I listen to him, wavering between something almost like sympathy and annoyance. Anger and pain. Everything's fucked, with him and me, and it pissed me off that he's supposed to be the teacher, the one with experience, when he's just as lost and clueless as I am.

But all that shit, not the details but the rest of it... maybe, just maybe I understand. 'Cause most of me's felt dead since I was eight years old.

I listen to him, silent, face blank, and then I curl my hand around the back of his neck and yank him down into a kiss. Hard and biting and painful, but somehow weirdly careful at the same time. Putting all of it out on the table for him to see.