we'll have plenty of time to get into the city for your appointment."

"Then I will go with you," said Luc. "Thank you very much. I am sorry to put you out like this."

Matt saw the hurt, the embarrassment, and he felt sorry for the boy. He couldn't help it. Time to do the rescue thing, he told himself, though he knew he was really too tired and too tense for it.

"Luc?"

Luc's cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "Oui?"

"You're gonna have to stop that, you know."

Luc looked so adorably confused, Matt couldn't help smiling.

"Stop?" he asked.

Matt laughed softy. "Thanking me," he said. "Apologizing to me. That's our deal, ok?"

He smiled, and draped an arm casually around his shoulder. Luc stiffened, but Matt ignored it.

"I get to live here -- which is absolutely fabulous, perfect for me -- and you get to put up with me chauffeuring you around." He gave Luc a little hug, then dropped his arm. "So let's just get over it already, K?"

"K," Luc said. "I'll try."

He smiled, and Matt found himself oddly pleased.

When Matt had finished loading the dishwasher and turned to find Luc leaning against the counter, he decided to push a bit, explore the way Luc had been watching Scott a little, get a sense of how things were between them. Because Luc struck him as pretty repressed, he figured... a crush.

"So," he asked casually. "Have you and Scott been friends long?"

Luc's cheeks flushed adorably, and Matt managed not to smile. He was right.

"Since Thanksgiving, I guess." Luc muttered, but he couldn't look at Matt, and the silence stretched out uncomfortably.

"You've got a bit of a thing for him, don't you," said Matt.

Luc's pale skin flushed even darker and he looked away -- but not before Matt caught an odd, desperate look around his eyes.

"What makes you say that?" asked Luc.

Matt suddenly felt exhausted. He shouldn't have pushed the boy. It wasn't fair.

"Never mind," he said. "It's not that obvious. I notice a lot of things most people don't notice. I shouldn't have said anything. Especially since I'm in pretty much the same place myself."

Luc's eyes widened in shock. "You and Scott?"

"My God," he said, and his tone was more bitter than he'd intended. "What have they told you about me?. I've only been here a week. Besides, Scott's just a big kid. Great body if that's what you like..."

Luc blushed, and inwardly Matt cursed his clumsiness. He knew he had to be careful with this boy. Luc wasn't like the kids he'd picked up at the ski hills, or like the dangerous boys who'd lured him into dangerous places. Luc was a True Innocent. Matt was guilty enough to know one when he saw one.

And the True Innocent was studying him with pale silvery eyes that seemed to see into his soul.

"Josh." Luc said finally, his voice little more than a shocked whisper.

Afterwards, Matt told himself that, if hadn't been so exhausted, he would have responded differently. But he was exhausted. And seeing Joshua again, spending the evening watching him with Scott, had left him emotionally battered. And it pissed him off big time. Because even this kid, this innocent kid, was shocked at the idea of the beautiful Joshua with a slut like him.

"Yeah. Josh," he said wearily. "Everyone else knows. I suppose you might as well."

"You were in a relationship with Josh?"

"If you can call a couple of blow jobs a relationship. I guess that's about the best someone like me can aspire to with someone like him."

Suddenly, Matt was deeply, deeply weary of the whole thing.

"Relax," he said. "It was a long time ago. Josh had a broken heart. I was just the slut with the heart of gold."

He registered the deepening flush in Luc's cheeks, the sharp intake of his breath, but to Matt's surprise, the pretty Quebecois boy didn't look way. And he was damned if he would. Their gazes locked and held.

It was Luc who broke the silence.

"I think I am perhaps not the only person here who needs help," he said, in that voice that was so soft but surprisingly deep.

And as he watched him walk away, Matt knew that somehow that observation had reshaped the balance between them. Matt had figured he'd get to play the role of older brother, wiser, experienced, someone Luc could turn to, perhaps.

With a single sharp, sympathetic observation, the boy with the silver blue eyes had pulled it all apart.

Josh propped himself up on one elbow and looked down into Scott's face. The fog-grey eyes were closed, the light brown lashes tender, shadowed crescents in the candlelight. For the millionth time Josh thought how beautiful this man was to him, how beautiful, and how giving.

"No wonder he's in love with you," he murmured softly.

"Mmmm?"

Josh hadn't realized he'd uttered the words aloud until he heard that dazed response. He couldn't help but smile as Scott shifted, his eyes opening slowly, vague and sweetly drowsy. He loved the way Scott was so unfocused after making love, as if a part of him lingered behind in the moment, reluctant to rejoin the world.

He leaned down, ran his tongue along the crease of Scott's lips, wishing he hadn't spoken. Especially when Scott's lips parted invitingly. Instead of answering, Josh slipped inside for one more kiss.

"What did you say?" Scott asked, when the long, sweet kiss drew to a close.

"I said Luc's in love with you," Josh admitted, so close that his lips moved against Scott's as he spoke. Scott sighed, and Josh breathed in his exhaled air.

"I don't want him to be." Scott sounded sad, worried. "I don't know what to do about it."

"There is nothing you can do about it. Except be very understanding and very careful."

"Careful?"

"Mmmm. To be kind and gentle with him, because he's going to need you. But not to give him hope for anything between you. It's a delicate balance."

Scott sighed again. "It's not gonna be easy," he said slowly. "I need you to help me do that."

"You know I will," said Josh.

"I don't want you to get hurt," said Scott. "He's going to need me, and I'm going to have to find a way to be there for him. But I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want it to hurt what's between us."

Josh found himself smiling. That was so like Scott, to worry about Josh's feelings when his own heart was aching. Because Josh knew how much this was hurting him -- how guilty he felt about Luc.

"Whatever it takes, we'll do what we can," said Josh softly.

Then he felt Scott's hand, large and strong, curve around the back of his head, and he allowed himself to be pulled in, kissed deeply for a long, long time.

"You know it won't change anything," said Scott, when this kiss, too, finally faded away.

Now it was Josh who was unfocused, lost in the power of those kisses. He was hard again, though now his wanting was deep and patient, not anxious and desperate and along the surface. This was one of the many things he was learning with Scott: the beauty of deep, patient wanting that needed time and tenderness. So different from the fast urgent wanting that could be met with sensation alone.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm so in love with you," Scott murmured.

And suddenly Scott's weight shifted, and Josh was moving, and then he was on his stomach without quite knowing how he got there.

"So in love with you I know it can never, never change."

And Josh was lost.

Again.

Lost in the huge wave of emotion that held the two of them safe.

He was ready -- beyond ready -- for this second loving, the edge of pain a sweet and distant thing. Everything was exactly right, exactly balanced, and he lay there, still and open, trusting to the joy of being taken completely, lovingly. Trusting Scott, so slow and certain and there again, the sweet sting of welcome, and then the fullness, the heat, the delight.

Josh pressed his face into the pillow, calling out to deities through the sound of Scott's deep laughter.

"Have you ever noticed how you always like the second time best?" Scott asked, biting gently on his earlobe.

But Josh was beyond noticing anything except the movement of Scott's body, slow at first, then faster and deeper and with amazing control for a long, long time.

All he wanted, all he would ever want, was just this. Scott deep inside him, Scott's hands firmly around him, Scott's hard certain rhythm, old as time, exactly right. And he was safe and full of joy, because Scott inside him like this, just like this, was the one exquisitely perfect thing he knew in this world.

It was a long, long time later when Scott slid out and rolled on to his back, gathered Josh in as he went, until he was lying pressed against Scott's side, his head resting over Scott's heart beat.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Luc lay on his back, duvet at his waist, his splinted left hand resting on the centre of his bare chest. One by one, he lifted the fingers, extending each one, tapping it back down, pushing it against his bare skin. It hurt. The fingers of his right hand gripped the sheets against the pain.

Two. Two. Three. Four.

He was cold, but the duvet remained at his waist, and the long sleeved T he would sleep in was beside him in a heap. Not yet. Not until he was done. For this was how he touched himself now, alone in his bed. The pain of it drove everything else away.

Three. Two. Three. Four.

He touched himself only like this, his wounded hand, there, in the centre of his chest, against his bare skin. Like this, he could feel it, the strength with which he was able to govern his fingers. A reward for the pain. He could not feel that the way he wanted to through a T shirt.

Four. Two. Three. Four.

For weeks now, his rehab had consisted of this. Tiny motions. Up. Down. Up. Down. Fifteen times in sequence.

Five. Two. Three. Four.

Twice every waking hour. All day, every day. Up. Down. Up. Down. Mostly against a table top, or the top of his thigh.

Six. Two. Three. Four.

And late at night, before he finally fell into sleep, a final round in bed, against his bare chest, trusting the effort of it, the pain of it, to distract him, exhaust him.

Seven. Two. Three. Four.

And mostly it did, this series of tiny motions. Up. Down. Up. Down. Protecting the undamaged muscles from atrophy --

Eight. Two. Three. Four.

-- and challenging the damaged nerves, the reconnected muscle just enough.

Nine. Two. Three. Four.

Just this series of tiny movements. Up. Down. Up. Down. But such exquisite agony, pushing him to the edge of endurance.

Ten. Two. Three. Four.

And distracting him. For how could he think of anything else, when his entire body was still, tense with the pain of forcing his fingers to move?

Eleven. Two. Three. Four.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His right hand grasped the sheets. Small sounds of pain escaped his lips. He couldn't contain them. He tried.

Twelve. Two. Three. Four.

But he was making progress. He could now move his index and middle fingers smoothly, with strength, raise them with minimal pain the maximum distance.

Thirteen. Two. Three. Four.

Even the last two fingers moved now, their strength growing. The numbness had receded to a veil of interference. He could lift each one a centimeter from his skin -- such a hard- fought centimeter.

Fourteen. Two. Three. Four.

And he could now move them with enough strength to exert a distinct pressure against the centre of his chest. A distinct pressure. Distinct --

Fifteen. Two. Three. Four.

Luc exhaled, forced his body to relax. It was difficult to believe, given how slight the movement would appear to someone watching. But it took all his will, and he was breathing hard. He could feel tears trickling down from the far corners of his closed eyes, down his temples, into his hair. His hand throbbed.

Perhaps, because he was in this room, in this bed, he had pushed himself a little too hard.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The blackness of the room was broken by the dim glow from the alarm clock, the tiny red light on the power bar. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not push away the memory of candlelight.

Candlelight.

And Scott in this room, on this bed, the contours of his body caressed by candlelight and by Luc's own timid desire. Scott pressed against him. Scott's mouth on his. Scott touching him, unveiling him, bringing him to life. Scott's hand...

He could almost smell it now, the scent of beeswax and wanting. His own right hand moved, slowly, inexorably --

"Non!"

He pushed himself angrily to his feet, and in doing so forgot to protect his damaged hand. He could not swallow the pain, and his cry echoed in the darkness. Suddenly and inexplicably angry, he stormed crossed the room, pushed open the door, and slammed it behind him.

He was in the kitchen, sobbing, and cursing, and fighting with the lid to the bottle of prescription pain killers when he heard a sound behind him.

"You ok?"

Matt!

Luc froze, mortified. How could he have forgotten about Matt? How could he have allowed himself to indulge this way, tears and curses, behaving like a child in front of this man he hardly knew?

"Luc?"

He could hear the worry in Matt's voice, but he could not turn around. He tried to apologize, but no words would come, just hard, hard sobs, and stupid tears running down his face.

The pill bottle dropped from his hand onto the floor, and he saw Matt's hand retrieve it.

And then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, the heat of a bare chest against his own bare back. Luc stiffened, panicked, but he could not seem to move away.

"It's ok," Matt said, and his voice was calm and surprisingly soothing. The hand on Luc's shoulder began a gentle massage. "It's ok."

But instead of getting better, the sobs came harder, and Luc felt totally helpless. He felt himself being slowly turned and pulled into an embrace.

"It's ok," Matt kept saying, and one hand came up, and pressed Luc's head gently into the curve of neck and shoulder.

And finally, despite the fact that he was standing there in the arms of a half naked man he hardly knew, Luc lost the battle for his self control. He couldn't help it. The pain was there, the tears were there, and suddenly the need for release was more than he could endure.

Luc hadn't really cried since he had awakened in a hospital bed with his throat raw from the tubes shoved down his throat, and his wrists bandaged and aching. The psychiatrist was worried about that, the fact that he'd had no major emotional reaction. Well, he had it now. Now, standing here in the kitchen, it all came out, in hard, horrible sobs that wracked his body and left him helpless.

He found himself clinging to Matt, both arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Matt just held him and let him cry, making comforting little sounds, and rubbing a warm circle between his shoulder blades. It took a very long time, but finally the tight, painful sobs slowed, and still Matt held him, and still he did not want to step away.

"You ok now?" Matt asked finally.

Luc's face was pressed into the warmth of Matt's shoulder, right where it curved up into his neck. He took a deep breath, raised his head. Matt released him immediately and took half a step back. Luc dropped his arms and stepped away.

"I'm sorry--," Luc began, but Matt interrupted.

"You don't have to apologize to me," he said quietly. "I can imagine that it's very difficult, very emotional for you to come back here. I think you're very brave."

Luc stared at him in amazement. Brave? He didn't feel brave. But the expression on Matt's face was completely sincere.

"I just need to know something, K?"

Luc nodded. He owned Matt at least that much.

Matt held up the pill bottle. "This is serious shit," he said. "What were you trying to do with them?"

Luc stared for a moment, and then as he understood Matt's meaning, he started to laugh. And once he started, he couldn't stop that either. Matt just stood and watched him, a smile playing lazily on what Luc realized was a very nice mouth.

"Not what you thought," he managed finally, between gasps of laughter. "My hand."

"Your hand?"

"Yes. I accidentally leaned on it, getting out of bed. Agony. Those are the pain tablets for my hand. I couldn't get it open. Damn childproof lids."

Matt's smile widened. "You want one now?"

Luc thought about it, and realized that his hand was still a blaze of pain. The laughter stopped as suddenly as it started.

"Yes, actually."

Matt twisted off the lid. "How many?"

"Just one. They are, as you say, serious shit."

Matt shook one onto his palm, handed it to Luc. "What do you take it with? Water?"

"Milk," said Luc. "They can be brutal on your stomach."

Matt took some milk from the fridge and poured him a glass. "Um -- you want some food with it then?"

Luc thought about that, and suddenly realized he was starving. "Yeah," he said. "What's in there?"

"Half a pan of cold lasagna?"

"That sounds good."

"Want me to nuke it?"

Luc ventured a small smile. "Then it wouldn't be cold!"

Matt dug the lasagna out of the fridge, and they ate it standing side by side at the kitchen counter, digging forks into the foil pan. Matt didn't mention what had just happened. They finished it off, talking and laughing about nothing at all.

By the time they were done, Luc could feel himself grow drowsy as the medication took hold, and he realized he was leaning sideways against Matt's shoulder. He also realized that it was a very nice shoulder. Matt's skin had the kind of golden glow that some blondes have, very smooth, very warm. Matt was telling him a story that wasn't registering at all, but he liked the sound of Matt's voice, and he didn't want to move.

"You're beginning to drift off on me there, pretty boy," Matt said finally.

"Sorry," Luc mumbled, resting his head on Matt's shoulder. "Pill." He felt Matt's arm slip around his shoulder, and he snuggled closer.

"How's the hand?"

"Bearable," he mumbled.

"Good," said Matt. "Bedtime then."

Luc allowed himself to be led to his room. He leaned against the wall as Matt straightened the bedding, and then allowed himself to be helped into bed. Matt pulled the duvet up to his chin.

"Night," Matt said softy, and for an instant, Luc felt warm fingers on his cheek.

But he was too tired to answer. As he watched Matt head out to his own room, he found himself thinking Josh was right. Matt might be his own kind of messed up -- but he was very kind.

"He's still in love with you." Scott's words came hazily, as if from a distance.

"Mmmmmm?"

"Matt. I think Bran's right, and that he's still in love with you."

"I don't know how he could be," said Josh slowly, listening to the calm, slow beat of Scott's heart. "Maybe he's a little hung up on me for some reason -- but that's not the same thing."

"I don't know," said Scott slowly. "He watched you whenever he thought no one was looking. It was like it hurt him to take his eyes off you. Didn't you notice?"

Josh hadn't noticed. He'd been too busy watching the Quebecois boy trying not to watch Scott.

"Maybe he thinks he is," he conceded. "But it's not based on anything. He doesn't even know me."

Scott was absently running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of Josh's spine, a movement that was at once soothing and erotic.

"Does that matter?" he asked.

"Mmmm," said Josh. "I think it does. I don't think we ever even had a conversation. If he has feelings for me -- and I will accept that he thinks he does -- they can't be about me as an individual. They're part of something else. They have to be. It's not like Luc, who knows you, and knows he's in love with you."

"Bran says you broke his heart."

"I don't see how," said Josh. "But you know -- Matt's changed. I really didn't know him at all, but even I can see that he's different. He was such a party boy, friendly, open -- just exuding confidence. That's gone."

"I told you he'd changed."

"You were right. It's like... he's got a wall around him now. And there's a huge pain in him. I mean -- he looked at me like he was bracing for me to hit him or something. And why in God's name would he expect that? He seems very -- breakable."

Scott groaned. "So what can we do about this mess? I don't want them to hurt like this. Not Matt. Not Luc."

Josh turned his head, kissed the cooling skin of Scott's chest.

"There are many ways to love," he said slowly. "We just have to find a way to help them understand that."

Bran pulled into the student lot close to Laura's residence, and they walked together to her room. There he polished off the cookies her mother had sent, and downloaded an episode of How I Met Your Mother. They watched it snuggled up side by side on her bed. When it was over, neither of them moved.

Laura sighed.

"What?" he asked, pulling her closer, rubbing his cheek gently against the softness of her hair.

"I was just thinking about Luc," she said. "It's just so -- hard to believe. He seems so sad, so lost. Don't you think?"

"He was certainly very quiet."

"The idea that he -- he did that. I mean, I would have thought he had so much to live for." He felt her shift restlessly against him. "I've just never known anybody who tried to do anything like that. Who actually wanted to die. Can you imagine it?"

Bran said nothing. He was thinking of Matt. There are a lot of ways to try to kill yourself, he thought, as he had a hundred times before. A hundred kinds of self- destruction. Some of them were just more direct than others.

He felt Laura's fingers squeeze his. He squeezed back.

"I just keep trying to imagine what it means to hurt so much, so deeply, that what he did was an option," she said.

"I don't understand that either," he admitted.

"You know," she said, so softly that he had to bend closer to hear her words. "No matter how bad it was, I never considered that. Never. Not even... Never."

Bran turned towards her, wrapping her gently in his arms. When he felt her lean into him without resistance, he pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. He had no expectations, but when he felt her hands slip around his waist, felt her lean in against him and press her cheek against his chest, he was filled with joy.

She turned to him slowly, and did something she'd never done before. She pressed a kiss against his throat, just beneath his Adam's apple. Her breath was warm, her mouth soft and trusting, and he trembled with the beauty of it.

"Bran?" she asked softly.

He stroked her hair lightly, tangled the golden strands in his fingers. "Mmmm?"

"Would you stay with me tonight? Just stay and -- and hold me?" Her words were barely a whisper against his throat.

Bran's heart pounded. Holding her so lightly as she snuggled warm against him was killing him, a sweet, slow death. He wanted a million things -- but he knew he could ask for none of them.

"If you care about her, you're going to have to wait for her," he'd been told in the session he'd had alone with the rape crisis counselor. "Wait for her come to you. She will when she's ready."

He did care. Desperately. And so he would wait. Just wait, breathing in her scent, rubbing his cheek into the softness of her blonde hair. For as long as she needed. For as long as it took.

He swallowed hard, breathed deep, until he knew he could keep his voice quiet and calm. "Are you sure?"

He felt her nod against him. "I'm sure," she whispered. "I feel so sad right now. I don't want to be alone. I really want you here with me. You make me feel so... safe."

Safe.

Safe was good.

Safe was trust.

Safe was the important first step the therapist had told him about.

He'd take safe.

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