“Tristan started the car, pulling carefully out onto the street now that the snow had begun to fall."You seemed so happy this last quarter," P.K. prompted."I was. I fell in love.""And?""It didn't work out--isn't working out." Tristan shook his head. "I'm not ready.""Ah," said P.K. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Tristan thought then that he was lucky; Jonathon and Daniel didn't know how to value a silence, but P.K. made it comfortable. He was glad he was here with P.K. and not alone in the unbearable silence of snow.”

“I had a thought," Bradshaw said into the silence."Amazing," Tristan returned dryly.”

“From now on when a boy starts telling me about his lost loves I am going to run in the opposite direction screaming loudly... Somehow I bring out such confidences, and I'm pretty sick of hearing about Bobbe or Dorothy or P.K. or Liota. God damn them all.”

“So," Nate attempted conversation for the third time. He seemed to be in a better mood lately. "Do you guys maybe want to talk about how every uncomfortable this is?" He smiled tightly, looking first at Tristan, then at Scarlet. "Because I don't know about you, but I feel awkward. Let's hash it out, shall we? Tristan," Nate said brightly. "We'll start with you. How are you feeling?""Annoyed.""I like your honesty and openness." Nate turned to Scarlet. "What about you? How are you feeling?""Tired," she said. "Nine in the morning is too early for needles."Tristan said, "Maybe if you hadn't stayed out so late, you wouldn't be so tired."Scarlet said, "Look who's decided to speak again. Suddenly the silent and dark Tristan has an opinion on my life.""Oh, I have many opinions.""See?" Nate said, his smile tighter than before. "Isn't all this openness refreshing?”

“The facts of his existence are plain. I know that he will never silence those unspeakable voices. He heard how people killed, and how they died and their voices infected him, coursed through his body, poisoned him. He didn't know how to turn off the noise, or turn the hate back out onto the world like the rest of us. He turned it on himself. You could see that from the scars on him.”

“Experimenting with touch, he found he barely had to ripple a light fingertip over his sleeping lover, and Tristan would move, twisting until he was melted into Michael's embrace. Stroking Tristan's cheek got Michael a sleepy kiss. Touching Tristan's back or sliding a hand down his spine earned Michael the satisfying squeeze of arms around him. And squeezing Tristan's ass got him a fully awake and erect boy-toy looking for love.”