Thieves

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.

Mitch blinked at Lance, his bright eyes flashing in the dark. He knelt over Lance's legs, his dark blonde hair hanging down over his face a little, Lance's boxer briefs pulled down past his knees. Lance could see that Mitch's shoulders were bare, but couldn't tell if he was naked as well. His mind swirled with confusion, still caught in the dream he'd been having, still listening to Justin's urgent, sharp cries through the wall, and he could feel Mitch's breath on his wet, sensitive cock as it lay throbbing on his belly. Mitch's face was blank, turned up toward Lance's, watching, waiting for a sign that he should start again, should return to what he was doing. The taste of Lance, fresh, clean, a little salty, was in his mouth, and he found himself starting to respond, to feel like it was more than just a chore. He really could enjoy this, if Lance decided that he was into it.

"Lance?" Mitch whispered quietly, his tongue flicking out over his lip. "Do you want me to keep going?"

Lance stared down at him, his breath coming in short pants, his dick throbbing against his stomach, and wasn't sure of what to answer. Mitch looked so hot down there, so eager and willing, and his mouth had been so hot, warm and velvety soft. It had felt so good, so right, and it had been so long since Lance had felt that, so long since anyone had touched him there, that way. He didn't know how or why Mitch had gotten into his bed, but he wanted so much to just abandon himself, to let go and say yes. He couldn't do it, though. As good as he felt, he also felt shocked, and almost violated.

"No," Lance said, pushing Mitch away. He slid out from under him, grabbing for his underwear, his face twisted in confusion. "What are you, Mitch, what are you doing?"

"I thought this was what you wanted," Mitch said, not moving, feeling a little confused himself. "You, don't you want me?"

Lance pulled his boxer briefs back up, torn still over answering. The truth was he did want Mitch. He realized that he wanted him very badly, but not like this, not this way. Right now, more than anything, he just wanted to understand.

"Mitch, why are you doing this?" Lance asked, reaching for the light beside the bed.

"I thought it was what you wanted," Mitch said. He saw Lance's face finally, clearly saw it, when Lance flicked the lamp on, and he looked away. Lance didn't look happy, or pleased. He just looked confused, and a little hurt. "I'm sorry, Lance. I'm sorry. I'll, I'll go."

Lance watched him start to rise, relieved to see that Mitch still had his own boxer briefs on, and he grabbed his arm, not firmly, just laying a hand on it. Mitch was shaking under his touch, his whole body trembling, and Lance realized that Mitch must think he was mad. Behind him, through the wall, he could hear Justin.

"Oh, God, oh, Wade, yes, yes!" was followed with a series of yelping sounds, little yipping cries like a small dog.

"Mitch, wait," Lance said, pulling him back down onto the bed. Before he could say anything to him, though, Lance felt his temper go. There were too many things going on, too many emotions swirling through the room, and he could barely think with the racket. With his other hand closed into a fist he pounded on the wall. "Knock it off! For the love of God will you please just shut up?"

The room was filled with silence suddenly, so quickly that it seemed to just rush in. Lance and Mitch glanced at each other, Mitch's mouth a little perfect O of surprise, and they both burst out laughing, stunned that Lance had actually done that. Lance looked at his fist, like he couldn't believe it, either, as if his hand had acted on its own. He stared into Mitch's blue eyes and saw the tension draining away, but he still needed to know.

"Mitch, what were you doing?" he asked quietly, leaving his hand on Mitch's shoulder. "I mean, I know what you were doing, but, but why? Why did you do that?"

"I'm sorry," Mitch said, looking away. He was sure this would be the right thing to do, but Lance wasn't acting like any other guy he'd ever met. He didn't know what to think, really, or even what to say. "I thought it was what you wanted. I didn't mean, I'm sorry, Lance. Are you, are you upset?"

Lance heard his voice trembling, and could see how confused he was. Mitch kept looking away, unable to meet Lance's eyes, and Lance reached over and flicked the light off again. Now it would just be the soft sound of their voices. Maybe that would soothe him a little. Mitch jumped when Lance flicked the lights off, but he stayed seated at the end of the bed, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap, even though he could barely see them now. When Lance spoke again, he kept his voice soft, hoping that it was calming.

"Mitch, I'm not upset," he answered. "I mean, I was surprised. Actually, shocked might even be a better word, but I'm not upset, Mitch. I just don't know what's going on. Why did you think I wanted that? Please, help me understand."

"I thought," Mitch began, and stopped. He found it hard to speak, suddenly, hard to explain. Why was this all going wrong? Why couldn't Lance just be like everyone else, like all the other guys who had picked him up and brought him home? "Lance, isn't it why I'm here? Isn't that why you want me here?"

"Mitch, I already told you why I want you to stay here," Lance said quietly.

"But all the stuff you bought me," Mitch said, his voice still shaking a little. He tried to curb it, but couldn't stop. "The pants, and breakfast, and lunch. These clothes you gave me, and the bed, and the bath. I just thought, well, since I don't have anything to give you, any money, and you wanted me to stay here in your room, I thought you wanted me to, well, what I did. I thought you wanted me that way, and just didn't want to ask."

"Mitch, I," Lance began, stunned again. He didn't really know what to say. "You thought that I did all that, that I brought you here for sex, like you were just, just, I don't know, a whore?"

Lance heard a sob in the darkness, and realized he had said exactly the wrong thing as all the pieces came together in his mind. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he must have known. He knew that there were hustlers, guys who sold themselves on the street, and he remembered how easy Mitch had been with his body last night, flashing it to Lance as if he expected Lance to touch him. He'd done that because he had expected it, had assumed that was the whole point of Lance inviting him to stay. Lance remembered how Mitch hadn't wanted to say where he got his money from, and suddenly he knew it all.

"Mitch, Mitch, I," Lance began, squeezing his shoulder. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't realize it. I'm sorry, Mitch, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"It doesn't matter what word you use, Lance," Mitch whispered, drawing his knees up on the bed. It was hard, with his leg in the cast, but he just wanted to curl up and hold onto himself. He knew that Lance hadn't meant it the way it came out, that he didn't mean to hurt him, but it still stung. "I'm not, I'm not proud of it, Lance. I don't wake up in the morning and say, 'Hey, I think I'll go sell my body today. I think I'll go find a strange man, and let him, let him put his hands on me, and, and'"

Mitch's voice trailed off as it cracked and broke, and Lance rubbed his back, moving closer. Regardless of what Keith had promised, of how easy he had told Mitch this would be, he was wrong. Mitch hurt. What he'd thought yesterday, about how this was ripping open all his scabs, poking at all his wounds, it was true. Somehow Lance was just breaking down everything inside him, everything that made him tough and let him get through, and he wasn't even doing it on purpose. He was just so nice, and so caring, and so utterly different from anyone, even Keith. Mitch had thought Keith was his only friend, that Keith was the only one who cared, but Lance was so unrelenting, and Mitch's head was spinning. He felt like he was drowning, but the words just kept pouring out of him, like bubbles drifting up through the water.

"The first time was when I was sleeping at the bus station," Mitch said, his tears drying, but his shoulders still shaking as he rocked back and forth on the end of the mattress, holding himself. "I was so scared, because I'd moved out of the last hotel a couple days before, but some of the other kids told me it was safe, some of the other guys. You just kind of moved around from bench to bench, and as long as you were kind of clean and didn't bother the passengers, the people working there left you alone, as long as you didn't abuse it. You couldn't stay there every night, but it was a good place if it was cold, or raining. None of the guys I knew then were there that night, so I wasn't really talking to anyone, and this guy came up and asked if I wanted to get something to eat."

"It's ok, Mitch," Lance said, feeling his own eyes sting a little. It could have been any of them, anyone they knew, Justin's little brother, or JC's, or Joey's. It could have been any of their friends, or the guys they'd gone to high school with. "It's ok."

"I just, I didn't know him, and, you know, you're never supposed to talk to strangers, but he seemed so nice, and I was hungry, Lance, I was so hungry," Mitch continued, his voice a dull babble, barely aware of what he was saying. He was drawn inside himself, back to that time, caught in the memory now. "I hadn't had anything to eat, not really, for a day or two. I didn't know where any of the shelters were, then, and I was trying to save my money, because I didn't know how long I would be out there, and didn't know when I might need it, so I hadn't bought a lot of food, and it was so good just to have a real meal. He asked my name, and what I was doing out on the streets, and he listened to me, really listened. When it was all over, he asked if I wanted to go sleep somewhere safe, and I was a little scared, but he explained that he was just in town on business, and that his company was paying for a hotel room. He said I could spend the night, and have a hot shower, and I said yes. He seemed so nice, and really, you know, he kind of was."

Lance wondered if now might be the time to disagree with that. A nice guy would have done it all without expecting anything in return, or, at least, that's what Lance thought. Then again, maybe the guy was really nice, and just happened to also be a guy who picked up prostitutes at the bus station.

"He showed me the room, and the bathroom, and I went in to take a shower," Mitch said, feeling it all again, remembering how grateful he had been, and then how surprised. "I stayed in the shower for so long, because it was so warm, and it felt so good, and then he, he pulled the curtain open, and he got in the shower with me. I was so surprised I didn't say anything, and then he, he started to touch my back, and, and he, he started to touch me."

Lance wrapped his arms around Mitch's shoulders, pulling Mitch's back tightly against his chest, holding him, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. Mitch sighed against him, his head down, his voice tight.

"I finally asked, asked what he was doing, and he said that we both knew why I was there," Mitch said, reaching up to hold Lance's arms with his own. "I had heard the guys talk about it in the park, and had seen some of the guys leaving the station, getting into cars, but I hadn't thought about it. I wanted to tell him to stop, wanted to say no, but he had been so nice, and I was just, I was all alone, Lance, and I was so scared. I wanted to sleep in a bed so much, wanted to feel safe just for one night, that when he, when he said that, and he started to, to tell me what he wanted to do, I let him. I did what he wanted, and I let him do what he wanted, and he let me stay. And then, in the morning, he gave me fifty dollars. Fifty dollars, Lance. I know it doesn't sound like a lot, not to you, but it was enough to get a room for a couple nights. It was enough to get a room, and something to eat."

"Mitch, you don't have to explain that," Lance said. "You don't have to explain anything to me. You did what you had to, Mitch, that's all."

"And I did it again," Mitch said. He knew, somewhere, in the back of his mind, that Lance wouldn't want him after this, that Lance would know that he was damaged goods, that he was dirty, but he didn't care. Lance had been nice to him, had been kind, and didn't seem to want anything. If he pushed Mitch away, yes, the plan would fail, but maybe that would be the best thing for them both. "The next time I was cold, and hungry, I went back to the bus station, and stood out front with the other guys. A car came, and the guy started to talk to me, and I did it again."

"It doesn't matter, Mitch," Lance whispered again. "It's not why you're here, not why I asked you to stay. I won't ever do that to you, Mitch, won't ever ask that."

"But I did it so many times, Lance," Mitch said, his voice rising suddenly. "There wasn't anything else I could do! I just, I needed money, and you can't get a job, living like I do. You do what you have to, and that was, my body is all I have. I did what I had to do."

Mitch began to sob again, hot tears trickling down his cheeks, and Lance pulled him back, laying them both out on the bed, Mitch spooned back against him.

"Just let it out, Mitch," Lance sighed, holding him, wondering what else he could do. He had to help him, had to get him off the streets. There wasn't any other choice. Lance wouldn't be able to live with himself if he sent Mitch back to that, forced him to do that again. "Just let it out. It's ok."

The two of them drifted off, Lance wrapped around Mitch in the bed, neither noticing anymore that they were just wearing their briefs, and that they were so close together. The room was dark, and cool, and quiet, and Lance was there for Mitch, assuring him over and over that it was ok. Eventually Mitch fell asleep, and Lance decided that he should probably move to the rollaway bed. When he tried to get up, though, Mitch's arms, still gripping his own, tensed, so Lance stayed where he was, and fell asleep as well.

Later on, Mitch woke up again. He was laying on his side, facing Lance, maybe a foot between them. One of Lance's arms was folded under him but the other reached out across the mattress, barely an inch from Mitch's chest. Mitch looked at Lance's face, so calm and peaceful, and wondered again what Lance really wanted. He knew everything now, almost, and hadn't pushed Mitch away. Instead, he had brought him to his bed anyway, pulled him up and slept beside him. Lance might say he didn't want Mitch, but his actions seemed to tell a different story. Mitch didn't feel any better now than when he had gone to sleep. He was still truly and completely confused.

Sliding out of bed, he walked to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. Looking in the mirror, he studied himself, staring into his own eyes in the glass, trying to focus. He had been alone, always alone, and had never opened up to anyone like he had tonight to Lance. Even Keith, who had picked him up and recruited him, who had acted as a friend to him when he hadn't had one in so long, had never asked. Mitch had tried to tell him once, to explain how all of this had happened, but Keith had brushed it off, telling him that it didn't matter now, that it was all over, and that together they would make enough so that Mitch never had to go back to that. Keith had been a friend to him, had helped him, and now Lance wanted to be as well. Lance didn't seem to want anything from him, but could that really be true? Even Keith, who had gotten him off the streets, had still expected him to do things, had expected Mitch to form a partnership and pull his own weight.

"Nobody gives you something for nothing," Mitch whispered to himself, staring into his own blue eyes in the glass. "Nobody does that."

Lance wanted something. He had to. It's the way people were. Mitch just had to wait for him to tip his hand. Since he was already in the bathroom, he peed, then washed off his hands, turned off the light, and walked back into the bedroom. Sliding quietly back into the bed, he laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to fall back to sleep. They hadn't heard a peep from next door since Lance had pounded on the wall, and Mitch smiled again to himself at the odd humor of it. It was so juvenile, but that was part of the charm. You couldn't think about it without snickering to yourself, and it was especially humorous to try to imagine the look on Wade's face as he paused, mid-thrust, and heard Lance screaming through the wall at them. Justin might just blush, but Mitch was sure that Wade would be pissed in the morning. It might be kind of interesting to watch it play out.

"Mitch?" Lance asked quietly. "Are you ok?"

Mitch jumped a little.

"Did I wake you?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I tried to be quiet."

"No, it's ok," Lance said. "You didn't make any noise. I just felt the bed shift, and I was worried that you might be upset again, or your leg might be bothering you or something."

"No, it's fine," Mitch said. "But thank you."

They were quiet for a minute, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Lance, what I told you before," Mitch began. "Does it, I don't know, does it change the way you see me? The way you think about me?"

"No," Lance answered, without hesitation. "It just makes me think that you're even braver. You've been through so much, and you're still funny. You can still smile, and that says that you're a strong person, Mitch. I don't know what I would have done if I was in the same situation."

Mitch swallowed, feeling a lump rise up in his throat.

"You don't think I'm a bad person?" Mitch asked. "You don't think I'm dirty, knowing that I've done that, with so many men? You don't think I'm, I don't know, not clean?"

Lance reached out and patted Mitch's shoulder, Mitch's face only a shadow in the darkness of the room.

"Mitch, I think you did what you had to," Lance said. "I know you're not proud of it, but I think you should still be proud of yourself. You're a survivor, Mitch. You were a good person, in a bad situation, like I told you before. I'm sure you did that best that you could, and it doesn't matter now, not to me."

"It doesn't bother you that they were men?" Mitch asked. One of the things that was confusing him was trying to figure out why Lance hadn't told Mitch yet that he was gay. Did he think that Mitch just slept with men for money?

"What?" Lance asked, surprised. He realized that Mitch mustn't know he was gay. "Why would that make a difference?"

"It doesn't bother you at all?" Mitch asked. "I mean, it doesn't bother you knowing that I, that I have sex with men, and I'm here in the same bed as you?"

"No," Lance answered. "We're not sharing the bed because we're having sex. We're in the same bed because you were hurt, and I wanted you to feel better. Besides, it doesn't matter to me anyway. Can I ask a question, though?"

"Sure," Mitch answered, reaching up to where Lance was holding his shoulder. He folded his hand over Lance's, pressing it to his warm skin. Both of them felt comforted by the touch, but for different reasons.

"Are you gay?" Lance asked. It might not be any of his business, really, but he wanted to know. "It doesn't matter to me if you are. I'm just curious, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's ok," Mitch said, sighing. "I've told you everything else. You might as well hear this, too."

"Mitch, you don't have to," Lance said again. He didn't want Mitch to feel like he had to tell him anything, didn't want to force that. Mitch had been hurt too much already by people who wanted things from him.

"It's ok," Mitch said again. "It's been so long since I told anyone this. I mean, I used to, when I was new, when I first ended up here, but it's so hard to think about this, Lance. It's so hard to remember it all, to tell, and I'm scared."

"Scared of remembering?" Lance asked.

"Scared of telling you," Mitch answered, and he meant it. "Shared of what you're going to think about me, and what you'll say, and how you'll react. I feel like you don't really know me, like you haven't seen all of me, and if you did you might not like me anymore."

Lance knew what that was like. When he'd been asked to join the band, so many years ago, he'd been scared, too. He didn't know the guys, and they all knew each other. He didn't know what they'd think, or how they'd react, and he'd been afraid to let them know about himself. In the end, it had been Justin who told him it was ok. Justin's gaydar was more or less infallible, and he had known from the minute he met Lance that Lance was gay, too. After a few weeks with the band, Justin had come to Lance and come out to him. Before Lance could think to say anything, Justin had, in his babbling, chirpy way, explained to Lance that the whole band knew, and didn't care, and that he thought Lance should come out, too, at least to them. The next day, when all of them were together, Lance had quietly asked if he could talk to the guys, and had followed Justin's advice. His heart was pounding the whole time, and he was so afraid that they would react differently to him. After all, Justin was their friend, and had been for years, while Lance had just joined, referred by Justin's vocal coach because they needed a bass, but it hadn't mattered at all to the guys, just like Justin said. He thought about telling Mitch this, explaining it all, but he didn't want this to be about him. He wanted to focus on Mitch, and helping him.

"Mitch, you don't have to be afraid," Lance said, remembering how surprised he'd been when Joey stood up and hugged him, followed by JC, and then Chris. "I'm your friend. Whatever you have to say, maybe it will feel better to let it out. If you need to tell someone, you can tell me, and you don't ever have to be afraid of what I'll tell you."

Mitch swallowed again, trying to clear his throat, to choke down whatever it was that was bothering him. Maybe Lance was right. Maybe it would be better to let it out, to tell someone. If nothing else, it would just keep building sympathy for him with Lance.

"Lance, I'm gay," Mitch said, pausing. Lance didn't day anything, but his hand tightened on Mitch's shoulder just the slightest bit. "You probably knew that already, but I thought I should say it. I didn't just sleep with men for the money. I could have gotten money for sleeping with women. I slept with men because that's the way I am, and that's what I prefer. I thought I should tell you because, well, me being gay is the reason why I'm on the streets."

"I don't understand," Lance said quietly. "How did it happen? You told me that you had a falling out with your parents, and that's why you left. Was it that?"

"Falling out is a nice term for it," Mitch said bitterly. "My parents were, um, they were very religious. My whole life, we went to church every Sunday, and during the week we were there at least one night or two, planning suppers or going out to visit old people or stuff like that. I had a brother, Donny, and when I was ten, Donny was hit by a truck a couple streets over from ours, and he, um, he didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry, Mitch," Lance said, wondering how someone could be hurt this much, over and over, and still survive.

"Thanks," Mitch said, squeezing Lance's hand again. "It, um, it's been a long time since I thought about Donny. When Donny, when he died, my parents started getting really, really protective. They told me all the time that I was the pride of the family now, that I had to do it for them, and for Donny. I didn't think about it then, because they were my parents, and when you're a little kid, you always think they know best, but they just kept putting all this pressure on me, always this pushing to do good, to get good grades, to be good at sports, and just to do everything right, all the time, and I always tried to."

"Mitch, maybe they didn't know what they were doing," Lance said quietly. "Maybe they were just overcompensating or something. I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yes they did," Mitch said, gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed. "Maybe not then, but they did later. When I was in high school, and, you know, getting older, I started to feel that way about, you know, boys. I wasn't sure what it was, at first, but by the time I was sixteen, I knew what was going on. I also knew, though, that my family wasn't going to accept it. My parents had told me for so long that they were counting on me now, that I had to do all the things that Donny didn't get a chance to, that I had to do it for both of us. They kept telling me that I had to go to college, and get a good job, and meet a nice girl and settle down, and fill their house with grandkids, and that it was my duty to do it, my duty to God and my duty to Donny. And it just wasn't who I was."

Mitch's voice was shaking again, and Lance reached out with both hands, offering his arms. Mitch sighed, squeezing his eyes closed, and laid his hands on Lance's chest, resting his head on Lance's shoulder. Their skin brushed against each other, sliding softly, velvet on velvet, and Lance held Mitch tightly against him, waiting for him to finish, and let it all out. Mitch's voice had taken on that hollow tone again, that detachment, but it was trembling, and Lance could hear the pain underneath.

"Mitch, you don't have to tell me anymore," Lance said, not wanting to hurt him any more for one night. It was almost too much for Lance to hear, and he couldn't imagine how much it must hurt Mitch to tell it. "Please, I know this must hurt you. You don't have to say anymore."

"I can't leave you right in the middle," Mitch said, his breath hot on Lance's neck. Lance's hands were tracing circles around his back. "There was a boy at school. His name was Todd, and we, um, we kind of liked each other. We didn't come right out and say it, but that last year, we were in gym class together, and one day when all the guys got changed, and went into the gym, he and I were left in the locker room. We were just, we didn't plan it or anything, and we were just talking to each other, and then, well, one thing kind of led to another, and we just kind of started kissing. And then the coach walked in and caught us."

Mitch drew in a quick breath, feeling his chest tighten, but Lance kept holding him, whispering that it was ok.

"He called our parents, both our parents, took us straight to the office and everything," Mitch said. "Todd's parents came and got him, but mine didn't. They weren't home, and the school couldn't find them, so they sent me back to class. By then everyone knew, and the kids, they said things, Lance, terrible things, and none of the teachers said anything. They said stuff all the way home, and I had to take the bus, and when it pulled up in front of my house my parents' car was there, and I knew. They were waiting when I walked in the house, and my mother was crying, and my dad asked me if it was true. I told him it was and he, he hit me, across the mouth, and he started to yell at me."

Lance didn't know what to say, didn't know what it would be like to have your parents react that way. His own hadn't taken it especially well, at first, but after a while they'd talked about it, and gotten used to it, and everyone was ok. He didn't know what he would have done if they had screamed at him, and he didn't think they had ever hit him, not even to spank him when he was little.

"He just kept yelling, and hitting me," Mitch said, his eyes wet. "And I didn't know what to do. My mother was crying the whole time, and screaming how I let them down, and how I'd let Donnie down, and I just, it was like everything broke inside me. I just started crying, and I couldn't stop. I couldn't even barely talk, couldn't say anything to them. My dad started going on and on about how it was a sin against God, and how no son of his could be a faggot, a fucking faggot, he called me. And then he, he said that, that both of his sons were dead now, and that he wished, that he wished it had been me, instead of Donnie. He said that he wished it had been me."

Mitch's voice broke again, and he began to sob, holding Lance tightly as Lance tried to soothe him. His shoulders shook again beneath Lance's hands, his breath coming in hitching gasps as he fought to get control of himself again. The only thing he could see in the dark was Lance's eyes, caught in a shaft of light peeking in around the edge of the curtain, and they were so warm, so kind and concerned. He saw, to his surprise, that Lance's eyes were wet as well. When he could speak again, when he felt like he was under control, he sighed, closing his eyes again.

"I ran out of my house," Mitch said, his voice a low whisper. "I ran away, and they didn't come after me. I went down the road, to my friend Beth's house. She knew what happened, but she wasn't mad, and her parents, they saw the handprints, and the marks, and they said I could stay at their house for the night. I lied to them, in the morning. I told them that I was going to go stay with a cousin, that I had one in New York who would take me in, and the rest of it happened the way I told you. I got on the bus, and I came here."

"What about your family?" Lance asked, an idea starting to form in his mind.

"I haven't talked to them since then," Mitch said. "They said I was dead to them, Lance. They don't care where I am, or what happened to me."

"Are you sure?" Lance asked. "I mean, it's been five years, Mitch, five years when they haven't heard a word from you. Maybe they feel bad. Maybe they've had time to think about it, and they don't feel that way anymore. They might have changed."

"They'll never change," Mitch said, shaking his head. "They didn't care then, and they don't care now."

"But I care," Lance said. "I'm your friend, Mitch, and I care about what happens to you. I won't let you get hurt again, ok?"

"OK," Mitch said, not moving, leaving his head on Lance's shoulder. "Thank you, Lance. Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," Lance said, holding him as he fell back to sleep.

Mitch tried to sleep, but his mind was racing again. He had told Lance all of that, told him everything, and Lance hadn't shared anything of his own. He said he cared about Mitch, said that he was Mitch's friend, and that Mitch should trust him, but he didn't trust Mitch. He listened, but he didn't say anything back about himself. Maybe Lance wasn't his friend after all, no matter how he acted. After all, friends trusted each other, and Lance didn't trust him. He was so confused, and needed to sort this out.

He needed to talk to Keith.

To be continued.