There were roses everywhere.

Broken, lying in pools of water, looking like something you'd see on Tumblr. All over the kitchen floor, and some in the bedroom too. A wasted mess. "Guess buying the flowers didn't work, huh?" I called as I stepped carefully over them.

I got silence in response. So he's being moody.

"Seriously, dude, what happened?" I said. Michael was lying facedown on his bed. "She go nuts or something?"

He lifted his head just to glare at me. "You stupid kid, the fuck do you know?" he snapped. "Just stay out of it. My life has nothing to do with you."

"Got it," I said harshly. "Goodnight." I marched over to my bed and climbed in. His damn pillow was lying there on top of mine. I snatched it and threw it across the room.

"Fine, sorry," he sighed before I could even close my eyes.

I sat up. "Are you fucking bipolar?"

"I'm not really mad at you," he said. "Today was just awful. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Mm. Thanks for that," I said, still holding onto the bitterness in my voice. "Feel so much better now."

"Yeah, I... I know," he said. "I'm childish and egotistical and... and I'm a really horrible person to be around and I think everyone's probably better off away from me-"

I leaned up on my elbows and turned my pillow over. "Remind me why you're telling me?" I said, and he shut up. I smiled at first at the prospect of a good night's sleep, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't get him out of my head. "Michael?" I said to the darkness. "Okay, you're... you're okay, right?"

"No," he said mournfully. I think I heard a small sniff, but that was probably for attention. "But you don't really care." I conjured up a mental image of Eeyore.

"You're right," I said. "Goodnight."

"'Night," he said tightly, and that settled it.

I still couldn't sleep. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and stared ahead into nothing. I cursed myself for throwing the pillow. I wondered if I could go get it and Michael would not say anything. That'd be nice. Maybe, I thought, in the dark and his depressed-over-Kitty state he wouldn't notice at all. I could just sneak over and grab it and go to sleep and all would be well in the world.

I sat up and pushed the sheet out of my way, then slowly got to my feet and started the silent trek across the room. I made it maybe a yard before my bare foot came down on something sharp. Rose thorn.

"Fuck!" I shouted. "Fuck!" I limped over to the light with about a hundred other curses and switched it on, then immediately squeezed closed my eyes.

"What happened?" Michael asked, rolling over to face me.

I ignored him and sat down on my bed and twisted my foot around to inspect it. The thorn pierced the fleshy part and there was a bead or two of blood, but that was all.

Michael got up and scurried over in excitement. "Wait, lemme see," he said and I sighed as he neared. He grabbed my foot and pulled it close to his face. "Oh, it's fine. You're such a baby."

I yanked my foot away. "I never said I wasn't fine," I snarled. "Maybe if there wasn't all this shit lying on the floor I wouldn't trip!" I jumped up and kicked my still unpacked bag to the side of my bed, threw the rose at the trash, and the pillow (sneaky huh?) onto my bed.

"Hey," he said, noticing it as if for the first time. "There it is. Was lookin' for that."

My internal celebration over my crafty move instantly dissolved and my face fell. "You.. you said I could have it."

He smiled as if it were a fond memory. "Right," he said. He raised the pillow to his lips and kissed it delicately, then handed it to me. We stood there for a moment, connected like that, me holding onto it lightly and him not wanting to let go. "Well, enjoy," he said finally.

"Whatever," I said, climbing back into bed with the pillow.

He stood over me as I tucked my feet underneath me. "Is that your favorite word, 'whatever'? You say it, like, all the time."

"I never noticed," I said. "Anyway, I'm really tired now, so..."

"Oh, yeah, okay. Sleep tight."

"Whatever," I muttered, closing my eyes. I watched him walk back over to his bed, then squinted at him. "Jesus," I muttered, staring at the long red claw marks along his skin.

He reached to turn off the light again. "What?" he said.

"Your back," I responded, a little in dread. I really didn't want a story of today's sexcapade. I moved the pillow around so I was holding it again.

"Ah," he said. "My girlfriend. I mean, ex-girlfriend. I mean... I'm not exactly sure."

"I don't care," I told him, and turned over.

╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

I was dreaming.

It's like watching a scary movie but you're all by yourself in a little room and your eyes are glued open so you can't look away from the screen. And you can't do a damn thing about anything going on.

I remembered this day well. I was way younger, maybe around third grade, and Sarah and I were playing dress-up upstairs. I remembered this. I remembered it all. I hated it.

She'd wanted to play princesses, but there were no other little girls in our building so she'd kindly settled with me. We didn't know any better. I'd been given one of her ballet tutus and she was in her favorite princess dress Andrea bought. "I am the queen of all the land," she said in a majestic voice. "And everyone must bow when they lay eyes on me."

"Except me, of course," I chimed in. "I am the, uh, king...?"

"Boys are stinky!" Sarah yelled. She smiled. "Except you."

"Hooray," I cheered.

"It would be better if you were a girl," she told me.

"Maybe I am," I said. "How would you know?"

Sarah started giggling and pointed at me. "Ben's a girl," she taunted. "Ha ha, Ben's a girl, Ben's a girl!"

"No I'm not," I yelled, and I shoved her so hard she fell over.

Sarah sat up and stopped laughing. "What's the difference anyway?"

I smiled and took a deep breath. "Girls have pussies," I said proudly.

She tilted her head. "What's that?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But my dad talks about it a lot."

"I'm gonna ask my mom," she said, and jumped up and ran to the closed door.

I panicked immediately. "No wait-" I said, grabbing her arm, but it was too late. She tore open the door and marched out into the living room where my dad sat on the couch, a bottle shakily positioned in his hand.

He looked up at us, his face twisting into some mixture of disgust and hatred. "What the fuck is this?" he shouted. Sarah stopped dead and looked back at me, the sudden fear in our eyes reflecting each other's.

"We were just playing..." I tried to explain. "We weren't doing anything bad..."

"So this is playing, huh?" He stood unsteadily, staring me down as Sarah backed up behind me. "Today it's the fuckin' skirts, what's tomorrow? You gonna prance around the place in your mother's panties?"

I didn't know what that meant either, but I figured it was something bad. "It's not-" I started before he grasped me by the arm and I felt something in my shoulder snap. He held me like that and started tearing the costume apart.

Sarah burst into tears. "My tutu!" she screamed.

"I have to teach you now," my father growled. "I can't have you doing this shit all your life. I turn my back for one fucking second to have a break from your shit and you're..."

"I just-"

My father slapped me hard across the face, completely bowling me over. I fell down hard onto my side and lied on the ground, trying to avoid his angry, hate-filled eyes. "Fucking disgusting. Whose idea was this? Was it you?" he yelled at Sarah, advancing a step.

She stared at him, too scared to move. I crawled over and struggled to my feet, trying to show him I was tough and strong and maybe he wouldn't hurt either or us.

"I'm sorry," I told him, and he turned back and slapped me so I fell down again. I cringed

defenselessly at the blow. "Please," I murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Stop begging! Fucking get up, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled, grabbing me again and pulling me from the floor, only to hit me and throw me down again.

Sarah was screaming, and I couldn't blame her. She was terrified. She was just a little girl, she didn't need to see that. I hoped she'd run away, go down the hall and get her mom. Maybe her mom could help.

"Hey!" my father spat at me, holding my head so I was forced to meet his eyes. "You little fucking coward. Why'd you have to be like this, huh? What'd I do wrong that you end up like this? You little piece of shit."

"I'm sorry," I cried.

"Stop fucking saying that, just get up!" he yelled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He knelt on the ground as I looked up and shook me gently. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" whispered. "Wake up."

"I'm sor..." I opened my eyes and realized I was back in the dorm room, back in the darkness, that horrible darkness, tears running down my face. "Oh my god," I gasped.

"Jesus Christ, man," Michael said and I whimpered something unintelligible in response. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe." I reached forward and pawed at him, and he put his arms around me and pulled me in so I could rest my head on his shoulder. "Shh shh shh," he whispered. "It's okay."

Fuck you, I thought at my father, all those miles away now but still never gone from my brain. You wanted to make me a man but instead you made me unable to get through one night without behaving like an infant.

I sobbed harder, clinging to Michael. I sobbed because I was scared, I sobbed because it hurt, I sobbed because I was so pathetic. I reached my arms up and covered my face with my hands and he shifted his arm under them so both of his were around me, lightly cradling me.

Please, I thought. Just stop crying. For the love of God, how are you gonna live with yourself? Stop fucking crying.

I made some broken noise in the back of my throat and tried to suck in a rattling breath of air. "There you go," he murmured, his hand on my cheek, gently brushing away some of the flood of tears pouring out of my eyes.

I grabbed onto his shirt before I could stop myself, clutching the material as I buried my face in his chest.

He held me tightly, and normally being this close to anyone that wasn't Sarah would terrify me, but I felt perfectly safe right now. It didn't help me stop sobbing, though. If anything I just cried more because I couldn't possibly imagine anything worse than liking some stupid guy hugging me. "Shh," he whispered again. "Just breathe, sweetie, you're okay. I promise."

How the hell can I come back from this? I thought. It was all over for me. I would forever be that stupid, weak, pathetic guy that cried in his sleep.

I slowly pulled away, scared to look up at him, terrified of his reaction. I could feel my wet eyelashes cold against my cheeks, and I was pretty sure they were blotchy and disgusting, which just made me want to cry again. "I'm sorry," I croaked. I'm sorry you had to see that.

"Yeah, you were saying that." His eyes slowly traveled up to mine. "Do you wanna try to sleep?" he asked. "I can keep holding you."

"I... I can never just go back to sleep," I told him quietly.

"Do you have nightmares a lot?" he asked, his eyes not leaving me.

I scratched my knee, consciously keeping my gaze away from him. I despised how childish I looked. Who has nightmares? Small children. Who needs to be comforted after said nightmares? Small children. Not grown men. "Why do you care?" I hissed, pulling my folded legs closer to me. Farther from him. "Why do you care about any of this? Why are you here?"

"Your annoying little whimpers disrupted my sleep," he said, grinning.

I wiped at my eyes. "Are you... gonna, like, bully me now?"

He choked out a laugh. "Bully you? Um, no, why?" I shrugged a little and looked down. "Listen..." he started, taking a breath. "It's completely normal to cry, dude. Everybody cries. I cry. And I'm the 'big tough football guy', right?"

Despite myself, I brightened up just a little. "Thanks," I whispered softly.

"However, I really have to tell you, I never was a football player. Basketball all the way." He made a little dunking motion with his hand. It was cute. "Aw, look at you," he said. "You're smiling."

This fact had not occurred to me. I stopped and felt my cheeks heat up, even though they were already plenty hot from my tears. "I'm-"

He jumped up and dribbled an imaginary ball in place for a second, then squinted ahead and threw his arms up in a free throw, stretching up on his toes. "Oh my god," he said. "I just won the game. Yes, yes, thank you, thank you." He pushed his palm out into the air a few times in what I took to be high-fives with his fake teammates.

I snickered and shook my head as he dropped down onto my bed again. "You're so stupid," I muttered.

He smiled. "I like your laugh," he said. I blushed and pressed my teeth into my lower lip, looking down. "And I like that lip-bitey thing you do."

I looked at him, my cheeks warmer than ever. "You gotta stop," I murmured.

He scooted over so he was sitting right next to me, like that time in the gym, his bare thigh warming mine. "Would you like me to stay or go?"

"Stay?" I repeated. "I can't sleep with..." And then I understood. "That's why you're here," I breathed, crossing my arms over myself. "Not because you care. Because you're trying to..." What, exactly? Touch me? Get with me? Just be as creepy as possible?

"I came over because I was worried about you," he murmured. "I see my actions were misguided." He moved to get up.

"Wait," I said. "Please."

I was forced to accept the fact that I did very much want him back, and his presence had managed to calm me down faster than ever before. But what did that say about me? What pathetic moron needs a hug from near-strangers to function? I was everything my father said I was.

"Maybe you could just, like, stay a couple feet away-"

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, stop doing that," he said.

I tilted my head. "Stop doing what?"

"The face scrunchy thing," he said. I crinkled my brow further. I wasn't aware of any such thing. Maybe if I remembered I'd do it to the mirror in the morning. "It's fucking adorable. Am I, like, allowed to say that? Or am I gonna give your fragile masculinity a heart attack?"

I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on them. "So you're gay or something?" I said, my voice muffled by my jaw.

"Are you?" he countered.

"I..." Say no, I thought. Just say no right now. Why aren't you say-

"Enough said," he smirked.

"I didn't say anything."

He raised a singular eyebrow. "Didn't have to," he said. I silently shot daggers at him with my eyes. "You're doing it again," he commented. "Face scrunchy."

I tried to flatten out my expression as much as possible but I was pretty sure my face stayed... scrunched. "I'm gonna kill you," I told him, my voice serious. "I'm gonna murder you with my bare hands."

"You're gonna choke me?" he said. "Now that's hot."

"I'm gonna crush your stupid skull," I said.

"Between your legs, I hope."

"Stop it!" I yelled.

He grinned. "Alright, I'm sorry. Look, it could just be for one night. I'm sad, you're sad, we cuddle once and go back to being bros in the morning."

I considered his offer. We had already kissed once, and I did sort of palm his dick last night. "Alright." I lifted the sheet a little and cocked my head. "Just for tonight."

He smiled and clapped his hands like a two-year-old before sliding beneath the covers with me. His body curled around mine, one arm above him like a pillow and the other draped over my chest.

"So what now?" I asked, looking at him.

"We go to sleep," he said.

"Why, so you can molest me?"

He burst out laughing, then turned over and cackled into the crook of his elbow for a good minute. I scowled at him, even though he wasn't looking at me. He looked up, trying to hide his grin with the side of his arm. "Molest you? No."

"I still think you're gay," I muttered.

"I'm not gay," he said. "I have sex with women on nearly a daily basis. Why would I want you? You look like a dead rat."

"Thanks," I said darkly.

He pressed his lips together. "I'm kidding. You're gorgeous. But I'm not an animal. I think I can manage to restrain myself." I inched myself closer to him, pulling a good amount of the covers up to my chin protectively, and he unwrapped his arm so that it laid out straight over my head. "Can I touch you?" he asked. "100% family-friendly, promise."

I pulled my knees up against my chest and lowered my head. "Yeah," I whispered.

He slowly edged his arm down so it was resting over me and then wrapped both of them around me, and I touched my forehead to his bare shoulder. "Okay?" he asked.

"Mhm," I murmured, trying to discreetly nuzzle closer without him noticing. "You're being nice to me."

His eyebrows turned up a little. "Yeah," he said softly. "I like being nice to you."

"That's good," I mumbled, closing my eyes. "You should do it more." He was so warm, he smelled good, and it was nice, really nice, to have someone actually comfort me and make me feel safe.

I liked it. I sure as hell didn't want to, but I really, really liked it.