Welcome back from another of my world-famous hiatuses!  I haven't given up on this or my other stories, but I haven't had time to keep up with it lately. I'm going to continue updating, albeit at a snail's pace.

Because of the lengthy break since the last update, please check to make sure you're comfortable with ALL of the warnings in the story description before continuing.

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April 19, 2013 at 11 AM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

"Dangit, Washington." I take a kinda comforting sip of the powdered hot chocolate I bought at the dollar store and all the regrets come slidin' through. All of 'em. I set the steaming mug of liquid crap down on the glass table and stick my hands in my pockets while I glare at the mon-not-gonna-end-anytime-soon pouring down on the street outside the second-story window. I let out a frustrated breath and it manages to steam up a little circle on the cold glass even from half a foot away. "Looks like another day of sittin' on my butt and slowly dying inside."

Regrets. Yeah. I have a few. Moving here, first of all. Dad and Mom and Rob and Choco were all right and I frickin' hate to say it but it's true. I never shoulda left. Not for her, anyway. She's my next big regret. On again and off again and on again and off again and ungh! She's worse than the dad gom thunderstorms here, changing her mind every week about whether she likes me or not. I mean, I know her dad really doesn't like me and you know what? That's fine. I don't give a flyin' flip. Doesn't mean she has to start a big fight and start cryin' and hang up on me all the time, then call me back two days later apologizing and sayin' it was her fault. Yeah, no friggin' kidding it was your fault. Shoulda stayed at home and dated a girl from Texas. Be a lot cheaper and harder to screw up. I look back down at the nasty bubbly mug and I feel my nose wrinkle up. That's another regret: wasting so much money moving and living here I can barely afford decent groceries. I'm about flat-butt broke and I feel like a Nooch but without the brains or the alcohol. I don't remember Mitch having this hard a time when he moved a thousand miles away from home to live by himself. Why am I the special one?

Another roar of thunder makes me jump and I feel kinda annoyed even though no one was around to see. Good thing I wasn't drinking that gross toilet slop or I'd be spending all morning scrubbing sewer sludge outta the carpet. Not like I have anything better to do, though. I actually kinda wish I was busy as hell like Mitch and Jerome with their stupid Fridge. But I can't even begin to imagine how much it must cost to run a server... Way outta my league.

And I can't help but think, 'Just like Hannah.'

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April 19, 2013 at 10 PM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

Me: so you're really not mad?

I set the phone down on the desk and glance back up at Choco's livestream, hoping to learn a thing or two about being chill from the silly, humming bird. He's got almost a hundred viewers already and he just started his Minecraft channel a couple months ago. What a beast. Even though I learn something weird and technical and probably not that useful every time I stop in to watch him run in circles and hoard crap, I'm not gonna lie: his voice puts me to sleep. And that's exactly what I wanted before she started texting again. So close...

Hannah <3: No. Being mad doesnt fix anything.

"What the frick needs to be fixed?!? What'd I do now?" I swear they teach this passive aggressive crap in school in Canada. Rob does it, Hannah does it, Mitch does it, Nooch giggles while he does it, Bray-

Hannah <3: Can we go back to how it used to be?

Hannah <3: When we didnt fight all the time?

Even Choco's smooth jazz and gentle block popping while he builds another wing of his stone mansion doesn't help. I take a deep breath and let it blast out through my nose. Why's she so good at ticking me off?

Me: i don't know what you want me to do. i don't know what we're fighting about.

Hannah <3: You never know.

"Dammit, Hannah." I just wanna throw my phone at a wall and start bawling. I'm so, so tired of this. Every freaking day there's something. Every. Single. Day. And it isn't worth it. It's screwing up my friendships with Rob and Kenny and Choco because it feels like all I do anymore is complain. And Kenny and Choco never complain about their girlfriends. And Rob just gripes when his favorite barista isn't at the coffee shop down the street. Can I go back to how it used to be? When getting a COD preorder in at midnight was the most stressful thing for a whole month straight? I take another deep breath and crack my neck, deciding to finally rise to her challenge. Letting it go and going 'round and 'round every other week doesn't solve anything so let's give this a whirl. Whether it fixes everything or makes her break up with me for good, I don't give a frick either way. Good riddance.

Me: you never tell me why you're mad so i never know what i screwed up.

Me: why don't you talk to me anymore except to yell at me?

Hannah <3: So I have to tell you youre being an asshole when you command me to make you food?

Hannah <3: Your mom must be really proud of you.

That's really low. I know I screwed up, but why's she doing this? Maybe it's a good thing we broke up again. And you know what? Not even that sad about it this time. It gets easier every time. I catch myself slapping my bare feet against the plastic computer mat in anger and I put the phone down before I mess things up again. Then I immediately pick it back up because I don't care anymore. You wanna talk about my mom? Well, I got my temper from her. Here ya go.

Me: your mom must be real proud of you sleeping with half the people on twitch

Me: go run and tell brandon we're over again

Me: i'm done

"Now she can go sleep with whoever she wants and I don't give a frick. Go right on ahead. Go get mod and go earn some more viewers. See if I care." I turn my phone off completely, knowing she's gonna start calling me as soon as the waterworks start. Same friggin' story every time we fight except I actually fought back this time instead of sending her strings of apologies I only half-understand. I groan and get up to go grab a Coke Zero and chug half of it down before I flop down on the couch with laptop and headphones in hand, ready to get back to soft jazz music and stacks of cobblestone and sweet, dreamless sleep.

---

April 20th, 2013 at 6 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

I can hear my own voice echoing faintly out of the left headphone as I lift it away from the side of my head and listen for the sound of movement in the dimly lit apartment. Nothing, for the fiftieth time. I settle the spongey foam of the noise-cancelling headphones right behind my ear so I can keep an ear out for the creakng wooden floor while I slowly, meticulously edit the last few videos for the week. Vik was a lifesaver this week, after Preston disappeared back into his dark, angsty hole of hell and refused to stop grinding his KD up on COD long enough to record. He knows I'm pissed off at him, so it'll probably be at least two or three more days before he even offers to record together again. I drag the time marker on the video back to the 12:30 mark and watch it again, frowning when I see the greyscale part still isn't at the right time. I break the time down into quarter-seconds and try again when I hear rustling behind me for the umpteenth time.

"I know you're back there." I turn my head while I shut Procyon's lid, and glossy green eyes meet annoyed hazel while I take a sip of ice cold black coffee. His arched arms sink to his sides in disappointment and his fingers unfurl from claws. His face breaks into a shitty grin and I shake my head as I set my laptop down on the scratched coffee table from Mom's basement. "It's not going to work, man. You're too noisey."

"Like you aren't!" He lifts his eyebrows at me in challenge and he heads for the kitchen and the coffee pot, his skin-tight underwear catching my attention for the first time as he walks tauntingly past. I would have to be as clueless as Preston not to follow. He didn't bother to turn the light on in his haste to tease me.

"The coffee is stale, so if you-" I reach out to flip the switch but the claw fingers get to me first, latching on and pulling me deeper into the dimming darkness.

"Fuck the coffee, Rob. Who says I wanted to wake up today?" Sharp fingernails dig into my hip bones and pull me back toward him, holding me firmly in place when I try to squirm away. Within seconds, the feeling of hot, helpless skin against hot, throbbing skin and the sound of a foil wrapper tells me that I'm going to be spending more than two days editing videos from my back on the couch.

I never realized how hard that computer chair was before.

He doesn't give me a chance to try to save myself, my ass, or my dignity before he plunges straight in as hard as he can and gets to work, maneuvering me up against the countertop as he jerks his hips wildly. I feel a surge of gratitude toward him and his insistence that we don't use the cheap ass thin condoms I bought at the convenience store as he gets to work, laughing breathlessly in my ear while I try to keep myself from whimpering from the sheer force. It's only been eight hours since our last session and it seems like he gets rougher each time. My ass is raw and on fire, and I barely have any control of my muscles back there anymore. He feels me flinching beneath him and he readjusts himself, preparing to abuse me from a different angle.

I can feel my heartbeat speed up.

I'm melting down the side of the countertop.

I've never felt so needed before.

"There you go. Why do you always have to be so stubborn, baby?" Another humiliating moan spills out of my mouth, the next more like a wail as he goes back to pounding into me at full power. My cock is pinned painfully against the grainy wood of the cabinet and I wouldn't mind his teasing if he would just massage the life back into it. He's relentless and determined, and oh so hard. The last two weeks have been amazing - I didn't realize how badly I needed this. For once, something went my way.

"Aaaa-aaaaa-aaaaaahhhhh!" He moves closer and hitches himself up so that he's basically laying on top of me on the counter, repositioning himself somehow deeper. Skin slaps skin and it feels like there isn't enough breath left in the world to catch. I wouldn't move even if I could; no one else has ever made me feel like this. I won't flatter myself and pretend it feels like this when I top. I'm not that good. It makes me wonder, though: if it's this good with just him, what would it be like if I took him up on his offer for a menage-a-trois with his girlfriend? Are all open relationships this amazing, or did I get insanely lucky after three years of shitty partners? "Ooooh..."

"You like that, don't you?" His hand wraps around my weeping head and his roughness feels so good. Unlike with my past flames, I don't just want to get off - I want to pleasure him, too. I work up the courage and the strength to try to massage him inside of me, wincing at the straining pull from his unstoppable thrust while grinning at his dramatic moans. Oh, fuck. That hurts so good...

Before long, he's thrusting erratically while his head jerks violently inside of me, his body reminding me that I am adept at at least one thing. He grinds gently against me for a few extra minutes before pulling out and away with a bittersweet parting. I rub the dark red lines stinging along my forearms from the edge of the counter while I turn on the kitchen light, sighing when I see that I need to wipe up four gleaming white streaks off of the side of the cabinet. With the rip of a paper towel and the snap of the top band of the condom, all of the evidence of our sudden ball room dance is gone. I follow him out into the living room, satisfied to see that he's still leaking liberally across the front of his briefs.

"Are you staying with Lizzie this weekend?" His eyes harden a little at my question and I wish he would stop being so defensive about it for once. Even I'm not stupid enough to criticize and fuck up the greatest idea since the beginning of human history. I somehow get more from having half of a boyfriend than I had ever had with a full boyfriend, and I'm not about to give that up.

"Yeah. Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not. You know I like our little arrangement. I just wanted to know if you were on call, in case something came up." His face relaxes and he eases himself down on the couch, resting his head back on the arm.

"Rob, with you, it's always up." He beckons to a large cum stain on the front of my pants that I hadn't noticed. I just wish my hand was as magical as his are.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Sad coffee, or real coffee?" Jake sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to decide if it would be worth getting dressed and walking down the cold, windy street to get something better than my famous black-colored water.

"Can you give me five minutes to get some rest? Some people don't have endless endurance." I shrug at him and pull my sweatpants the rest of the way off in the doorway, heading to the bathroom to wash off the cum before I toss them in the washer for some day when I feel like being an adult. I grab his clean set of clothes off of the dresser on my way out, still tying the drawstring on my clean sweatpants when I reappear in the living room to see his teasing grin. "Someone is really stylish today."

"Someone doesn't feel like spending a hour ironing shit in front of the TV every week. Upupupupup. Coffee." I toss his pile of weekend clothes at his head and go over to the bar to find my keys and my wallet.

"For fuck's sake. Why don't you hook up with your barista girl while I'm gone so you can get us a discount, at least?"

"Can't." He raises an eyebrow at me as he strips his underwear off in front of the patio door, in full view of the apartment windows set into the lovely grey wall across the way that Dar loves so much. "She's sixteen. I like not being in jail."

"I think you need a new coffee place, Rob. Two years... That's a lot of coffee."

"I thought I was the cheap bastard in this little group. Stop trying to take my title." I lay his jacket on the back of the couch while I slip into mine, laughing at his eyeroll and dramatic sigh. "Besides, if you piss off a barista, they might put a pump of organic vanilla syrup in your drink at no extra charge. That is one salty surprise I can do without, thank you very much."

"Like that redhead doesn't already give you extra foam," he laughs as he walks past, briefly locking our lips together as a hint while he slips his jacket on. "I can't tell if she hates you or really likes you."

"That sounds like my brother and half of my friends."

"You keep good company, then. No one likes too big of a circle jerk. Truth can be nice, sometimes."

'Too late for Preston to learn that. What a complete disaster.'