Life becomes a defiance - when you live despite death. Not resigned of fearful, waiting for or trying to ignore an inevitable end.

Kit had always fought to survive, ever since he had realised that if anyone was going to look out for him, to love him - it would have to be himself. No-one else gave a damn.

But now... Am I losing my mind?

Last night had felt so real. It couldn't have been a dream...it must have been an hallucination.

He had spent the entire time curled into a ball, holding still and waiting for it to pass, for his senses to go back to normal. Feeling fur against his wet nose, smelling scents he didn't have names for, bending his body in ways it wasn't supposed to bend.

Finally, at dawn, he had felt that horrible, bone-melting feeling again and come to his senses, naked and shivering.

Kit hoped - hoped - that someone had drugged him, because it would mean he wasn't going crazy. For all he knew, his biological dad could have been schizophrenic or something...

Damn it, he just wanted to forget the whole thing.

I can't deal with this right now. I can't.

Intending to go search through the cabinets again, he headed out into the kitchen, only to face Charlie straightening a fresh shirt, hair damp as if he had just gotten out of the shower, eyes bloodshot and hands still a bit shaky.  

"Are you... okay, Kit? You look...You seem... Did something happ - "

Yeah, no, not going there. 

He wheeled around and faced away, bristling. 

"Nothing besides bringing back my good-for-nothing alcoholic uncle from the brink of death - why do you ask?"

"I - I'm - " He gulped. "I'm not an alcoholic..."

"Yes, you are. Look, you go out and get that drunk once a week, maybe you're just young, Charlie. Do it every day, and you got a problem. Admit it!"

He took a deep breath. Deep down he knew that berating hung-over Charlie was probably a bad idea, but right then he just wanted someone else to feel as bad as he did.

"My mom used to say, 'There's a curse on our family.' Said her dad told her that - he was an alcoholic too, right?"

"Well, its.... It's - um, hereditary. Addiction. It's not a curse..."

"Might as well be."

"And I'm not an alcoholic."

"Yeah, you are. You're an addict same as me!" Kit told him, spinning to face him again.

Shit. He closed his eyes. Didn't mean to say that.

"You are...?"

He opened them. No way to take the words back.

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"What is...?"

"My curse? It's. Sex."

"There is no curse!"

"There is. I mean, of course it's not some sort of black magic, but addiction is a curse. Everyone in our family has it. It's real and it's gonna getcha. Just accept that - at least then you know what you have to work with."

"Is that what Kitty taught you? It's inevitable, so just learn to cope?"

"So what if it was! It's true! You've got something coming if you think you'll be magically rehabilitated some day. Do you even go to AA?"

"No - "

"Oh - I get it! I get it now. You just want to hold on to hope - while doing nothing different. You don't want to actually try."

He snorted.

"Well, far be it from me to crush your illusions, Charlie. Carry on."

"I don't," he said in a small voice. "I don't have a problem. There is no curse."

"But you're an alcoholic."

"I'm not!" The panicked reply came immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. 

"I'm not, and you're not, and we just..." 

Backing away, Charlie threw a furtive glance around, snatched up his laptop bag, and fled out the door without closing it, leaving Kit standing alone.

Something about the situation seemed awfully familiar. 

"Yeah. I'm definitely not going to school today," Kit told the empty room. 

Then he went looking for booze. 

Just after ten, when Charles had been working for over three hours and finally calmed down, Hunter came into his lab.

Charles had only meant to go out for a few the night before, but now he had hazy memories of Kit coming to pick him up, of him leaning on his nephew on the way to the taxi, of someone helping him to the couch.

I'm such a terrible guardian. 

He had even failed to protect his nephew from the truth. What must Kit think of him... Even his beautiful molecules couldn't absorb his attention the way they usually did. 

Charles shook his head to clear it, focusing on his superior.

Hunter leaned casually against one of the broad, white counters, watching him turn down the flame on a burner underneath a borosilicate glass test tube before pulling off his gloves and plastic goggles. 

"Come to lunch with me later."

"You don't have a meeting?"

"Not today."

Charles looked back at his burner. "But this batch - "

"I'm going away for a while - that conference I mentioned, checking out a new location, and then I'm paying a quick visit to some relatives."

"Oh."

Hunter turned his head away, arms crossed, looking more like a suit model than a branch manager, with his golden-brown hair swept back and wearing a dark blue two-piece that fit like it had been made for him - and maybe it had. 

Charles caught himself staring and swallowed, looking away. He had known Hunter by sight for over five years, had been sleeping with him for three. Shouldn't he be used to this?

The other man levelled him with a stare. "I'll wait, then." He glanced at his steel watch. "When will you be finished?"

 "Oh. Um, not at twelve, but maybe...one thirty?"

"All right. That should give you plenty of time." 

He smiled then, and slipped a small, black, gift-wrapped box in front of him, tied with a gold ribbon.

"I saw this, and I thought of you. I'll come back at one thirty, so be ready. Have fun - with your research." 

At lunch, he ordered a bottle of honjozo sake to go with their noodles and poured a full cup for Charles before filling his own half way. 

Hunter had never been one to drink much, but since he was always buying, no-one seemed to notice. 

Charles ducked his head. He knows me too well.

After the meal, he went to wash his hands and was only half-surprised to hear the door open behind him.

Hunter pushed him up against the wall next to it and kissed him, a hard press of mouths. His taller, broader frame crowded Charles into the tiles. 

Relaxing, he slumped back with a surprised,

"Umpf!" and closed his eyes.

The scent of expensive cologne enveloped Charles and his soft lips shaped themselves to Hunter's firm ones, feeling the rough four o'clock shadow scrape against his cheek, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip. 

Hunter's hands felt good - warm - on his hips through Charles's black trousers. 

This almost felt like it had in college, when the other man might grab him at any time, press him up against a plaster corridor wall, and kiss him breathless to remind him and anyone around them who he belonged to.

Everyone had known who Hunter was. Coming from money, with good grades, good at sports, a playboy who flirted with everyone, and went to all the best parties. A golden boy, good at everything. 

Charles had felt so flattered to be singled out by him, even if he sometimes did things that made him uncomfortable...

After his mother had passed away in a hit and run - gone one day to the next when Charles had just turned 21 - he had gone to the next party someone invited him to, drunk whatever was there, copied his classmates, feeling lost and unbalanced as if the floor had shifted under his feet, as if he out on the open sea and had just dropped his charts and compass into the depths. 

The next morning he'd woken up in Hunter Harwell's bed.

It had been easy to follow along - the older boy gladly directed him. Charles had felt less anxious when he knew someone else was in charge, someone who knew what to do with him. Because he never felt as if he was in control, even when he had to be.

Whenever he was alone calm eluded him and he chewed his nails down to the quick, diving into his studies and individual lab projects.

That was when it had all gone wrong. One mistake and he had almost been expelled - if not for Hunter and his connections he would have been expelled.

Hunter kissed his jaw, working open his top button to reach more skin, and he melted against the wall, leaning his head back, panting already. He felt Hunter grin into his skin, teeth brushing over his throat.

Suddenly, the door next to them pushed open and Charles froze, eyes widening.

His boss straightened and stared down at him, their eyes almost level. Charles was slim, but tall, so he only had to look up at bit. With narrow shoulders and hips, long legs, and an air of always being a little lost, he was a stark contrast to Hunter. 

The older man might only be a few inches taller than him, but he was fit and broad-shouldered, having maintained the physique he got from college rowing by working out several times a week now, no matter how busy it got at work. 

He easily kept Charles pinned while a man in a suit walked passed them and into a stall without a second glance.

"Why don't you go wait in the car," he said, "While I pick up the cheque?"

It wasn't really a question, and Charles knew better than to answer.