An alarm blared through the bedroom, and Red jumped so far up, his head collided with Beverly's. And it was only then did he realize that Beverly was right beside him, his body bare, and light breaths leaving his lips as he rested.

Red turned to Beverly, all breath leaving his lungs at the sight. His curls covered his face, him snuggling into Red's arm. But soon, his eyes blinked open, him grimacing at the high tone of Red's blaring alarm.

Red reached over, and clicked dismiss, a sigh leaving his lips. He ran a hand over his face, disappointed in himself for his actions the night before.

But one look at Beverly's face, and he knew the younger boy didn't regret it at all. His lips were curled, his eyes were clear, and his body was nearly marked all over.

Red stood from his side of the bed, pulling a pair of sweatpants up his legs, as he watched Beverly's eyebrows sew together in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"We're going to work, while we forget this ever happened." Beverly's heart drops at his words, his cheeks heating up at all the possible scenarios zooming through his mind.

Beverly sat up straight. "W-What do you mean forget this ever happened? I have feelings for you, Red, I'm sure that's obvious. And last night, you definitely showed that you've got feelings for me, too. We don't have to forget—"

"Look," Red began, "things like this happen. In the real world, people sleep together for no reason at all. And this is one of those times."

Beverly almost laughed aloud at his words. Where was his words coming from? Just last night, he'd been whispering in Beverly's ear, about how much he cared about him, and just how amazing he really was.

Finally, Beverly surrendered, trying not burst into tears at that very moment.

"Okay."

Red's birthday was nearing, and Monica, his closest sister had been bugging him about going home—back to New York. But every time Red's mind would wander to seeing his mother, again, the only thing he felt was disappointment.

He hadn't spoken to his mother since he'd gotten out of jail. He couldn't face her, he couldn't look her in the eye, while she knew that her son had been sent to the same place as his father.

His deadbeat father. Who he hadn't seen since he was six.

His sickening, disgusting father, who had left Red's mother and six children for a twenty-one year old with a plastic face. He couldn't help but think that his mother thought he was just like his father.

But he wasn't. Once he'd met Beverly, once he'd really met Beverly, he was sure of that. So, he clicked on his cellphone, and dialed Monica's number.

"Hey, Mon—yeah, I, uh—I'll be home for my birthday."