Leave a message.

He didn't come home that night.

When he slipped into their hut in the early hours of the morning, he was showered and in clean clothes he'd found in the box, so at least he could say it didn't look like a walk of shame. And anyway, could you really classify it as a walk of shame when you were coming home from spending the night with your ( Read more... )

He had a neatly wrapped package of cookies in his hands ( Read more... )

They hadn't spoken in a few days.

He'd spent that time, every free moment, stubbornly not thinking about the boy who'd already managed to claim a hut just a short stroll from his, not thinking about his dead best friend. His dead ex-boyfriend, who wasn't quite so dead, anymore. He had things to fill the time-- his classes and his jobs, and the ( Read more... )

From hereIt had taken a little convincing, talking his sister into letting him walk back without him, but when he'd told her he wouldn't be alone, when he maybe hinted that he might not be coming back to their room right away, realization dawned in her eyes and suddenly she'd become really, really intent on gleefully shoving him out the door with a ( Read more... )

All he could think was, at least this time Mom couldn't blame this whole thing on Dad ( Read more... )

The ground was even, and then it wasn't. Mid-step on the relative safety of Compound concrete, an out of date copy of the New York Times tucked under one arm and a cup of chai in hand, Marshall Gregson faltered, tumbling splat face down in mud that hadn't been there before. There was scalding chai splattered all down his front, and he moaned -- ( Read more... )