TRIGGER WARNINGS:

- Crying
- Depression/self-delpricating thoughts
- Tension because of sexuality

***

When Josh wakes up in the morning, his body wants none of it. He immediately is groaning, throwing an arm over his face at the sunshine coming in through the window, and sighs when the headache-- the hangover, really-- only becomes even more awful the longer he lays there.

Yeah, he came home and drank. A lot. But what else was he to do? Lay in bed and cry about everything that happened yesterday without alcohol in his system? It's a lot better when he can't remember the entirety of it. So, he'll deal with the terrible headache, and he'll deal with the guilt of not being able to handle things on his own.

After a while of helpless groaning and overthinking, Josh finally stands up from bed, dragging his feet into the kitchen. He pours out three ibuprofen into the palm of his hand and grabs a water bottle from the fridge. He gets the pills down easily. He's used to it by now. Sip after sip, too, he's making his way towards the window, staring out.

It's nice.

One thing he likes most about having a studio apartment right above the bookstore is that he is always able to work. It's never a hassle. Another good thing-- maybe Josh is trying to think of the positives to get his mind off everything-- is that, luckily enough, his store is located on one of the most popular streets for shops. Because of this, it gets a lot more traction than it might have somewhere else.

The traffic and noise is terrible sometimes, but also, Josh doesn't mind.

It beats the silence.

Silence is scary. Really, really scary.

At the thought, Josh clears his throat, moving away from the window. He's soon leaving his water bottle on the counter, shuffling back into the bedroom area to gather clothes to wear today. Honestly, the whole apartment is open. There isn't really a door for any room except the bathroom. Laying down in bed, he's looking right into the dining space and kitchen.

He likes it.

Besides, he's on his own, so there's nothing to hide.

He slowly undresses then, slipping on a pair of jeans and pulling an oversized sweatshirt over his head. It's green, his favorite color.

It was also his mom's favorite color, but that's besides the point.

Josh sighs to himself, sitting on the edge of the bed to put his socks on, body feeling numb, mind feeling numb, life feeling numb. This past year has marked the time where his limbs have become nothing other than lost and submissive. Josh surely isn't the one controlling them anymore; he'd say whatever is controlling his direction must be controlling them, too.

Josh glances to the clock he has hung up on the wall. It will be noon soon, which is when he opens the store, so, with as much energy as he could muster up, he's going into the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and messing with his hair a little. It doesn't need to be brushed. It's fine.

Afterwards, he's about to step out, yet the hollowness of his eyes catches him completely off guard. He hasn't showered either, and he probably smells like rain. There might even be tear tracks down his cheeks if he looks hard enough, as well as a glint of menace within both irises. It's in the shape of a man he once knew when he was younger and had more power. It represents confusion and coming of age. Frustration, perhaps. Definitely frustration. He's still frustrated in all honesty, and he's absolutely still confused.

He feels isolated from everything. He feels overwhelmed. He feels hungover.

Body fake, feet heavy. He's static as he moves down the stairs. Glass when everything continues to sink in.

What was once a warm color of oak is grey. Everything seems grey now-- he needs to dust. The grandfather clock ticks more loudly as the days pass by. He considers that it might be a warning sign. Something's coming. Lurking. One Sunday it will stop and reveal what God has in store for him. He knows it's nothing good.

A shell, yes, he's a shell. A shell of a man? What is he even thinking about anymore.

He needs to eat breakfast. It's too late.

His head still hurts.

Nevermind. He hit his head on the side of a bookshelf-- he watches in slow motion almost as one of the levels tumbles to the floor.

Josh stares at the fallen books longer than he should. He wonders what it would feel like to be pushed off like that, an act of a mistake, but quickly, soon, he almost immediately realizes being a mistake has become no one else's fault except his own. He is a mistake. There's no imagining. He's so out of mind that he can't do shit; he can't even walk without making the whole store a mess, what the fuck is wrong with him!

Josh is embarrassed when he starts crying. No, he's not crying, he's sobbing. Wildly uncontrolled. He has too much to let out and it never feels like enough.

His back presses against the bookshelf, and in seconds, he's sliding down until he reaches the floor, knees to his chest, face between them. Everything suffocates him, from the dust in the store to his own mind. Josh just wants to breathe. He's being strangled, there is heaps of hurdles, and not nearly enough time to cope. His inhales stutter, his lungs croak, his exhales dissipate, his fingers grope. They're scratching at his thighs, hoping to find a release to all this frustration.

There's nothing.

Perhaps he simply needs to cry, though. He's been penting all of these emotions up, surely they were going to come out sooner or later, and that's okay. He needs to realize it's okay.

Josh has gotten too used to pushing things down.

Tears fall from his cheeks and chin to his pants, jeans soaking up each of them as they come. Sorrow spills from him. Josh is a waterfall of misery, and when hearing a knock at the front of the store, he's quickly lifting his head and wiping at his eyes, praying whoever it is can't catch the absolute mess he's in.

Once standing up, it's complete relief when he sees Debby.

He's sniffling, moving to the door and unlocking it.

Instantly, Debby is pulling him into a hug. "Josh? Josh, what's wrong?" She whispers. He's pretty sure this is the first time she has ever seen him cry.

How embarrassing.

He doesn't say anything, but Debby is used to it by now. She does nothing other than hold him tight, knowing he likes the comfort of having someone there physically rather than verbally. And still, he tears up again. Breathing in and out against her shoulder-- no more, Josh. Keep it together.

"Was yesterday hard?" She murmurs after a moment.

Josh frowns, nodding frantically. His heart feels like it's about to break free from his chest soon. He needs to calm down. He needs to relax.

The pain is crippling, both mentally and physically.

"Let's sit down, okay?" She utters into his ear, hand rubbing up and down his back. Josh pulls away when he hears that, nodding, nodding, always nodding as reassurance for something. His legs tremble when he steps over to one of the sofas, dropping down onto it, and bringing his knees to his chest once again. He finds it consoling to do so.

Debby's staring at him, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

Josh sniffles.

He's embarrassed beyond belief to expose such a vulnerable piece of himself to her. To anyone, really. He can't remember the last time he has ever cried in front of someone. The longer he thinks about it though, it was probably his in front of his dad. No-- it was definitely in front of his dad. It would have been awkward if he wasn't crying, also. They were both crying. It was a hard day.

Today's a hard day.

"Was the celebration of life more overwhelming than you expected it to be?" Debby whispers, being soft as she breaks the silence.

Josh sniffles another time, shrugging. He's looking off, not meeting her eyes, he can't. He's fucking humiliated.

Nonetheless, he finally speaks up. "I-I don't know." He croaks. "I knew it-it was gonna be hard, but. . ." He shakes his head, face going between his knees again, hiding away. From her, from this situation, from everything. He hates this.

Josh knows he shouldn't be so ashamed to be vulnerable around his friend. It's human. But, he can't think of a single time where being able to express his hurt was welcomed. He grew up being taught to keep it in, and so he tries to do that as best as he can. Right now though, he's unable to no matter how hard he tries, and it's just another thing that makes him feel numb. He's never in control anymore. He hasn't been in over a year.

Debby seems to understand. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. It's okay, Josh. All I want is for you to know I'm here for you. Always." She assures. Josh's body is practically caving in on itself at this point. "What you've been going through is so fucking tough, and you have every right to hurt, and cry, and be angry. Okay? I don't want you to feel like you can't express that."

Josh swallows thickly, lifting his face from out of his knees. "Thank you." He gets out.

Debby shakes her head. "You don't have to thank me for caring about you." She says. "It's easy."

For the first time in what seems like weeks, Josh gives a genuine smile. "Shut up."

She grins at his reaction, yet it falters quickly. Josh is still criying-- it's like he can't stop. "Are you sure you're going to be able to work today?" She wonders, hand around his arm, giving it a careful squeeze.

Josh shrugs. "It doesn't matter." He comments. "The shop was closed the whole day yesterday because of the celebration of life. I'm already getting anxious at the thought of how much money I lost from that. I-I can't not work today. I have to." Running this place all by himself is harder than he thought it would be. He doesn't know how he's been able to do it without his mom.

Laura worked with him at the bookstore; they did it together. She'd typically manage the shipping and ordering while Josh worked at the register and helped customers when they needed it. With her gone, he's had to learn to do that all on his own. He orders the books now, he manages the money, he pays the fees, he does everything. Everything. Though, he thinks having so much work to do has helped him cope in its own weird way. Opposed to wallowing in self-pity, he's keeping busy. Now, there's never a moment where there's not something to do.

Sometimes it's helpful, other times, he just wants to fucking sleep.

He's thought about looking for someone else to hire. But. . . It feels wrong. Morally. Replacing his mother like it was easy. Josh will never be able to replace her, not her spirit or her service, no matter how much he needs the assistance.

He can't even begin to explain how thankful he is for his friends through all of this, either. Especially Debby. He's lucky she typically works night shifts, because through the day, she will sometimes come here, for no reason other than the fact that she knows Josh needs her. Whether he's willing to admit he needs the help or not, it's true. He trusts her, he has to. She's been here through it all, from when his mother first became ill to the time Josh couldn't even get out of bed after her passing.

He doesn't like to imagine where he would be if he didn't have Debby.

At the thought, she's standing up from the sofa, reaching her hand out for him. "Well, I can only stay 'till about five." Josh accepts it, letting her pull him up from the couch. He sniffles for the last time, wiping away the final tears for right now. He's sure (as much as he hates it) more will come later.

"You really don't have to stay, Debbs. I'll be alright." That's a lie. He only wants to make it seem like he's doing better than he actually is.

Debby dismisses it. "I'm not leaving you alone right now." She says.

Josh sighs, nodding. He's making his way over to the mess of books that fell earlier, but before he can do anything, Debby is crouching down and picking them up. "I've got it. Go wash up, I'll clean before you open."

He wants to argue that it's fine, he's fine, yet it's no use. So, he's making his way into the restroom and is splashing cold water onto his face, staring at himself in the mirror as it drips off of him. He looks different, and he doesn't know how to explain it. Something's off. He wonders if he closes his eyes and thinks hard enough if he'll figure it out. He tries to do that, hands gripping both sides of the sink while it happens. He breathes in, recollecting, breathes out, irritated. Josh doesn't know who he is anymore. Maybe someone else does.

Before he can decide who it might be, he feels a vibration in his pocket.

Josh slips out his phone to check it, wiping the water off his face with the sleeve of his sweater prior to answering.

It's his dad.

"Hello?" He gets out.

There's some shuffling on the line, the sound of the road. Josh almost rolls his eyes because if this; he has scolded him about using his phone while driving so many times, and no matter what, he still does it.

"Hey, son." Bill replies. "Sunday service just ended. I wanted to call and say that our friends are keeping our family in their prayers." He says, clearing his throat afterwards. "They wanted me to tell you they miss you and wish you'd find the time to come to church again."

Josh blinks, standing straight. "Yeah," he whispers.

Usually when Bill calls nowadays, it's more about talking to him than anything else. Josh has eventually caught on to this. Yes, he's sure people at the church did say those things to him, but that's not the real reason he's calling. Since his mother passed away, his father has been lonely. They've both been lonely. He only wants someone to talk to, so he'll go great lengths to do that. Like now. Speaking about church with Josh while knowing for a fact he is struggling when comes to that aspect of his life at the moment. Maybe he realizes it, maybe he's in denial.

Josh changes the subject. "Am I coming over for dinner tomorrow night?"

They've started doing that every now and then.

"Yes." Bill answers. "I'll make some mashed potatoes and pulled pork."

"With green beans?" It's something his mom would have asked.

"With green beans." Bill assures.

Josh nods to himself, trying his hardest to breathe, calm down enough for the rest of the day. "Okay." He murmurs. "I'll be there around five tomorrow."

"Great."

Josh nods another time, pulling his phone away for a second to check the time, bringing it right back to his ear once seeing. "I've got to open up right now. I'll talk to you soon." Josh wonders how much his father thinks about the bookstore anymore. "Bye, dad."

"Bye, son. See you tomorrow night." Bill replies.

Josh ends the call with that. He slips his phone into his pocket and looks at himself in the mirror one last time before leaving the restroom. When he comes out, Debby is sitting on the counter waiting for him. She smiles. "Were you talking to someone in there?" It's almost a joke. Was he talking to himself, she's asking.

Is he already that far into insanity? Fuck.

Josh nods his head. "My dad called."

Debby hums. "What'd he want?"

Josh shrugs, going to the front of the store to flip the 'CLOSED' sign to 'OPEN'. "He wanted to tell me that his friends from church are keeping us in mind when they pray." He discloses, playing with his lip ring at the thought. Debby watches him; she probably knows it's something he does when he's anxious.

"Is he trying to subtly coerce you into going to church again?" She chuckles.

Josh uses his tongue to move the ring side-to-side. "He just wants us to spend more time together." He mumbles. It's true.

Debby gives him a certain look. "Probably," she says. "But do you think it has anything to do with--"

"We've moved past that." Josh cuts in, clearing his throat at the thought. "Yeah, it still makes him uncomfortable usually, but he doesn't care. He loves me. Even if it bothers him to a certain degree, he accepts me. He accept it." Josh doesn't like thinking about the situation any more than he has to, which is rarely, now. It's in the past. "Besides, with my mom gone, I'm sure that's the last thing he cares about at the moment."

Debby brushes back a strand of hair over her ear, nodding. "You're right." She responds. "Sorry. You just seemed like the thought of church was. . ." She never finishes her sentence.

Josh moves behind the counter. He stands there, staring at nothing. Blank. "Church is. . . Weird." He ends up whispering, lifting his head to look at Debby. "Wanna pick the playlist today?" He asks, plugging his phone into the aux cord.

Debby smiles. "Duh."

***

The day goes fairly well. Working is able to take Josh's mind off of everything that happened yesterday, which he is ultimately grateful for, because God knows he needs it. Josh knows he needs it. It's rough when people who are aware of the situation with his mother come in and give their condolences, want discuss it, but Josh only thanks them and shifts the conversation. Music plays quietly through the store in the meantime, violin covers of popular pop songs, and he tends to focus on that throughout the hours.

When it reaches evening, Debby leaves to get him some food. It's about five-fifteen once she comes back, placing a bag of Chipotle on the counter for him.

"Got your favorite." She murmurs.

Josh nods. "Thank you." He's starving. He hasn't eaten anything since the reception yesterday, and even then it was only a few bites of food.

"No problem." Debby assures. "I've gotta start getting ready for work so I'm gonna head out." She then says, gripping the strap of her purse. "Do you want me to see if maybe Brendon can come help out the last few hours so you won't be--"

"No."

The answer is cold, brief. Debby stops right in her tracks, blinking at the response, eyebrows furrowing. "Okay. . ." She murmurs in a confused manner. "Why not? I thought you two were on good terms. Hasn't he come over a few times to help before, anyways?"

Josh shakes his head, fixated on the register, not so much her. "I don't feel comfortable being around him right now." He utters. It's quiet; he doesn't want the customers to hear their conversation. Josh is a relatively private person and he already isn't in love with the fact that countless people are aware of how shitty he has been doing, he can't bear the thought of people knowing any more than they already do.

Debby watches his behavior, slipping her purse off, placing it on the counter. She comes closer. "Did something happen between you guys?" She whispers.

Josh looks to her. "We're fine, Debby." He reassures, then grows meek. "I just don't want to be around my ex-boyfriend right now. We're friends, yeah, but I'd rather have you here, or no one. Things still get weird between him and I sometimes. I don't want to deal with it right now." It's true, to a certain extent. In all honesty, Josh believes having Brendon around right now, someone he has been intimate with, will only spark more thoughts about Tyler. He wants to forget about him, and if that means blocking out other people that could possibly remind him of his past, so be it.

Debby sighs. "I get it." She notes. "You know that all I care about is making sure you're alright. If you don't want him here though, that's fine."

Josh nods, Adam's apple bobbing. "I don't want him here." He repeats.

Debby picks up her purse again. "Okay." She says. "Well, I'll see you soon." She starts to walk away. "Text me, and remember to eat your food." The bell rings above the door as she leaves, and Josh exhales, hoping he'll be able to make it the next few hours without his best friend by his side.

***

Josh pushes through. It's nice, in a way, getting to talk and connect with people from something he enjoys so much. With all the chaos this past year has brought, he hasn't gotten a lot of time to read anymore. Reading has always been the thing he can rely on. When he reads, he escapes, and Josh has done that ever since he figured out how to. Yet, with running the shop alone, his free time is slim, and whenever he does have some, he'd prefer to relax oppose to will himself to pick up a book.

He closes the shop when it hits eight, doing his usual routine. He locks the doors and counts the money, making sure he earned the exact amount needed. He does a rundown of everything, too. It's a formula Josh has grown accustom to with no say.

By the time he's finished with everything, it's nearly nine.

He makes his way out of the store and instead upstairs, into his apartment. As soon as the doors are closed, there's complete silence. Painfully. He catches his chest start to ache unbeknownst to him, throat growing tighter subconsciously.

Being alone never gets easier.

It was different when he would spend the whole day with his mother. She made him smile, she made him happy. His whole week would be filled with joy, so coming back upstairs to himself was never a problem. He was fulfilled. He was getting the alone time he needed. Now, his alone time isn't optional. He's alone from the minute he wakes up, to when he falls asleep. In his dreams, it's the opposite. Josh often finds himself getting to say the things he couldn't to his mother when she was alive. They hug, comfort one another, laugh. It's the only solace he gets anymore. Maybe that's why he likes sleeping. He doesn't feel alone.

Josh showers once collecting some clothes to
rest in, pleased as warm water runs over his hair and body. He looks down, almost expecting it to be tinted a certain color, but he realizes quickly that's not going to happen. He wishes it would. He remembers loving to do it when he was younger, after he'd dye his hair. Seeing the water a vibrant red or blue was exciting.

Still to this day, Josh is surprised his parents let him do that. Dye his hair. Really, it was out of character for them. They never liked the idea of Josh doing something that would draw too much attention to himself, or make him an outcast. The ironic part of it all was that he didn't even have to try to be an outcast. It came naturally to him, which is something he never was comfortable with. Though, Josh thinks the reason they let him do it was solely because they didn't want him to feel like they were putting a limit on how he could express himself. They wanted him to be content with who he was, even if they didn't agree in some cases.

Josh is positive that's why.

By the time he's out of the shower and into pajamas, he doesn't bother to make anything to eat. The burrito Debby brought him earlier is still tying him over, so he ends up crawling into bed and putting on Netflix, certain he'll fall asleep by ten.

***

The next day, Josh sleeps in. He isn't worried about running the shop today since it's closed on Mondays, and he definitely isn't worried about waking up at any certain point. Josh sleeps until two. He almost considers sleeping longer when he wakes up, yet by the time he has done that, he realizes he needs to piss, and he already knows once he's up and out of bed he'll be too awake to fall back asleep.

Josh groans on his way to the bathroom, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling as he uses the toilet. He sniffles when finishing, flushing, tucking himself back into his boxers before washing his hands.

It's only a few minutes later where he's eating Frosted Flakes like he doesn't have a dinner to attend in three hours. He eats not one, but two bowls. He sits at the small table between his living room and kitchen, watching the television from a distance. It's mind-numbing, and he can't tell if it's something he has fallen into or has always enjoyed. Either way, he sits there for longer than he should, knee up to his chest, chin on top of it. If someone were to ask him what's happening in the show, he wouldn't be able to give a proper response, and still, he's fixated.

Josh is there all the way until he finally loses focus when he hears his phone ringing. It's the first time he stands up in hours; his hips and legs can't tolerate him. They move nonetheless, forward, to his bedside table to answer the phone.

"Hi, Debbs." He murmurs.

"Hey," she replies. "I'm heading into work soon but wanted to check up on you. Was the burrito good? Did the rest of the day go okay?"

Josh is about to answer, yet when taking in everything she says, his eyes widen. Debby usually goes to work at six. . . Fuck. He looks at the clock, seeing that it's five thirty-seven. Shit, shit, shit. His dad. "Um," he gets out, mind on something totally different. "The burrito was good. And yeah, yeah, the rest of the day was fine."

"I'm glad." Debby remarks.

Josh grows preoccupied with trying to dress into some better clothes. He's slipping out of his gym shorts and is sliding some jeans up his legs, putting Debby on speaker while he gets a top. She's talking, saying something, he can't listen. He can't stop worrying what his dad is going to think. He doesn't want to let him down and now that's all he's considering happening.

Josh shakes his head anxiously, tossing a maroon knitted sweater on.

"Josh?" Debby pipes up. He looks over to his phone again, huffing.

"Sorry." He's such a bad friend. "I just realized I'm late for dinner with my dad." He confesses, not finding any reason to keep it from her. He owes her that at least, from quite literally ignoring every single thing she said prior.

"It's okay. You were being really quiet so I got worried." She explains, far too nice. Josh deserves to have resentment towards him. "Do you need me to let you go? I have to leave right now, anyways."

"Yeah. I need to start heading out, also." He mentions, throat tight, fingers fiddling with a belt loop. "Sorry. Thank you for checking up on me. . . I. . . I really appreciate it. I hope you're doing alright. I wish I could talk longer." He's guilty. Since his mother has been gone, he's grown such a prestine selfishness. He thinks about himself and nothing else. He often wonders if he has always had this inside of him and is now using this terrible situation as an excuse to let it out.

"No worries. I'll talk to you soon." Debby hangs up before Josh can respond. Over time, she has grown aware of the fact that
he can't stand goodbyes.

It's sweet, in its own weird way.

Josh gets some socks on and ties the laces to his boots then. Afterwards, he grabs his keys, locking his door, and is out. The drive to his parent's place consists of him listening to mediocre alternative music on the radio and trying his hardest not to reflect on how much he was fuming the last time he was in the car. It was a lot. He wasn't mad at God that day, he wasn't mad at life, he wasn't even mad at Tyler. He was mad at himself, for falling back into that person he can't stand. It disgusts him, enrages him.

Josh's grip clenches tighter around the steering wheel because of it, knuckles turning white and stay white until he's in front of the house, parked.

When nearing the door, Josh doesn't knock. He walks right in, he always does, but this time, it's because he's later than expected. His father has probably been staring at the door waiting for him.

Josh steps further inside to see him in the kitchen, casting a glance his way.

"This is a lot later than 'around five'." He mentions as soon as he sees his son. The tone makes something deep down within
him recoil, not because he's particularly nervous from that, it's because he let him down.

Josh always lets him down.

He sits at the dining table. "I've been out of it today." He states, trying to excuse himself.

Bill keeps his eyes on him. Neither of them are good with words-- which is ironic in Josh's case considering his whole work life, he's surrounded by them-- so it's typical for there to be silence. Thoughts oppose to speech. Bill does this often; looks at Josh until he figures out whatever it is he needs from him. Something about it is beyond degrading.

"You're fine." He concludes, turning around to face the food laid out. "I just finished the potatoes, anyways."

"Do you want me to set the table?" Josh wonders.

"Yes."

Josh nods to himself, standing up from his seat. It's easy for him to set the table because he has done it for years. Even as a kid, it was something he did, without being asked, and when he moved into his own place he often still did it out of routine. Now, too, he catches himself doing it sometimes. He thinks it might be a coping thing for him. Set a table for people, despite there being none. Does that make any sense at all? He has no clue.

By the time Josh is finished, Bill has already sat down. He does the same.

Wordlessly, they fill their plates.

Josh gets a good amount of mashed potatoes and pork, pouring gravy on top of all of it, and like a kid, he pushes his greenbeans to the side so it won't touch the rest of his food. Without another second to pass either, he's picking up his fork, about to take a bite, but his father puts a stop to it before it could happen.

"Josh," he says in a stern tone.

Immediately, he puts his fork down. "Sorry." He apologizes, lifting his hand for his dad. Their fingers connect, and his head bows, submissive to a man he isn't certain he can trust anymore.

"Do you want me to do it?" Bill asks.

Josh nods.

He sighs. Maybe he's expecting Josh to lead one day. Nonetheless, his head bows like his son's, eyes closing. "Dear Heavenly Father," he begins. "Thank you for blessing us with this food and making sure we get fed. We also want to thank you for allowing Laura's celebration of life to go well, and are grateful for each and every one of our family and friends who joined us that day. We know you're taking good care of her for us, and for that, we're glad." He squeezes Josh's hand slightly. "Amen."

"Amen." Josh mimics.

Silently, the two of them begin eating. It would be uncomfortable, but they've had too many of these dinners for it to bother him anymore. Josh found it helps break the tension if he focuses solely on the food, the silverware against the plate, things like that. Besides, Josh is used to the quietness, especially around his dad. The two of them struggle so much when it comes to opening up it's unbelievable. Spending the last couple of years at the hospital together though, they've gotten better with it. It's hard to imagine there was a time where it was worse than this.

"Our family was disappointed you didn't stay longer to talk Saturday." Bill brings up.

Josh shakes his head. "I had to leave." He discloses.

Bill observes him, not saying a thing for a while. He goes to collect some more mashed potatoes. "You and Tyler went outside and by the time I went to check on you guys, you were gone." Subtly, he's wanting an explanation. For more than one thing. Josh can already tell.

Josh shrugs.

Bill sighs, again. "Josh, talk to me."

"About what?" He responds, almost irritably.

"What happened?" He asks. They stare at one another, eyebrows in a carefully austere stance, in unison.

Josh shakes his head, looking back down at his plate. He doesn't want to talk about the fucking celebration of life right now and he definitely doesn't want to talk about Tyler. "I just don't understand why you invited them." He mumbles. He knows why, yet for the purpose of relating to him, he truthfully doesn't get it. Josh has told his father that he never wants to see Tyler again, what makes him think there would be a difference now? Because his mom died?

"I told you why." Bill says. "Don't blame me for being the reason you and Tyler aren't close anymo--"

"I'm not blaming you, dad." Josh utters.

There's a pause. Bill looks to his son another time, processing the whole situation. "You still have never told me why you don't want to see him anymore." He imparts, and as soon as it's said, Josh feels his stomach twist.

He closes his eyes, inhaling, exhaling. "There's a reason for that." He mentions, opening his eyes, but not looking at him.

"What is it?" He pushes.

Josh shakes his head. "You're not going to want to know."

Bill let's go of his fork, sitting taller in his chair. "Josh."

Josh, finally, looks at him. "You're not going to want know." He repeats, with more intent, and a certain truthfulness to his eyes.

It goes completely silent after that. He and his father stare back at one another, blinking, thoughts racing on both ends. Josh's knuckles are turning a familiar white around his fork, absolutely peeved, and Bill's shoulders grow less tense, body leaning closer. There's a gleam of realization Josh catches in both irises, one he has never seen before from his father in his entire life. It's uncomfortable.

Bill's lips part, eyes searching for something he's unaware of. "You two. . ."

Josh swallows thickly, huffing as he stuffs his face into his hands.

It's so quiet he can hear the water dripping from the faucet.

They've never spoken about it. Not about him and Tyler, not about it. Bill has grown accustom to Josh being gay, though, whether purposefully of not, he makes it known that he doesn't want to hear about the rest. So Josh makes sure he doesn't. He never discusses his relationships, which means he has never told him about the things that happened between him and Tyler. Bill has always been under the assumption that their distance was because Josh found Tyler to be rude.

He let him believe that.

The silence this time around is not something Josh can avoid. It's sickening.

"Josh," Bill tries.

He isn't sure he has the will to tell him anything. Especially because he knows it's not a conversation he'll enjoy.

Josh takes his hands away from his face, looking at his father. "When we were neighbors with the Joseph's, I was going through a really hard time trying to understand myself, and right before we moved I realized how much Tyler used me." This is so fucking humiliating, he can't stand it. "He took advantage of the things I was going through. Every time I think about it I feel gross, dad. Okay? I didn't and I still don't want to see him."

Bill is taut, and also, visibly upset. "What do you mean he used you?"

Josh wants to throw up. "We were just stupid teenagers." He whispers, trying to dismiss it.

Bill has never seemed so earnest. "Josh, did Tyler do something against your will?"

Quickly, Josh shakes his head, fingers fiddling in his lap. He's irritated, he's nervous, he's sad. He hasn't thought about all of this in ages, and now it's coming back up, drowning him in dejection. "No." He assures, sighing. "It's not that. He never did anything like that." He doesn't know how to tell him the whole story without making it awkward. Well, more awkward than it already is. "Tyler just took advantage of situations for his own benefit, I. . . I realized that."

Bill seems appalled.

Josh can't blame him; this must be shocking news.

"I didn't know Tyler was. . ." He doesn't finish his sentence. The word is like venom.

Josh shrugs. Talking about this with his father is so strange he almost can't believe it's true. The two of them converse now, but it's like they're living a double life. For Josh, at least. He lives, loves, thrives, then he comes here, to this table, and pretends it never existed. He tells Bill about the bookstore oppose to a guy he's seeing, or how he misses his mother, instead of Brendon, who he was once dating. Bill still doesn't know about a single boyfriend Josh has ever had. He met Brendon a few times since he used to help Josh with the store while his mom was ill, yet he always considered him his son's friend, and nothing more.

Partially, it's Josh's fault, also. He shouldn't be scared to expose his father to his day-to-day life. He's gay. He always will be, and hiding it for the sake of hopefully making his father more comfortable is ridiculous.

It's a difficult situation.

"Did your mom know?" Bill suddenly wonders. After all, Josh and his mother were a lot closer than the two of them have ever been.

Josh shakes his head. "It was stuff that happened eight years or so ago. I don't talk about it with anyone." Not even Debby knows about Tyler, or a thing that happened when he was younger. "Just you."

Bill clears his throat. "It sounds like it really bothers you, Josh." He tries.

"I'm fine, now."

Bill picks up his fork again, continuing to eat once more. "I guess it's best if you and him don't see one another." He concludes, probably reaching his limit on how much he's willing to talk about this stuff with his son. This is the first time they've had such an open conversation, one that involves Josh actually speaking about his life, and not just what his father wants to hear. It's weird.

"Yeah." Josh agrees.

It's for the best. He has known that.

The two of them don't speak the rest of dinner. They simply focus on finishing their meals, and once they're done, Josh helps wash the dishes and put leftovers into containers for Bill to eat later. Typically, after this, Josh would stay around a little while more, enough for them to watch a movie together, but tonight, it's different. Something makes his stomach churn the longer he's here.

"I'm gonna head out." He says when everything is over with.

It seems Bill is ready for tonight to end, too, because instead of protesting him to stay, he nods. "Okay, son. Drive safe."

"I will." Josh assures.

He looks at him awkwardly, almost wondering what he should do. They don't usually hug. Saturday was different, though, because it was tough for both of them and they needed comfort. Usually, it never happens otherwise, so now, Josh is stuck between wanting to do it again (as a thank you for giving him the chance to open up for once) and knowing it would probably only make the tension between them even worse.

He decides against it, providing a terse smile instead before leaving.

Josh wishes him and his father were closer. He can't tell if it's Bill that's holding their relationship back, or if it's his own fault. Maybe it's simultaneous. Either way, his dad isn't a bad parent, whatsoever, it's that his beliefs often get ahead of things that could thrive, and oppose to Josh trying to help him change that, he conforms. To please him. To please God. To try to please himself.

It doesn't work; it isn't working. It never has. It's a broken system, but one he and his father have managed to find comfort in. The comfort is miniscule, safe, yet uneasy at the same time. The whole situation makes Josh's mind spin, that's why he tries his hardest not to think about it.

He spends the drive back to his home with the window down. The breeze through his hair makes him feel lively, for the first time in months. It's refreshing. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other sticking out. He wiggles his fingers, sways his arm up and down, side-to-side. His mom would have scolded him for it, told him it's dangerous, and at the thought, he's grinning, sticking his arm out farther.

It's funny, life is. Josh laughs.