After breakfast, Javi asks Oscar if he can go grocery shopping with him. There's foods he wants in the house, but he also feels like he needs to be helping out with the bills. His dad's not going to take his money, though, so he's gotta be stealth with it.

     They drive into town together and walk the aisles of the local supermarket, dropping items into the grocery basket Oscar's pushing. It reminds Javi of being a kid and going to the store with his dad, one hand holding onto the cart the whole time.

     When they go to check out, Javi asks Oscar if he can check if they have a nondairy creamer he likes. He knows they don't, and he also doesn't like nondairy creamer, but Oscar is happy to go look for him. While he's gone, Javi pays for the groceries, and puts all the bags in the cart. Oscar returns empty-handed, as expected.

     "They didn't have it," Oscar says. "But I can check the supermarket in Marin when I head up there later today. They're a little more hoity-toity."

     Javi laughs and shakes his head. "It's totally fine, dad. I could probably use the calcium."

     Oscar eyes his son and nods. "Yeah, I wasn't gonna say anything, but you could use some beefing up. Your mother probably thinks you're starving."

     Javi's throat tightens at the mention of his mom. "Alright, I checked us out already."

     "You didn't have to do that," Oscar says, a little testy.

     "Consider it the rent you won't take from me."

     "You don't need to pay rent. It's your home."

     Javi throws his hands up. He's not going to argue with his dad. He'll just find subtle ways to support him financially. They load the groceries into his truck but before they leave, Javi asks, "Do you need my help putting these away or can you drop me off at Margie's?"

     "I got the groceries," Oscar says. "But you know it's actually Tate's house, right? He bought it."

     Javi kinda knew that but also doesn't mind the actual confirmation. It just leaves him curious as to how Tate managed to afford buying a house.

     "Okay, well, drop me off at Tate's house then but I'm only going to see Margie."

     "Right," Oscar agrees but his expression tells a different story.

❂

     Tate's outside in the garage he turned into a work space. The doors open to help ventilate since he has a dresser covered in Citristrip. He hears a car come up his path and looks up as Javi gets out of Oscar's truck. Oscar waves from the driver's seat and Tate raises his hand to him.

     Javi notices Tate but doesn't move until Oscar's started driving away. Then he walks over. He looks the same, kind of weary, but he's dressed nice. His hairs pushed back off his face and wavier than usual. It's getting long.

     "Hey," Javi says biting his bottom lip. He's nervous, Tate realizes. But he doesn't understand why. Javi's eyes roam over the space. "You did that?" he asks next pointing to a vintage armoire he'd restored.

     Tate nods. "Yeah, I do restorations in my spare time."

     Javi's brows go up. "Wow. That's impressive."

     Tate doesn't know why Javi's praise sinks into him so deeply. But it makes him feel good. He wipes his hands on his shorts and walks over to him, picking up some polaroids he has. "This was the before." He holds them out to Javi.

     Javi takes them and Tate can tell he really is impressed, that he's not just pretending to be, which makes him feel even better. When he's finished shuffling through the photos, he holds them out to Tate and asks, "Do you still play?"

     "Play?" Tate asks intentionally unaware.

     Javi fixes him with a look. "You know what I mean."

     Tate flushes a little and says, "Yeah, yeah I still play. It soothes my mom so." He shrugs.

     Javi hesitates and then says, "Well, I should probably head in there and see her. It's why I'm here, so." He shrugs unsurely.

     "She talks for you," Tate says suddenly.

     "A bit, yeah," Javi admits. He squints at Tate, questioningly. "She doesn't for you?"

     Tate shakes his head. "No, she stopped a little over a year ago. That was that."

     Javi frowns and says, "If you don't want me to be around her... I was being an ass before. I'll respect your wishes."

     Tate frowns, too. "No, you should keep coming around," he says carefully. "She missed you." As soon as the words leave his mouth they feel weightier than they should. Like he didn't just make that admission for his mother. Like it was a personal admission, too.

     But if he was going to say it, really say it, he'd take Javi in his arms, hold him close so he could smell all the ways he's changed, how he wears a musky cologne now, and he'd say I've missed you, I've missed you, I've missed you. A spell he'd carve into his skin so he'd never be able to leave again.

❂

     Margie smiles when Javi walks inside and says, "I thought I saw you out there." Her words are scratchy. She hasn't spoken in days.

     "Sorry I went a little MIA," he says. "Take a walk?"

     She eyes him ruefully and says, "Don't know. Gonna faint again?"

     "That's cold, Marg," he says laughing.

     He pushes Margie out of the house and down the ramp off of the porch. He has to pass Tate in his garage. He's surprised to see he's taken his shirt off and is just in a thin, gray tank that's sweat stained and showing off his defined biceps. Muscles he didn't have many years ago. He's sanding down a table and doesn't notice them passing so Javi can keep looking till they've passed him.

     "What happened?" Margie asks quietly.

     Javi hears her but would like to pretend he didn't. He keeps pushing her down the street. At least he doesn't have to stomach her questioning stares from behind. "Had some bad days," he says finally. "I'm on medication. But I'm not exactly sure its working. I don't know. Being homes a lot harder than I expected."

     "I'm worried about you," she says after a drag of silence. Her words come out the clearest they have since he got back to town.

     "Don't worry about me. I'm like a cat. Nine lives."

     Javi means it as a joke but then he thinks about his suicide attempt. Which he does his very best not to think about. He'd have died, if it wasn't for the simplest of mistakes. He left the curtains open to his apartment. He had big windows and a stunning view of capital hill. The place his soul went to die.

     He kept the curtains open because he wanted it to be the last thing he saw and he didn't account for people being able to see him in his last moments. He supposes that's not the only reason he didn't die. The hook he'd bought and drilled into the ceiling wasn't actually able to support his weight.

     He'd been hanging long enough to pass out from lack of oxygen but by the time the fire department had broken in and medics had started rendering care he was fading in and out, conscious enough to know he'd ruined his only chance.

     "I feel like I messed up everything," Javi admits as he pushes Margie along. "Like everything good has been sucked out of me and I'm just going to suffer for the rest of my life."

     "That's the darkness talking, Javi," she says gently. "You have to fight it."

     "What if I'm too weak to fight? What if I have no fight left in me?" Before she can say anything, Javi says quickly, "I'm sorry, ignore me. I don't know what I'm saying."

     "Javi," she says sternly. "Lean on your people. Let them give you strength."

     Javi doesn't know what to say to that because he suspects Margie isn't just talking about his dad.

     And it's like they've summoned the only other person she could be talking about. Tate drives up beside them, coming to an abrupt stop. He rolls the window down and goes, "You guys want to go get lunch?"

     Javi is ready to say no. But Margie reaches up for his hand behind her head and says lowly, "Lean on your people."

     That's how he ends up in the passenger seat of Tate's pick-up, driving into town. Margie's strapped in the backseat. She looks like a little girl she's so small and curled into herself. Javi's gone still, trying not to make any sudden movements. It's strange to be in Tate's car, being driven by him. It's a dynamic his mind hasn't come to terms with.

     "Diner okay?" Tate asks and Javi nods.

     When they're all seated at a table, Tate and Margie on one side and Javi on the other, Tate drops his menu and asks rather bluntly, "So are you depressed?"

     Margie reaches over and pinches Tate's arm, making a face. Javi's a bit too shocked by the suddenness of his question to respond just yet.

     "Pepper seems to think so," Tate continues. "And so does mom, here, so I'm just wondering if they're right or not."

     Javi opens and closes his mouth, thinking. Finally he says, "I take an antidepressant."

     "So you're depressed."

     "I'm on antidepressants," Javi repeats.

     "Ergo, you are depressed."

     "Yes, alright, yes, I'm depressed."

     Tate frowns. Margie glares at him. "So are they working? Because you were in bed for like four days straight."

     "Well they're not a cure all."

     "What does that even mean? Isn't that exactly what they're supposed to be?"

     Margie pinches Tate again. Tate shoots her a look. Javi clears his throat and goes, "I guess it takes some time."

     Tate looks at him like he wants to say more. Like he wants to ask why but he knows the answer to that.

❂

     "I'll drive you home," Tate says when they get back to his house. "Let me just help my mom inside."

     He hops out before Javi can even object. So he sits and waits for Tate to return. He watches him push her wheelchair up the ramp and into the house. When he returns, Javi asks, "Is she alone a lot?"

     "Who? My mom?" Tate asks and then answers, "Just the afternoons. But she gets visitors sometimes."

     "And her nurse? Pepper?"

     "Pepper comes every morning seven to eleven and then back in the evenings. Five to eight."

     "That must be lonely for her."

     "Honestly, she doesn't really like being around people anymore. I was surprised she was spending time with you."

     "Really?"

     "Yeah, she's cut off pretty much everyone she was close to."

     "Why do you think she did that?"

     "If I had to guess, she's embarrassed of people seeing her like this. It's why she doesn't talk."

     "She talks to me."

     Tate grumbles, "Yeah, I know she talks to you."

     Javi shrugs. "I guess I'm the last person to be embarrassed in front of. I'm a mess."

     Tate is quiet for a moment and then he asks, "You think so?"

     Javi laughs dryly. "I know so, actually."

     "Because of the depression?"

     "You're clinging to that."

     "I've just never known you to be anything but happy."

     "Well that was years ago." He almost says and you don't really know me anymore but he doesn't have the energy to start an argument.

     "Is it because..." Tate trails.

     Javi sighs. "Tate," he says seriously. "Can we talk about anything else? Or we could not talk at all."

     Tate goes quiet and Javi thinks they'll be resigned to silence for the rest of the slow ride back to his house. But then Tate goes, "So how did you get diagnosed exactly?"

     "Tate," Javi snaps.

     "Fine, fine, change the subject," Tate says and then he asks, quickly, "Why did you call Em and not me?"

     "That's not really changing the subject."

     "Sure it is."

     "Why would I have called you?"

     "Ouch."

     "I don't mean it like that. It's just. If I thought I could've called you, I would've but I couldn't. Emery was the only person I could think of who didn't outright hate me."

     "I hated you, but I would've came still," Tate says earnestly. "Oscar would've came, too. He never hated you. I've never seen someone miss someone so intensely, actually."

     The latter warmed Javi but he was sort of fixated on hated. "I couldn't let him see me like that."

     "Like what?" Tate asks.

     Javi doesn't answer. "So what have you been doing all this time? Just working for my dad?"

     Tate nods, willing to drop it apparently. "Yeah. That and taking care of my mom mostly. I just finished reno on the house last year."

     "I didn't see that for you," Javi admits.

     "Which part? Working for your dad or becoming a caretaker for my mom?"

     "Both, I suppose. But the working for my dad part. It wasn't really your forte."

     "There was a learning curve with a lot of injuries involved. But Oscar was really patient and taught me everything."

     Javi smiles softly. "That's nice." He heaves a breath and then admits, "I'm glad he had you."

     "Yeah, well he would've much preferred you." Javi sinks into his seat at the comment. "Are you ever going to tell him why you left?"

     Javi shakes his head. "No."

     "He has a right to know you know."

     "Yeah but. It's an unnecessary hurt."

     "An unnecessary hurt?"

     "Right, necessary and unnecessary hurts. The ones you can't avoid and the ones you can. Telling him only makes me feel better and him feel worse."

     "And you leaving — what was that for me? A necessary hurt."

     Javi shifts his gaze out the window. "The worst kind of hurt," is what he says.

❂

     The next few days become fairly routine for Tate. A new routine and one he surprisingly welcomes. Falls into like slipping on his old baseball mitt, tight and slightly uncomfortable but so nostalgic he doesn't care.

     Oscar's working out their next contract, so Tate is home. He works on his furniture restorations in the morning, and he spends the afternoons with Javi and his mom sometimes. He knows she gets more tired these days but he thinks her naps are perfectly timed.

     There's a flea market on Saturday mornings that wants to hit and see if there's any cheap furniture he can flip. It's a few hours outside of town, though, and he doesn't want to leave his mom for that long.

     She doesn't tolerate many people coming around, especially when she thinks Tate's set her up with a babysitter, so he gives Oscar a call. Oscar usually says yes, so he's not surprised when he says, "Sure."

     He is surprised when he follows up with you, "But only if you'll take Javi with you."

     "Take Javi with me?" Tate repeats.

     "He needs to get out of the house more," Oscar says.

     Tate, who, even days later, is not over this revelation says, "Because he's depressed."

     Oscar stumbles over his words. "You know?"

     "That Javi's depressed? Yes."

     "He told you."

     Tate clears his throat and says, "I figured it out. But he didn't deny it."

    "So then you understand why I want him to get out of the house."

     "I do," Tate trails.

    "Great, so he'll join you. I'll be there at ten."

     Oscar is prompt and Tate's running behind. He didn't oversleep but he did overthink what to wear. He doesn't have any of the fancy clothes Javi seems to always be wearing. His closets mostly tee shirts and denim. He settles for a black tee shirt he knows is a little tight around his arms, flattering, and tucks it into his jeans. He puts on his work boots and loops in a belt. If he had a cowboy hat, he'd be serving southern hospitality.

     Oscar's sitting in the living room when he comes down, already having flipped the television to a station playing The Lone Ranger re-runs. Javi stands awkwardly by the door. He doesn't say anything when Tate passes him.

     So Tate doesn't say anything either, walking into the kitchen to check on his mom, who's finishing breakfast at the table. She stops what she's doing to glare at him. Tate throws up his hands. "I asked him to drop off Javi. He wanted to stay."

     It's a lie but she doesn't need to know that and anyway she brightens at his words, obviously glad Tate's trying to mend the bridge between him and Javi.

     He needs to get on the road if he's going to avoid traffic so he resigns himself to foregoing breakfast.

     When he walks back out into the living room, Javi's leaning over the back of the couch next to where Oscar's sitting and they're talking away. It reminds Tate of another life. One where Javi never left and this was their everyday.

     He clears his throat and goes, "Ready?"

     Javi looks up. He looks better today, more rested, and there's a brightness to his eyes that is nostalgic. "Yeah," Javi says nodding. He straightens, leaning back out of the way so Tate can pass. He's dressed ridiculously well again, in cream pants, loafers, and a textured olive green short sleeve button up. He could be heading to a golf course if Tate didn't know better.

     "Sorry about this," Javi says after they've walked out.

     Tate waits till they're in his truck before he says, "If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here."

     "So you want me here?" Javi asks and there's teasing note that runs laps over Tate's memory. It's the hint of the Javi he knew but with less of the cockiness he used to deliver lines like that with.

     Javi quickly follows up with, "I know my dad orchestrated this."

     "Not really. I know he would've came even if I said I didn't want you to," Tate answers as he starts driving.

     "I don't need a babysitter," Javi says rather plainly. "Being depressed doesn't make me incapable."

     "No, but I mean, there's obviously risks."

     "Risks?" Javi repeats.

     "You know what I mean."

     "Not really."

     Tate motions at his neck, drawing his finger across it and then pops his tongue out of the side of his mouth. "What are you miming?" Javi asks. "Because it's terrible."

     "Suicide," Tate says finally and sucks all the air out of the cab.

❂

     Javi's stomach drops. His mouth's gone uncomfortably dry. He tries to keep his tone casual when he says, "So that's what you're worried about."

     "Well I'm sure that's what Oscar's worried about."

     "Did he say something to you about it?"

     "What? No? I'm just guessing." Tate pauses and then goes, "Why are you so on edge about it?" And then, because Tate has always read Javi without even looking at the pages, he goes, "Have you thought about it?"

     "Have I thought about what?" Javi asks purposely obtuse. He's sweating profusely now, can feel the slickness on his palms but he's afraid to move.

     "You know what," Tate mumbles.

     "Well if you're gonna say it, just say it, Tate. Have I thought about suicide? Have I considered my death and how I'd do it? Do I have a plan?"

     "You don't need to be a dick about it."

     "You're the one talking about my mental health like its casual table conversation."

     Tate balks and then says quietly, "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be insensitive. I just. I guess I just want brutal honesty this time."

     Javi nods. "I can do that." He glances at Tate and then back at the road, "Brutal honestly. Hm, well, your hair looks good."

     Tate lets out a surprised laugh. "That wasn't really what I meant," he mumbles and he's blushing. "I go to a barber now," he adds, his voice small, not entirely looking for praise, only a little. Only a smidge.

     "Look at you," Javi muses.

     "Well really look at you," Tate fires back. "You dress like you're in the mafia but vacationing in the Maldives or something."

     Javi's grinning and shaking his head. "Don't be ridiculous."

     "I'm serious. You look like a rich Cuban man."

     "I don't know about Cuban," Javi mutters.

     Tate laughs, his nose crinkling, which Javi notices because he's looking. "Oh, you're rich now?"

     "I do alright," Javi says vaguely.

     Tate quiets and then goes, "Did you like the work, at least?"

     Because he's asked for brutal honesty, and only for that reason, Javi says, "I hated the work. But I was good at it."

     "That's not a reason to do something," Tate says.

     "Yeah, no, the money's the reason to do something."

     "That's sad."

     Javi shrugs. He hates Tate feeling badly for him. Everyone in his field felt that way. The work wasn't rewarding, in fact it stole more from you than it gave, but it could pay well. When you got that far. And that was worth all of the pain and humiliation.

     He needs to change the subject, so he asks the question that's been bouncing around his head since he got back. "So are you seeing anyone?"

     Tate goes still, noticeably stiffening. "Nope," he says simply. "You?"

     Javi shakes his head and mimics him, "Nope."

     "Not even..."

     Javi freezes, and his tongue feels heavy when he answers, "Not for a while."

    "What's a while?"

    He didn't want to quantify it because, honestly, a while wasn't long enough. He wishes he could put all the time between him and the last time he'd been in Montgomery's bed. He'd started putting his foot down a few months ago. He didn't want to be his plaything anymore. He never wanted to be his plaything, in actuality, but he made himself believe he did for a long time.

     If he'd kept believing it maybe he wouldn't have tilted over the edge into self loathe so deeply he'd already drowned before he realized there wasn't any oxygen there.

     Javi takes too long so Tate goes, "Thinking about him makes me irrationally angry."

     Not irrational, Javi thinks, touched by Tate's outrage. But he knows what that rage can do to a person, where it can drive you. When he wasn't busy hating himself, he was hating Montgomery so much for turning him into this person.

     So Javi says, "You don't even know him."

     "But I know what he did to you."

     "He didn't do anything I didn't agree to."

     "You were a kid. He was an adult. He should've known better than to let you agree to any of that."

     "Will all of our conversations go back to him?" Javi asks, tired. "Is that what we're resigned to now?"

     "I'm not going give him the satisfaction of taking that from us, too."

     Javi blinks, looking over at Tate sharply. Is that what he thinks? That Montgomery stole from him just as much as he stole from Javi. He realizes then that maybe he did. Javi wouldn't have left if there wasn't a Montgomery offering him a lifeline, tossing it to him across the poverty line like it was just a flimsy little lifebuoy.

     "Good," Javi says finally, his voice hoarse. Because notoriety did satisfy Montgomery. Javi clears his throat and in a different tone, one that's forcibly upbeat, he asks, "So where are we going exactly?"

     "Oh, Oscar didn't tell you? I like to go to this flea market to look for furniture."

     "You really enjoy this flipping business?"

     "Yeah," Tate says blushing. "It's relaxing. Gets me out of my head. I really didn't expect it to be so lucrative. Helps a lot with my mom's medical bills."

     "You were always good with your hands," Javi says without much thought, and then quickly adds, "I mean like with piano."

     Tate says just as quickly, "I know what you meant."

     The tension is thick between them. Javi can't handle it and says, "Do you mind if I take a nap? This medication makes me tired."

     "Go ahead," Tate says. "We still have forty minutes."

❂

     Tate doesn't want to wake Javi when they get there. He looks too peaceful and it's only while looking at him as he sleeps that Tate realizes how not-peaceful he looks when he's awake. He looks like he's battling things. And even though Tate knows some of those things, it still doesn't offer much clarity.

     He decides to crack the windows and leave Javi sleeping. He's not going be long in the flea market. He's been here before and he knows the few stands with furniture that he likes.

     It hasn't been but maybe ten minutes when his phone rings. It's Javi. He didn't think he had his number. "Hello?" Tate says the same time Javi says, "You left me."

     Tate almost, very nearly, says, how does it feel but he doesn't because he's a mature adult who's learning to forgive. "I didn't want to wake you," he says instead.

     "Well come back," Javi says his voice small so Tate does.

     Javi's waiting outside his truck for him. He walks up and says, "I could use some water."

     "I actually haven't eaten so lets stop by the food stands."

     They make their way quietly. Javi gets a water and a coke at one of the stands selling popcorn and pretzels. Tate gets on line for grilled sausage and onion sandwiches. It's way early for this but he's hungry so he doesn't really care about proprietary breakfast foods.

     They sit down at a picnic table under a large tent and eat. Tate didn't think to get a drink. Half way through his sandwich Javi goes, "Here" and pushes his coke towards him.

     "Should you be drinking that anyway? I read caffeine's not a good mix with antidepressants."

     "You read up on antidepressants?" Javi asks and his tone makes Tate flush.

     "I was curious and I couldn't sleep."

     "I shouldn't have a lot of caffeine but a little's okay, I guess."

     "You're not really supposed to drink either. Is that why you got so sloppy at the bar that one night?"

     "I did not get sloppy."

     "You provoked a fist fight."

     "Yeah, well."

     "Why did you do that?" Tate asks around the food in his mouth.

     "I don't know. I guess I wanted someone to hurt me."

     Tate is nearly shocked silent by the admission. It's definitely an admission of something. Is that the problem now? That Javi feels deserving of pain, of being hurt, that he looks for it in all the corners of his life.

     "You shouldn't," Tate says finally. "Want that."

     Javi rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks. Cured me." Tate rolls his eyes back, instinct, and they're kids again.

     Javi sighs, fiddling with the cap of his water. "I just don't feel all that deserving of good things, Tate. But I definitely feel deserving of bad things so I seek them out, I don't know."

     Tate sighs heavily, pressing his lips together. Finally, he goes, "Well I hate that for you."

     Javi laughs shortly. "Yeah, I hate it for me, too."

     "Do you talk to someone?"

     "Not at present, no."

     "You should."

     "Oh thanks."

     "I'm serious, it can be really helpful. I saw someone for a time."

     Javi looks up at him, surprised. "Really? I didn't expect that."

     Tate is nodding as he says, "It was really hard when you left. I guess I got kind of depressed, too. But mainly really angry. I was lashing out a lot."

     Tate watches Javi swallow, watches how the sun lights up his face. Like this, bathed in golden light, he's the boy he knew many years ago. Like this, he could love him.

     He could love him regardless, he knows. Because loving him has always just fit, this feeling he sank into without question. He didn't need to know if there was an emergency exit. He never thought he'd have to get out.

     But then Javi had breathed fire on him and Tate was scrambling for his life. There's nothing crueler than loving someone who's bent set on destroying you.

     Tate forgives him, but that hurt won't ever go away. A scab he lifts sometimes to see if it can still bleed. Always surprised by the little bursts of pain it brings. Maybe it would heal if he'd leave it alone but Javi lives in that wound. He was always afraid he'd forget him if he didn't keep reminding himself it was there.