“Do you know what I did to the last guy that called me Tinkerbelle?""Slept with him?"Darryl was silent for a second. "After that.”

“Ask me for money, Peter.” I grabbed his wrists and pushed him against the wall.He looked everywhere but at me, no attempt to free himself. He was definitely stronger than I, but right that second I didn’t care if he was being patronizing. If it forced him to answer me, then patronizing I’d take.“No,” he murmured.“Ask me for money, goddamn you.” I punctuated it with a slam of his wrists, hard enough to jar, but not painful—I hoped. The next time my shirt wouldn’t be there to cushion it. I wasthat pissed.“I have!” He spat back, easily extricating his hands and pushing me away. I grabbed his arm, turning him around.“For Cai. For sex. Not for you. You’d rather go fuck a bunch of strangers—”“I don’t fuck anyone but Darryl anymore,” he denied. “It’s just a show for a bunch of voyeurs. No one gets hurt.”“I get hurt!”“I don’t have any other way, Austin.”“You have me. Ask me,” I said, hating the pleading sound in my voice.“No.”“Jesus Christ, why the fuck not?”“Because I don’t want you to be a fucking trick!” The shout was so loud I felt the vibrations along my spine.”

“You know what I find ironic? My homophobic mother offersyou her cabbage rolls as a truce and you respond by asking her ifit was 'tacit approval' to suck my cock.”“She shoved a phallic symbol my way and told me to eat it.”

“He's painting your living room as a thank you.""Huh. My decorator might screech, but I'm okay with that.""Your decorator? Seriously? How did you not know you were gay?”

“I looked at our hands, caked and coated in red, but entwined. The pristine moment when they were clasped like that earlier in the day seemed weeks ago."Clean." Peter said."Can I get a water bottle or something to clean his hands?" I scanned the crowd. He drew my attention back to him with a pull of my hand."No," Peter said. "I'm...clean."I had missed who Peter was until that very moment.I had called him names and treated him callously. I had read every micro expression in a vacuum of how it related to Austin Glass. And in return Peter had cared for my wounds, treated me tenderly and assured me that he was HIV negative while bleeding out in a hallway of strangers.I broke. It wasn't a visible fracture. I didn't sob or explode into anguish. I didn't give in to my vomitus urge that came from the burst of self-loathing. But I shattered nonetheless.”

“Do you know why I like dogs and not cats? Because whenyou’re talking to dogs, they don’t walk away in order to rimthemselves.~Austin to Cai's cat Begone Cai's, also known as the "fucking hairball with the crazies.”

“Whiskey, glass, pour, toss back, glare. Repeat. “Cop out,” I slurred in retaliation, pointing the empty glass at Peter.“Don’t get drunk. Fuck. I need you sober,” he yelled, snatching the glass out of my hand.“There’s the problem right there. You need me sober. You need my help. You need something from me.” I laughed, tossing the bottle on the sofa, ignoring the glug glug glug as it emptied over my cushions. “And I just need you.”“Need me to what?” He asked with a huff, tipping the bottle right-side up.“Nothing. I just need you,” I whispered and flopped into a nearby recliner.”