the hand that feeds & the heart that bleeds - F0LLOWYOURHEART (Hinatahyuga), Hinatahyuga (2024)

Chapter 1: Day 1 - Behind it all

Chapter Text

"Thank goodness," Dr. Gordon stammered, his voice quivering with relief as he gazed at Adam Faulkner, whose brown pupils slowly cleared from their foggy state. He struggled to make out the features of Dr. Gordon's face, hidden behind a curtain of golden blonde locks. Tall and bulky, dressed in a blue robe, the standard hospital gown, and generic lounge pants typically reserved for emergency department patients, Lawrence’s hands trembled, betraying his anxiety as he leaned in closer to the younger man.

"You're awake," he stated with a heartfelt sigh.

Suddenly, a surge of pain coursed through Adam's body, acutely aware of the void in his chest where the bullet once was. Despite the sharp discomfort in his side, all his attention was fixated on the man sitting across from him, alive and well.

"I told you I would get help," Dr. Gordon stated, almost in whisper.

Adam's face flushed with a whirlwind of emotions: anger, relief, sadness, complete shock, and above all, elation to see the man who had been chained across from him in that bathroom. Rubbing his wound with his thumb, Adam gasped, a hint of laughter in his tone. "You got me good, you asshole."

"Please, don't strain yourself, Adam. You need to rest," Dr. Gordon implored.

"Screw you, I'm fine," Adam retorted, pushing his own pain to the side. "It can't be worse than your—"

The memories of the bathroom flooded Adam's mind—the horror of Lawrence's face going pale, the blood, the motion of that dreaded saw, the severed leg. Only second in his mind was their embrace.

"—Oh my god. Oh my god, Lawrence, holy f*ck, your leg—"

"I know. It's okay. Calm down," Lawrence reassured him. "You don't need to spike your blood pressure. I'm fine."

"No, no, oh my god, Lawrence—"

Adam's gaze fixated on Lawrence's prosthetic leg.

"Not exactly in my ten-year plan, but it'll do," Lawrence remarked with a touch of humor.

"I never took you for a funny kinda guy."

"Well, I didn't have many options. It was this or..." Lawrence trailed off. Both of them fell silent. The energy in the room shifted. Noticing Lawrence’s gaze migrate to the floor, Adam reached out to grab his attention and shift the tone.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. Sorry, just had a moment. Lawrence... I'm so glad you're okay," Adam said, reaching out to touch Lawrence's collar. He awkwardly adjusted his position in the hospital bed, as if attempting to pull Lawrence closer, to feel more connected to him.

Lawrence complied, propping himself up and gently pulling the frail man's head against his chest, pulling him closer. After their harrowing experience in the bathroom, physical intimacy felt natural and almost instinctual. Adam buried his head into Lawrence's chest, taking in the comforting scent of his cologne. His mind briefly pondered over the thought of how Lawrence's wife must have brought it to him at the hospital.

"Rich bastard," Adam thought, "You cut off your damn foot and nearly rot to death, and you still smell this good. Screw you."

Lawrence brushed his fingers through Adam’s dark hair, his mouth pressed to his part. “It’s Armani actually.”

Adam's hands gripped Lawrence's back, their hold almost painful in its intensity. "f*ck you, old man. Fffuuuckkk yooooou.” Tears streamed down Adam's face.

Lawrence's fingertips exuded a gentleness that contrasted with his hands, weathered and worn from years of surgical labor. His palms bore the calluses of a lifetime, strands of Adam's hand catching on them as Lawrence continued to stroke him. The amalgamation of Lawrence's comforting scent and the tender sensation of his caresses could have easily lulled Adam back to slumber, but he resisted the temptation. He yearned to savor this moment—the warmth, the intimacy, the profound trust he had never before experienced with another human being. He couldn't help but wonder if their shared ordeal in the bathroom had altered his mental state or if this connection was genuine, perhaps even fated. It hardly mattered to him. He was determined to cherish this feeling.
"Diana and Alison are coming for a visit today. They mentioned we should be discharged in a few days."

Adam's disappointment seeped into his tone. "You're leaving?" He hesitated before adding, "I mean... no, yeah. Do what you gotta do."

Lawrence's thumb gently caressed Adam's cheek. "Don't frown like that," he said reassuringly. "Reporters are scheduled to visit in a few hours. It's standard procedure. We’ll have plenty more time together. As a matter of fact,” Lawrence’s hands found his pockets. “I'm sure we'll be sick of each other by the end of the week." Lawrence's eyes diverted to the door, waving at the younger man as he started out the exit. Adam truly felt the loneliness seep over him in the absence of Lawrence. Cold drifted over his body, recalling the warmth he felt from Lawrence's arms around him. As his attention came back to his body, embarrassment seeped into him, recalling the excitement left from Lawrence's touch. This has to be some sort of response to the trauma of what they'd been through. One hug surely couldn't have this effect on someone who was truly adjusted. He stared at his pants with an annoyed expression, and flopped back on the hospital bed.

The corners of Adam's mouth drooped, a pang of jealousy welling up at the mention of his wife's name, leaving a bitter taste in his throat.

"Yeah," he muttered, shrugging and turning his back to gaze out of the hospital room window.

"I'm sure you're right."

Chapter 2: Bite the hand that feeds / the one where they kiss

Chapter Text

"The Poseidon Adventure" blared on the hospital CRTV. Adam inched closer to Lawrence, settling comfortably on the hospital room couch. Once again, the difference in their accommodations was palpable: Adam had what could only be likened to a budget motel room, while Dr. Gordon enjoyed something akin to a penthouse suite in the ICU.

"I swear they play this movie just to mess with us. It's always on," Adam groaned, his eyelids fluttering in sarcastic irritation, staring at the pixels from the TV monitor mounted on the wall.

Chuckling, Lawrence shuffled closer until their upper arms touched, fabric from their shirts rustling quietly as he scooted next to Adam, who was curled into a fetal like position.

"This channel seems to have only about four movies in rotation. I don't mind, though. They're classics. I like the predictability."

"I guess so. They're old."

"HA. So am I."

"Yeah, but you're the kind of old I'm into. You're-"

Holy f*ck, what did I just say, what the f*ck just came out of my mouth. Its the drugs clearly. The two fidgeted separately as the title screen of "Poseidon" rolled. Adam's thoughts raced. An awkward atmosphere enveloped the room, sapping their energy and making it near impossible to breathe.

“I’m so f*ckin bored here.”

More silence ensued.

"You get used to it after a while. You sometimes learn to appreciate the moments of boredom. In this profession you don't always get to enjoy downtime. This feels like a vacation."

f*ck.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"

"Are you ready to talk about what happened?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't say much to the reporters. I didn't want to push you. I'm sorry if it was too soon."

"Nah," Adam shrugged. "I just don't know what to say right now."

"Would it help to talk about how you feel?" Lawrence asked, his expression sensitive, eyebrows raised, and lips pursed. Therapist Gordon, Adam almost rolled his eyes at the thought.

"I'm confused. Scared? But mostly scared."

"What are you afraid of?"

Adam sighed again.

"Honestly? I'm afraid of what will happen when this is over. When we're discharged and have to return to our separate lives. You say we'll never be the same but I feel like you will and I'll just be left here. I feel like I can hardly breathe during the two hours you spend with your family. The only relief I get is when I wake up to see you or when I visit you here. I'm scared- I'm so scared for when this ends."

Lawrence's hand gently found its way to Adam's shoulder, and this time, the sensation of his fingertips was distinct. His hand seemed to mold itself to Adam's shoulder blade, pulling him closer.

"You know we won't just stop talking when we're discharged. Adam, you can come stay with me. We have a spare room."

"With you, or with you and your wife?"

Lawrence's hurt expression became apparent, his eyes glistening, and his lower lip nervously bitten.

"Not many women, other than Alison Gordon, would serve divorce papers the day after their husband nearly bleeds out from self-amputation, but she never fails to surprise me."

"So you and I. In your house? With your wife, lawyers in and out for this divorce, and your kid on weekends? I couldn't do that to your life. You at the hospital while I sit at home and wait for you to get back? What's your plan? What kind of situation would that be, Larry? I'm not trying to burden you. I'm not a charity case, and I can't inconvenience you like that."

"Adam."

"Please, man, I seriously can't take that look. You're like a sympathy laser."

"Adam, I don't know how I can be any clearer with you. I don't feel sorry for you. I want you to stay with me so I can keep you safe. I want to support you. We're the only ones who know what we've been through. I'm not lying to you. I've proven to you I wouldn't."

The dark-haired man turned his neck to face the tall, solemn doctor, their eyes locking as Lawrence's thumb met Adam's bottom lip. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

All the pain from their past traumas seemed to dissipate from their bodies, replaced by the electric currents of anticipation and adrenaline. Lawrence's finger traced Adam's cracked lips in a slow, circular motion, parting them ever so slightly. Closing his eyes, Adam couldn't resist the growing heat between their bodies. Their lips met, and Lawrence was quick to deepen the kiss, their tongues dancing in a passionate tango as Lawrence gently lowered them onto the couch. Lawrence momentarily left to lock the door and pull two privacy curtains over the window. In that crowded hospital room filled with foreign beeps and the distant echoes of footsteps, it felt as if they were the only two present.

Lawrence met Adam back on the couch, resuming their fervent kissing as he lifted the more fragile man until he straddled his lap. Adam let out a soft gasp, feeling Larry's growing arousal pressing against his groin.

Larry began to grind against Adam's hips, holding him closer until they could feel each other's body heat completely. Adam's breath quickened with every touch from Lawrence, his bottom lip bitten in an attempt to hold back moans as warmth and wet pooled at the tip of his erection.

"Larry, please," Adam moaned, desperately begging for release.

Unbuttoning his pants, Lawrence freed Adam's throbbing member, bringing it closer to his mouth until Adam's tip nestled at the back of his throat. Adam gasped sharply, covering his mouth to muffle the impending scream that threatened to escape. It was evident that this was Lawrence's first blowj*b, but Adam didn't mind. He had never felt anything quite like this, and he savored every lick and sensation on his body.

Lawrence increased the pace, sucking the tip of Adam's member as it grew harder in his mouth. Releasing it from his tongue's grasp, Lawrence wet two fingers with his saliva and teased Adam's entrance. Their eyes locked, and Lawrence's gaze begged for permission to enter. "Please, Larry," Adam begged.

Lawrence's expression shifted from pleading to nearly sad*stic, observing the way Adam unraveled in his arms.

Lawrence's fingers entered Adam, expertly finding his prostate as Adam gasped for air. With one hand working inside of him and the other stroking his aching co*ck, Adam cried out, "Oh, god, Larry, please."

Lawrence relished in teasing him. "Please, what?" he taunted, his fingers curling faster and harder, eliciting gasps and moans from Adam with every movement.

"Oh, god, please, f*ck," Adam stammered, writhing as pleasure coursed through his body, his co*ck throbbing with need.

"Adam," Lawrence's lips brushed his fingertips, wetting them with his thick saliva.

Lawrence’s fingers entered Adam, kneading at his prostate as he gasped for air, with one of his hands kneading inside of him and the other stroking his co*ck. “f*ck,” Adam cried, “Lawrence, please.”

Lawrence enjoyed teasing him. “f*ck, please, what?” he said, his fingers curling faster and harder, as Adam’s co*ck twitched with every exit and entry. "f*ck me, Larry."

“Oh, I will,” Lawrence’s lips teased Adam’s neck, brushing across them. “But not until we’re home. Stay with me.”

“f*cking hell Larry,” Adam gasped.

“I want to keep you safe. Then I’ll f*ck you good.” Lawrence panted, bucking his hips to tease Adam while he moved his hand to jerk him off.

“I’m going to cum- f*ck you Larry- f*ck don’t leave”

“Go ahead, then when we’re home I’ll make you beg.”

“f*ck–”

Adam’s bursted, his member covering Lawrence’s chest in his liquid, collapsing back onto Lawrence’s lap. The two’s minds swirled with thoughts of this moment they shared. Lawrence turned over, inviting Adam to be the little spoon, and drift off to sleep in this secure haven they’d created in these hospital rooms.

“I hope I wasn’t too rough.”

“Shut the f*ck up. You were perfect.”

Lawrence kissed Adam’s ear, only to be interrupted by a loud knock on the hospital room door.

“Dr. Gordon? You have some visitors.”

Chapter 3: No Surprises

Chapter Text

Adam stared at the cracked white wall, using his upper arm as a pillow while the crackling sound of the scratched Radiohead CD blared into the headphones of his walkman. He wondered how old the rental electronic was, how many hands prior to his had touched it and never got to see the outside of the hospital walls again. These dark thoughts weren't abnormal for him. It was almost uncanny that of all people, he had been put in one of John’s traps. Despite the memories of the first time he had been overprescribed Ritalin as a child to the first party he had ever attended and realized immediately his brain didn't work like other people's, he had grown used to the way he could overthink everything. He imagined the hospice patients who might have pressed the buttons of that same Walkman, or the child who had stupidly jumped from their roof and broken both their legs, anxiously fidgeting with the audio player. Despite the skips and cracks on the scratched CD, the familiar sound of one of his favorite bands provided him solace.

The intro to "Karma Police" filled his earphones while his mind drifted back to that moment on the couch. He remembered how Lawrence had hesitated before rising to greet his wife and child, yet earnestly implored Adam to stay and meet them, reaching to help him up. The memory of how his anxiety surged, a sharp acid burning in his throat, as he desperately sought a way to discreetly exit the room and search a second entrance.

"Please stay. Diana will have to meet you at some point, whether it's now or later."

Adam's face reddened with a convoluted mix of guilt welling up in his chest. He shook his head, slapped his hand against his forehead, and scrunched his eyes in a bewildering blend of confusion and sheer frustration.

"So, I'm supposed to meet her right after I've just been screwing with her dad on the couch? Sounds like a family moment she'll cherish forever."

With each passing second, Adam could only imagine the suspicions brewing on Alison's side of the door. It all seemed so unfair. He was well aware that she had long recognized Lawrence's reputation as a womanizer and a cheat, even before Adam entered the picture, yet he couldn't help but empathize with her. Simultaneously, his selfish side yearned to have Lawrence all to himself. Having come from a broken home himself, Adam understood that this situation would inevitably affect Diana sooner or later. The trauma of their kidnapping might already be laying the groundwork for a challenging adolescence, marked by, at the very least, post-traumatic stress disorder.

Adam sighed. Lawrence opened his arms, reaching out to put a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

"Sure, why not? She'll have to meet you sooner or later. You’re coming home with me Adam. We were just watching TV, as far as they know. Don't get ahead of yourself."

In an outburst of frustration, Adam began to open the door but then hesitated. He didn't want to leave things like this.

Turning back toward the taller man, he finally reached out to touch Lawrence's cheek, sharing a quick peck with his golden-haired lover.

"Have a good visit, Larry. See you later tonight."

He remembered the sadness on Lawrence's face. The disappointment that stained his eyes, but more than that, the desperation to beg him to stay as Adam left, nodding at the Gordons and quickly leaving. He wondered what they talked about once he left. If Alison demanded to know why they took so long. If she asked who he was. If she knew what was happening.

Adam pushed forward on the Walkman to skip "Fitter Happier," and "Electioneering" played next. Shifting his body, he repositioned himself to examine the details of the popcorn ceiling. Tapping his abdomen, he listened to the music, reminiscing about the complexities of his relationship with Lawrence.

"When I go forwards, you go backwards,

And somewhere, we will meet.

When I go forwards, you go backwards,

And somewhere, we will meet."

This was the man he had once waited for on street corners and accepted $100 to photograph, practically stalking , only to wake up chained to him in a bathroom. Adam remembered the hours spent in the darkroom of his apartment, pinning up pictures of Lawrence to dry. That face taunted him every time. Whoever Lawrence was with in that hotel room, Adam couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy even before he had met the man. He recalled the pathetic feeling of ripping himself away from the impulse to touch himself to those photographs. And now, here he was, bearing the scars from a bullet fired by the same man who had somehow managed to ensnare his heart in a convoluted, horrid emotional vice in such a short time.

“It's always best when the covers up

I am the pick in the ice

Do not cry out or hit the alarm

You know we're friends till we die”

"Mr. Faulkner, phone for you." A hushed voice reached Adam's ears, and he glanced up to find a nurse standing in the doorway.

Adam was ripped from his haze. It had only been a few days, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t happy to finally receive a sign of life from his limited social circle.

Taking the receiver, Adam spoke softly into the phone. "Hello?"

A raspy cough emanated from the other end of the line, and Adam could almost smell the pungent stench of whatever was being smoked as he immediately recognized the caller. "Scott?"

"He lives!" Scott's voice was heavy with a mix of "totally not getting the depth of the situation" excitement and wet with sarcasm. He used that same tone when Adam came back to school after a week of the chicken pox in 3rd grade. It was clear the two situations were no different in his mind.

Sigh.

"Yeah, still here," Adam replied casually, as if he hadn't almost bled to death a few days ago. No big deal.

"It's Adam," he retorted in a soft voice speaking away from the phone and to the other people present in his dirthole apartment, as Adam realized that this call wasn't a wellness check; it was a request for a favor. A checkup at minimum, a joke at most. He should have known better. Leave it to Scott to pull this sh*t.

“So hey,” Scott continued, “When they letting you out? Chance you can take a few shots for our show Friday? Got a buddy who I put in a good word about you with. He's even willing to throw in a few extra twenties because you're a 'Jigsaw survivor.' Hes been pretty dope about it."

This f*cking guy. Adam thought.

“I mean, I’ll be honest, I dunno when I’ll wanna pick up a camera again. Probably need some therapy or some sh*t seeing where photography landed me.”

Silence followed on the other end of the line. A cough, a gag—oh, he could practically smell the stench of the room Scott was calling from. Oh right, Scott had been a zero-empathy sociopath since second grade. Adam didn't expect more, but somehow, he was still disappointed.

“That sucks buddy, sorry to hear well uh. You know anyone else? Kinda short notice of you to say you can't.”

is this guy forreal?

"Nah, I'm sure you can find someone. You guys always manage with or without me. Good luck."

“Alright bud, see ya around. Have fun with that rich douche you got stuck with! Hope he pays for that therapy.”

God.

“Yeah, 'm sure he will.”

“See ya around Adam.”
“Yeah bye Scott.”

Click.

f*ckkk this guy.

Adam threw the phone down and burst into tears, each feeling of emotion hitting him hard like the actual bullets he had been shot with. Pulling his legs into his chest, Adam began rocking himself back and forth gasping for air as tears poured down his cheeks for the first time in days.

Angry.

Apathetic.

But Mostly Pathetic.

f*ck this.

“Adam?”

Lawrence stood in the doorway, his boyish face wearing a perplexed expression. Not now, Adam thought. But also; Please stay, please don't go away, please come here and swallow me.

Adam's gaze locked onto Lawrence's, and Lawrence recognized the silent plea for his presence. In a rush of urgency, he reached out, scooping Adam into his arms and guiding them both to the bed, throwing a sheet over them like a protective cocoon. In that moment, they were safe, and Adam felt the reassuring embrace of security.

Contrary to the earlier moments when he had to fight sleep, Adam now welcomed the respite, relishing in the sensation of safety as Lawrence gently stroked his hair.

"It's okay," Lawrence whispered, his soothing tone reminiscent of how he comforted Diana after nightmares. The knowledge that he was a good father brought an oddly comforting sense to Adam. Despite all his flaws, Lawrence was a good man.

Closing his eyes, Adam surrendered to the first genuine rest he had experienced in weeks. Lawrence held him with a tenderness that felt like being wrapped in a warm, protective blanket. The scent of Lawrence's cologne and the musky hint of sweat intoxicated Adam's senses as he drifted off. Lawrence's lips brushed against his forehead, fingers running through his hair, and he rocked Adam gently, holding him close, assuring him that he was indeed safe.

"You are all I need

You're all I need

I'm in the middle of your picture

Lying in the reeds

I am a moth

Who just wants to share your light

I'm just an insect

Trying to get out of the night

I only stick with you

Because there are no others"

Chapter 4: Everything in its right place

Chapter Text

"Mr. Faulkner, I need you to turn over so I can take your vitals, sir. Sir, I don't believe you're allowed to be here," the nurse stated firmly.

As Adam stirred from his slumber, he felt the comforting warmth of Lawrence's chest against his back. The golden-haired man held him tighter in response to the nurse's accusatory tone, like a child carelessly holding a wounded stray cat.

With a grumble, Lawrence retorted, "I've studied medicine for 15 years. I’m the top-rated oncologist in New Jersey. I assure you that my presence won't prevent you from checking this man's pulse."

The young nurse grimaced at the sight of Dr. Lawrence Gordon spooning the fragile man in a manner that felt out of place for a medical setting, his caressing almost juvenile in a way.

"Dr. Gordon, Mr. Faulkner is on bed rest. Please return to your room. You must be aware that you're violating at least eight hospital policies by being in this room," she cautioned.

Lawrence's chuckle carried a mix of sad*stic amusem*nt and sarcasm as Adam faked still being sleep.

"I don't care; just make note of something and carry on with your rounds. I'll check on him later, I can do that much." he replied, his tone dripping with insouciance.

"Dr. Gordon," she protested, visibly nervous as she pondered the potential consequences.

Lawrence sat up, locked eyes with the nurse, and gently touched Adam's shoulder. "I want you to know that I'm technically on the medical center board. One call from me, and you won't work in a hospital a hundred miles of here ever again."

Adam, squinting as if still asleep, overheard the nurse muttering a curse under her breath. He waited until her footsteps retreated and the door clicked shut before turning to face Lawrence. Upon realizing he was awake, Lawrence settled back down, resting his head on the adjacent pillow, and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning."

"You're such a dick," Adam chuckled. "That condescending tone takes me right back to when we first met. c*nt."

"Guilty," Lawrence replied, brushing Adam's cheek with his thumb and then shifting his hand to tousle Adam's disheveled bedhead.

"You didn't have to be that harsh," Adam said, feeling an unfamiliar sense of protection from the other man. “She’s just doing her job.”

"I didn't want to leave you alone right now," Lawrence confessed. "I'll use my influence here when I can."

"Don't make more enemies here. Haven't you learned anything from what we've been through?" Adam half-jokingly scolded, his eyes wandering down to the outline of Lawrence's leg under the sheets.

"I'm grateful to be alive with you. By Jigsaw’s philosophy that counts. I'll do whatever I can to protect that," Lawrence responded, brushing a thumb across Adam's bottom lip and planting a soft kiss. He then turned over, pulling Adam's arms to his side to be the little spoon, rubbing his bandaged shoulder with one hand and the other resting under Adam's side.

"Ok. Sleep well, Larry."

---

Lawrence woke up to an unusual sensation—Adam was clutching his chest firmly, leaving faint red marks from his grip. It could have been a nightmare, or perhaps a dream.

"Adam?" Lawrence whispered to the younger man, who was squirming with pale hands clinging behind him.

"Lawrence," Adam clung, his voice still drowsy. "You c....you ‘ame-b...bhack." He buried his head into the crook of Lawrence's neck; it was obvious that he was still lost in a dream.

Lawrence carefully shifted backward, drawing Adam closer into his embrace. He tenderly weaved his fingers through Adam's dark brown locks as a gathering of tears welled up in his eyes. "Of course I did," he replied, his voice trembling under the immense burden of guilt that weighed upon his chest.

Adam slowly opened his eyes, reaching out for Lawrence's face, his vision still clouded by sleep. "...Larry," he mumbled. "d…on't leave me."

Larger tears welled up in Lawrence's eyes as he lifted his arm and pressed his forehead against Adam's. His breath was warm against Adam's cheek, and the hint of morning breath didn't bother him in the least. This man was his sanctuary.

As soon as Adam was proven lucid, Lawrence passionately kissed him, sucking the breathe from his cheeks. While their last kiss was drenched with lust, there was a certain softness and carefulness in how Lawrence handled Adam this time. "Ggnn," he moaned, as the two men parted with a string of saliva trailing between their parting lips. Adam pulled his partners face back to his, panting into his mouth between kisses. "I'ant'you 'arry" he mumbled, voice drenched with desire and affection for the other man.

This time, Larry pulled himself up on the hospital bed to position himself on top of Adam. The dark haired photographer grasped his partner's back, while Lawrence's hand trailed down Adam's sweatpants to softly place his fingertips on his member, which then turned into a grip, gliding his arm up and down and jerking him slowly. Adam returned the favor, while the two men touched each other, not breaking eye contact. Lawrence got harder in his partner’s hand as Adam panted faster.

"I wanted our first time to be in my - our home," Lawrence remarked, glancing at Adam, face painted with lust. "...but now, I want you to decide. Do you want this Adam?"

Adam's hands brushed against Lawrence's chest, pulling at the first button of his nightshirt. "More than anything in the f*cking world."

Receiving consent, Lawrence wet his two fingers and pushed gently into Adam's entrance. "Dont stop," he gasped, grabbing a pillow from behind him and biting into it to muffle his sounds.

"No," Lawrence pulled the pillow from his grasp. "I want to hear you when I touch you."

"Larry-" Adam moaned as his partner sped up the pace, massaging his prostate with one hand and thumbing his head with the other. "nnngg, f*ck- Lawrence I'm gna-"

Lawrence released his hand and pulled his fingers away, forcing another gasp from Adam. "Not yet," he said, almost in a whisper, pulling the smaller man's hips to his groin to lovingly tease him.

Pulling down his pajama pants, Lawrence revealed his co*ck, already glistening wet with precum. Adam moaned, admiring the size.

"f*ck, Larry,"

Lawrence aligned his head with Adam's entrance. "Look at me" he commanded, leaning forward to mount Adam. The mix of pain and pleasure hit him as Lawrence pushed into Adam, with a wet slap as he pulled out. "Tell me how you want this," he whispered.

"Use me, take all of me-" moaned Adam, "don't stop," he panted, wriggling under Lawrence's mounting as he picked up the pace, thumping noises growing louder and harder. Lawrence grabbed a handful of Adam's hair and pulled him into an aggressively affectionate kiss, licking his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and reveling in their shared pleasure. His mouth migrated to Adam's neck, biting and sucking to leave red marks on him.

Lawrence pulled out, sliding his co*ck against Adam’s, jerking them together as Adam rubbed his backside against Lawrence’s thigh. “Please-” he begged as Lawrence thrust back into him, his head hitting Adam’s prostate with every movement, filling him completely. Lawrence pulled himself deeper into the bed, mounting Adam harder, his wet gasps making Adam’s ear hot. Larry pulled all of himself out again, returning his grasp to Adam’s head, thumbing it like he was before while he pulled himself out, and threw his whole weight into his partner again. Both of their bodies electrified in ecstacy.

"I'm gonna cum-"

"Cum for me baby." Replied Lawrence.

"Larry you-"

"I what?"

"You're everything- I can't believe you're real."

The pleasure erupted in Adam's stomach as their org*sms aligned, glistening liquid from Lawrence spilling out of Adam as he pulled out and opened his arms to spoon his partner. "Unfortunately, I'm real...and...I'm all yours."

As they both drifted off to sleep once again the sounds of the team working on their case could be heard outside the door. At the intake desk, a tall, dark haired man spoke first, handing an envelope to a smaller, blonde woman.

"Dr. Gordon and Mr. Faulkner get discharged tomorrow, Jill. Please start calling around for any family who can take Adam. There doesn't seem to be any emergency contacts listed here. Do some digging."

Chapter 5: follow me around

Chapter Text

"Lawrence, my God, what are you doing?"

The blond man raised the hacksaw, his jaw clamped down hard on his blue dress shirt, twisted around his leg. With grim determination, he initiated the gruesome act of sawing through his own flesh, blood pooling around him as the sounds of his pained yelps pierced through the seams of the fabric.

Flashes of crimson sprayed across his face as the blade cut through flesh and muscle, exposing the white bone beneath.

Screaming, Adam pleaded, straining against his restraints in a desperate bid to escape and halt the man's horrifying self-mutilation across the room. "Oh God, Lawrence, please, stop! Stop!"

The muffled groans escalated, accompanying the torrent of hot tears streaking down Adam's face, a frigid chill coursing through his spine and shaking his very core. "No!" he shrieked. "No! Lawrence!"

Adam bolted upright in bed, the horrific nightmare of the events of the bathroom plaguing his sleep once again. As he gazed at Lawrence slumbering beside him, he eased back into the sterile hospital bed, clutching his partner and seeking solace in the familiar warmth of Lawrence's chest. "f*ck," Adam gasped, his voice trembling, "Lawrence, what happened to us?"

Still shrouded in the drowsiness of sleep, Lawrence responded with a groggy murmur, "Nnggg...? What happened?" As he recognized the tears on his dark-haired partner's face, his fingers brushed through Adam's hair in a comforting gesture. "It's okay. You just had a bad dream."

"A nightmare, a nightmare that actually happened," Adam acknowledged solemnly.

"I'm so sorry, Adam," Lawrence murmured with regret etching his words.

"Hey, please, don't apologize," Adam responded, inching closer to Lawrence. His hand cradled Lawrence's face gently. "You endured the worst of it."

"I shot you," Lawrence confessed, his voice laden with guilt. "The knowledge that I caused you any harm was more agonizing than any self-amputation."

"You can't really believe that crap," Adam retorted, his frustration showing. "I know you're not just saying that, Larry, but you don't have to hide how hard that decision must have been to make. You cut your own leg off for f*cksake."

"I'm a doctor," Lawrence replied, almost as if he were trying to justify his actions. "Better me than you, if it had to be one of us."

"You're a human being," Adam emphasized. "It's still a f*cked up memory."

"I don't regret it, it saved us both." Lawrence insisted.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't excruciating, ya idiot." Adam retorted.

"Of course, it hurt," Lawrence admitted. "I still have phantom pain. Most of the time, it feels like my leg is still there."

"I'm so sorry," Adam said, his gaze dropping to where Lawrence's prosthetic leg met the mattress. "I'm going to be here for you in any way I can, Larry."

Their eyes locked, and the unshakable connection between them became evident. Adam had never felt so close to another human being, and he felt an overwhelming gratitude that, of all people, he had been chained across the room from Lawrence.

"Once we're home, we'll figure out how to help each other. Until then, we got this at least." Adam promised.

Lawrence rested his forehead against the man lying beside him, and they both closed their eyes, finding solace in this intimate moment.

"Diana and Alison are probably wondering where I've disappeared to, if they haven't already tried to visit twice," Lawrence whispered, reluctant to break away from Adam. "I probably should go back to my room for a while. You're welcome to join me."

Adam opened his eyes, suppressing the disappointment that welled up inside him. "No, go ahead. Enjoy your time with your kid and... wife."

"You can call her Alison, you know. Also, Ex-wife."

"Yeah," Adam managed to get the words out, despite the pang of jealousy he felt. "Ex-wife."

Lawrence sat up, kissed Adam's hand, and made his way to the door. "I'll come back later," he promised.

"See you, Lawrence. Promise you'll come back later?" Adam inquired in a vulnerable state.

Lawrence winked, trying to lift the cloud of gloom from Adam's face. A soft, reassuring smile graced his lips as he spoke,

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

—

Jill Tuck fixed her gaze on the paperwork that had landed on her desk, a thick stack of medical records related to Dr. Lawrence Gordon and Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. The first page belonged to Lawrence, detailing his injuries, lab results, crime scene information, and records of his amputated leg, deemed irremediable by the emergency surgeons. His next of kin consisted of both parents, alive but with minimal medical history and significant illnesses; his mother hailed from Bristol, England, and his father was a native of New York, with a title that also designated him as a doctor. Lawrence's emergency contacts were his sister and his wife, Alison Gordon. Jill bit her lower lip, turning the pages to uncover approved discharge paperwork and a physical therapy schedule, accompanied by pamphlets for PTSD resources and outpatient group therapy. The final page held phone records from Alison Gordon and his sister, Elizabeth Gordon, both contacted after his admission. No further action was required. The doctor's only note included an absence excuse and FMLA paperwork for four weeks minimum of paid leave.

Jill proceeded to Adam's file before inputting the data into the hospital's computer system for discharge.

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. His parents, Marie Faulkner and Nathaniel Stanheight, both born and raised in upstate New York. There was an extensive history of cancer, primarily lung-related, within his family. Unfortunately, no emergency contacts were listed.

Jill retrieved a phone directory from under her desk and dialed the first number listed under Marie Faulkner. Surely, the news of the case had spread widely, given its extensive local and national coverage. She had to know.

The line clicked, and a voice answered, "Hello?"

Jill swallowed hard, her grip on the hospital phone tightening. "Hello, is this Marie Faulkner? This is Jill Tuck at Saint Eustace Hospital. I'm calling regarding your son, Adam Faulkner-Stanheight."

Silence hung on the other end of the line.

"Have I dialed the wrong number?" Jill asked.

A long sigh finally broke the silence. "No, this is she."

"Great," Jill continued, her tone professional, "are you in a position to pick up Adam and assist with his care moving forward? The doctor has approved his discharge, but we don't have any emergency contacts on record."

More silence.

Undeterred, Jill pressed, "Ma'am, are you still on the line?"

Marie hesitated before speaking. "Thank you... you see, Adam and his father aren't on good terms... we're relieved he's okay, but we can't let him stay with us right now.. we can't afford his dysfunction in our lives. I'm sure you understand. Is Scott Tibbs listed as one of his contacts? He's a friend, he might be willing to help Adam."

A sinking feeling gripped Jill's stomach as she heard a mother so willing to neglect her own child, even after a near death experience. She held her own and proceeded.

"Like I mentioned earlier, there are no emergency contacts listed," Jill replied. "Unless you can give me their contact info, we'll need to find someone to take care of him for a few months at the least. Adam has endured severe psychological distress and physical trauma, so it's best if he stays with family or friends for a while."

Marie's voice wavered as if she wanted to say something more.

"I'm sorry," she added. "Please give our best wishes to him. His father does too. He will understand."

Marie Faulkner's voice seemed to open and close her mouth as if she had words trapped on her tongue.

"I'm sorry," Jill repeated. "Have a good day, Mrs. Faulkner. I encourage you to reflect on some of your choices."

With a mix of frustration and sadness, Jill slammed the phone down and buried her face in her hands, tears flowing as she contemplated the injustice in parenting that she had just witnessed. Suddenly a shadowy figure appeared over her desk, in the form of Dr. Lawrence Gordon.

“Hi Mrs. Tuck, I couldn't help but overhear you getting in touch with Adam’s family. Please note that I’ll be taking over his care from here.”

Chapter 6: Confession / true love waits

Chapter Text

"What is your family situation like?"

Adam nearly dropped his package of peanut butter crackers, his 4th of the afternoon. His jaw hung open, eyes wide in shock at the sudden question. Lawrence, in response, shifted to a more relaxed posture, arms open and legs uncrossed.

"Why?" Adam managed to stammer out.

"I spoke to the administrative staff, and I requested to be included in your discharge plan. It seemed like they had talked to your parents."

Adam's face turned cold, a mix of sheer anxiety and confused agony in his expression. "How did they—"

"Your mother seemed…worried," Lawrence interrupted.

"That sounds like her."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. It was evident that Adam's relationship with his family was far from excellent. Lawrence then recalled something Adam had mentioned earlier, in a state of shock, when they were in the bathroom.

"I have a family too, I don't see them, that's my problem - that's something I'd like to fix."

Lawrence cupped his hands at his lap, sighing. "Can I ask you what happened?"

Adam didn't immediately respond, but eventually, he nodded.

"You can."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable disclosing.” Lawrence softened his gaze. “I'll listen, if you would like to tell me."

Adam's eyes drifted to the ceiling. The 4 pm showing of The Matrix continued to play in the background. Lawrence reached for the remote, lowering the volume, and focused his complete attention on Adam.

"We don't get along. My dad was the one who got me into photography, actually." Adam bit his bottom lip. His expression tensed, chewing on his cheek in discomfort; voice strained. "I think he wanted me to take pictures of mountains n' sh*t. Some real nice "normal stuff." He realized pretty early on I wasn't gonna be the typical "son" he wanted. I never left my room in high school."

Lawrence's eyebrows knitted in concern, his expressive face reflecting genuine worry. "He should have been happy that his child showed an interest in something as creative as photography. That can do wonders for child development."

Adam shook his head, exhaling sharply. The weight of his past experiences was palpable in the room. "Well, he didn't."

Lawrence pondered for a moment, his fingers absently scratching his chin, searching for a way to shift the conversation's energy or create a more conducive atmosphere.

"My father and I shared a distant relationship as well," Lawrence began, his voice taking on a gentle, introspective tone as he reached back into his own past. It was a way to bridge the gap between his own experiences and Adam's, two individuals who, on the surface, appeared to have little in common but somehow meshed together like perfectly matched puzzle pieces. Lawrence pressed on, delving further into his personal narrative.

"I excelled in academics, but he was adamant about dismissing any inklings of passion I had for anything beyond continuing my education. He'd go to extreme lengths, even destroying my records, which, by the way - were some of my only joys - if I ever received anything less than an A."

Adam raised an eyebrow, his face etched with curiosity and concern. "Sounds like a piece of work."

"I try to do better for my daughter. As long as she is happy, I don't care if she becomes a doctor-"

Lawrence shot a smirk at Adam.

"-or a scummy photographer trying to make ends meet."

This elicited a faint, half-smile from Adam. Sensing the need for support, Lawrence extended his hand to gently squeeze Adam's. The room's sterile walls and harsh lighting seemed to fade into the background as Adam's frail form coughed, recounting his strained relationship with his father. He shifted his gaze to the unremarkable ceiling tiles of the hospital room, his expression softening, lips parting to continue.

"My dad- one day-"

Adam paused, took a deep breath, and turned his head to find comfort in Lawrence's eyes.

"-one day he looked at my photos. I think he was fully expecting to see a few shots of birds and some lame ass pictures of my room. Once he saw that I was taking more pictures of my male teachers in the hall and guys on the street than whatever sh*t he had in mind, he never looked at me the same."

Lawrence migrated his hand to land a supportive hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's whatever. He was pissed. Told me I was a creep n sh*t. A fa*ggot. My mom felt guilty, but not bad enough to stand up to him. She never really went to church much but I knew there was a part of her that never looked at me the same too. Guess the one upside is I made a career out of what broke my family."

Lawrence regarded Adam with a sympathetic gaze, his ocean-blue eyes reflecting a genuine understanding. With a tender gesture, he extended his hand to gently envelop Adam's smaller one, their fingers interlocking, and locked eyes with him.

"I’m so sorry."

The younger man recoiled, breaking eye contact. Visibly uncomfortable at the recollection of his past. His face ached with pain he had been holding all these years; numb to the rejection, but pained by the experience.

"I know. It's ok. I'm over it. Nothing I can do to change him or what happened."

The silence pierced the room once more. Finally, Lawrence spoke up.

"So- these men-"

Adam choked.

"Oh fer f*cksake-", teasing the man beside him. "Are you jealous, Doctor Gordon?"

"Of course not. You were a child with adolescent curiosities. That's normal."

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied with a nonchalant shrug, his thoughts briefly drifting toward the more unsettling descriptions of his early years of somewhat stalker-like hobbies.

"I'm just wondering if there were - when you started your "career" - any men before me you took interest in."

"Oh, you bet," Adam quipped with a smirk, his words making Lawrence's face flush a deep shade of beet red, a co*cktail of petty jealousy and secondhand embarrassment swirling within him in reaction to Adam's directness.

Adam's eyes shifted downward, his fingers fumbling nervously with the remote, betraying his attempt to appear unfazed.His once rebellious, boyish glare melted away like frost under the sun, replaced by a lovesick haze. Memories of the first time he had glimpsed at Lawrence entering one of those rundown motels began to play like a vivid movie reel in his mind.

He recalled the exquisite way Lawrence's hair cascaded behind his ears, his wardrobe adorned in costly fabrics that demanded meticulous dry cleaning from top to bottom. Fantasies of the smell of his cologne blending with the sweat on laboring skin blended into a unique co*cktail of lust as he undressed before his mistresses. The memory was imbued with the recollection of Lawrence's confident strut walking into these shady motels, a stride that bore the weight of trauma, yet somehow retained the same magnetic and confident energy to this day; prosthetic, and cane included.

Adam came back, directing his attention to the man beside him.

"-but none like you. Never got close to any of 'em. Nothing like this."

Lawrence's hand gently cupped Adam's cheek, coaxing him into a kiss. Their breaths intermingled, a subtle warmth exchanged as their teeth parted, and their lips engaged in a rhythmic dance.

His breath carried a hint of mint and the unmistakable scent of top-shelf toothpaste, a luxury perhaps provided by Alison. Of course he would be a stickler for oral hygiene, Adam could picture him getting busy with a Waterpik before bed with his $15 organic mint mouthwash. Adam couldn't help but adore the taste, but Lawrence wasn't finished with him yet. He continued the trail of kisses, moving from Adam's soft lower lip to the inviting expanse of his neck. His lips lightly grazed his skin, leaving soft patches of moisture from his breath. Between stolen breaths, Lawrence whispered,

"I wish we had crossed paths sooner."

As Lawrence's lips continued their journey, Adam eventually pulled away, his eyes fixed on Lawrence in mild surprise. The response he received was far from what he had anticipated. Breaking the silence, Adam burst into laughter, a wheezy chuckle escaping his lips. "Oh, come on, I was practically a kid when you were in med school. I think 26 and 45 are as good as we are gonna get here."

Lawrence, however, couldn't hide his frustration and irritation, which radiated from him like the heat of a stove on full blast. He threw his head into his hands, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I'm 40—40," he corrected himself, his face tensing. "And that's not what I meant. I just wish..." Memories of the moments in that dimly lit bathroom resurfaced in Lawrence's mind – fists pounding into the filthy floor, bitter insults hurled into the empty air, and the anguish of an encounter.

"I wish..you had seen better sides of me first. That is all."

"Oh," Adam glanced down at Lawrence's crotch, visibly hard from their touches. "You mean I haven't seen the best sides of you? Do you have 2 dicks?"

Lawrence jolted his head back again to throw a reprimanding glare at the younger man, still slumped on the left side of the couch where he left him. The same glare could have been used to scare the even family dog into submission.

"Can you please take things seriously for once in your goddamn life?"

"Nah, I'm kidding, go ahead doc. I'm listening."

"Ok," Lawrence clicked his tongue and laid back again, relaxing his posture. "I'm a romantic at heart despite what Alison would say. I wish I could have met you earlier, or at least more traditionally, is all I'm saying."

Silence formed a wall between the two, until Adam finally interrupted the pause.

"Like at a gay bar?"

"No," Lawrence argued. "Traditional."

"I dunno Larry, you seem like a guy who went hard in the 80s. Don't be a bigot."

"I'm leaving-"

"I'm kidding, calm your tit*. Continue - where would you take me?"

The blonde man's eyes were stained with annoyance, but he persisted, taking round breaths to ground himself before holding his hand out to Adam. "We meet on a street corner-"

"-gay bar-"

"A street corner-"

"You think hookers are traditional? That's progressive of you, Larry."

Lawrence's face contorted with a turbulent storm of irritation, like a man who had just trudged a weary mile through a frigid, relentless snowstorm. He released a sigh, mirroring the exasperated look often aimed at Adam by his high school teachers, who had grown tired of his fifth disruptive interruption. "I'm trying to be vulnerable. Please listen with intention for once in your life, I beg."

"I'm done, continue."

"You're handing out flyers for a blood drive. I comment that I'm volunteering as medical staff. We talk for a while. I end up late for my shift at the hospital. I'm amazed by your personality. I ask you to dinner. We exchange numbers. The second date is at a casual American bistro. We order wine. I take no concern in that you're a man, and squeeze your hand on the table for everyone to see. We talk about our future. Our shared goals. The overlaps in our childhoods. I pick you up on our third date with flowers. By the fourth, you're staying at mine more than going home.

I wake up to you and coffee. You're in an oversized shirt with a washed out, grayed logo of some one hit wonder band from the 90s. We stay in on Sunday and watch movies in bed. On the 8th date, you bring your stuff to my place, you have a toothbrush in my bathroom. Your boxers get mixed in with mine when you do laundry. We put Journey on the record player. You make fun of me for my taste in music, but you love it anyway. You stop picking on me after I introduce you to a Van Halen record. We get Chinese takeout and go to my daughter's Christmas play. On the 10th date, I ask you to drive out to California and marry me.

Things are simple."

Tears brimmed in Adam's eyes, a testament to the profound sentiment. Lawrence enfolded him in his arms, reminiscent of a tender moment they had shared before in the bathroom. Adam complied, crawling into his arms, reaching out to hold the older man's hand, pulling closer. Their foreheads gently pressed together, uniting in the shared pain they carried. Lawrence released a soft-spoken declaration as Adam's face, wet with tears, pressed against his.

"Things may never be simple, but I do know one thing. I can't bear to be without you, as challenging as it may be."

Chapter 7: the one where Jill tuck is mom

Chapter Text

The small, slender woman stood by the door, her broad shoulders squared and her shoulder-length blonde hair neatly parted on the side. Day-old mascara smudged her eyelashes. Adam, still groggy from sleep, opened his eyes and found them locking onto hers. He jumped in surprise at the unfamiliar figure, who promptly dropped a stack of papers with his name and care plan at the end of his bed.

"Happy discharge day," she greeted him.

Adam, perplexed, sat up in bed. He glanced at the papers and then back at the woman, finally asking, "Do I know you?"

Jill cast her gaze downward, a half-smile forming as she recalled her earlier conversation with the young man's mother. "Not really," she replied, "I've been working on your discharge plan and handling your case. If you need anything, my number is on the last page." She extended her hand to pat the top of Adam's head. He winced, taken aback by the peculiar situation. Her hand lingered there longer than it should have, as if she momentarily forgot he wasn't her child. "Adam," she began, withdrawing her hand and suddenly remembering patient boundaries, "things won't be easy from here on. If you have anything you need to discuss, you can call that number. My cell and landline are there too." She mentally emphasized the importance of maintaining boundaries. Even though Lawrence might have the resources to help Adam, he was recovering as well. Jill reflected on her own experiences growing up without stable parents, understanding the yearning for a parental figure, even if it involved some projection. She couldn't allow him to leave the hospital without at least offering her assistance.

Adam looked at her, still puzzled but grateful for her kindness. "Okay. Thanks."

As she turned to exit the room, Jill glanced back one last time at the young man curled up in the hospital bed, his dark brown hair tousled with bedhead, and his hands rubbing sleep from the corners of his eyes. He gazed at her once more, unsure why she was lingering. Nurses, let alone administrative assistants, were never this persistent. With a final, reassuring smile, she said, "If you ever need a mom, I'm here to talk."

Chapter 8: you & whose army?

Chapter Text

The Gordon's residence stood in a league of its own, a realm of opulence that left Adam feeling isolated and anxious with unfamiliarity. Even the most affluent clients he’d photographed paled in comparison to Dr. Gordon’s home. As he grasped the impeccably polished door handle and walked into the entry hallway, Adam’s senses were enveloped by an ambience saturated with the rich scent of meticulously treated hardwood and an elite blend of designer potpourri, a product purchased by maybe 1% of society. Hardly needed, hardly used.

Despite the disgustingly high worth of the house, the floorboards creaked softly as Adam walked across them, contributing an unexpected layer of nostalgic charm to the backstory of Lawrence’s home. As Adam traversed the aging boards, vivid snapshots of a past era emerged in his mind: Lawrence and Alison, brush in hand, meticulously crafting the vibrant red entryway and preparing Diana’s nursery. These mental pictures formed an idyllic concept of the seemingly flawless, quintessential nuclear family, a concept that was sold to them like a con.

Photographs of Diana adorned the wall nearest to the door.

As Lawrence had pointed out in the bathroom, he was a rarity in the photos; most of which were Alison, Diana and the family dog. The few of the three of them were uncommon, but a common thread ran through all of them; Lawrence looked happy. Adam felt sick, unease in his throat deepening with each picture crossing his sight. He felt like a robber; even if Lawrence was an adulterer and had put the nail in the coffin of his marriage, Adam couldn't help but question if their union might have been salvageable if he had never entered the picture. Ridiculous.

Before Adam could fully take in his surroundings, the taller man seized his wrist, their fingers intertwining as he guided Adam up the stairs. Lawrence's countenance bore an unusual excitement, a radiance reminiscent of a young Diana enthusiastically showing her father a family of rabbits dwelling beneath their house. A distinct sense of joy illuminated his face. Perhaps it was the novelty of the moment, the thrill of the unknown, or the effects of a generous surge of oxytocin coursing through his veins following his self-amputation. Regardless, Adam had no desire to stop him. Even if this connection was temporary or fleeting, he had no intention of spending a moment apart from the other man.

"The guest room is completely yours," the taller man announced, his cane pointing towards a pristine white door situated at the far end of the hallway. As Adam glanced back at him, his expression seemed to silently question the reality of his presence in this house, with Lawrence, a part of his family. Well, whatever family he had left - he half expected it to be just them for as long as earthly possibly. As selfish as it was, he wanted that.

He didn't want to think about his family, or anything but them.

His family. His wife and child once wandered these halls, a once happy family damaged by Lawrence's inability to commit and accept himself.

Adam felt sicker.

Within the room, a king-sized bed was pressed up against the left wall, its tan comforter neatly draped over the bedframe boasting a lavish gold designer headboard. Four satin feather pillows adorned the bed, a clear choice made by Alison but never opposed by Lawrence. Despite his humble nature, Lawrence couldn't resist the allure of a few select luxuries, some of which were home decor and interiors. It was evident that his infatuation with finer things ran deeper than he would admit or let on. As Adam considered the mental images of them selecting these items together at a high-end furniture store, his discomfort intensified. He didn’t belong here.

Stepping into the room, he looked beside the bed to view a wall entirely made of built-in shelves, empty but still somehow perfectly fitting the minimalist aesthetic of the room. Lawrence, standing behind Adam to give him the chance to explore his surroundings, walked towards the shelves, a hobble in his strut as he adjusted to his prosthetic on this particular wood flooring for the first time. "You are welcome to use these however you like," he stated, glancing over to Adam. "Maybe we can even add a darkroom to the closet, if it would make you more comfortable here."

His kindness felt like a stab wound, puncturing his heart and bleeding him dry. The overwhelm took over his system until it was too much, anxiety spilling into his head. "I can't- Lawrence, I can't put you out like this. This is too much."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lawrence quipped, his voice filled with mild irritation. "I would feel better with you here than that - what did you call it, a sh*thole?" He teased.

"At least that suits me," Adam grumbled as he turned, making his way back toward the door, poised to exit the room. He slumped forward, cowering like a dog, his posture begging for Lawrence to validate him; make him feel something other than worthless.

Lawrence glanced at him in confusion, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. “Is this not suitable?”

"No, I mean- thanks Lar, gimme a moment-" Adam stuttered, brushing tears of overwhelm out of his eyes and dashing towards the door to leave. Air, he needed air. This wasn’t real; it didn’t feel right. Being here didn't feel right.

Adam heard Lawrence’s prosthetic hit the floor to follow him, as he finally reached the front door, opening it and feeling the sun hit his face. With a grumble and a teary sniff, Adam groaned. "I gotta take a smoke."

–

"Do you remember what you said when you thought I was dead?"

Adam nearly fumbled his cigarette, watching the ashes crumble at its tip as he savored the sweet taste of nicotine.

"Yea, I do." he replied, his voice tinged with reminiscence.

Lawrence bit his lip, his gaze fixed upon the fallen leaves at their feet. The contrast between Adam's worn Converse and Lawrence's freshly polished dress shoes was stark, set against the backdrop of the Gordon residence's driveway.

"You said you needed me."

Lawrence leaned in, his cane supporting him as he claimed his spot next to the dark-haired, shorter man who was enjoying his second cigarette in the past hour. Adam inhaled the deep, dark smoke, an unsightly, numbing habit he'd picked up in his youth but had no intention of giving up anytime soon.

Finally, Adam grumbled, ripping the cigarette from his mouth in irritation.

"What’re you bringing that up for?"

"No reason. I just remember," Larry paused, letting a deep exhale exit his system, leaning back against the fence - white picket, ironically enough. "I almost considered lying there a little longer, just to hear you say it again."

"f*ckin asshole." Adam sneered, chewing at the end of the stick. "I was scared sh*tless."

"I wondered if you'd take it a step further if I lied there a little longer. What you’d have said if I played it up, just a bit more."

Lawrence's family could have been dead in that moment, and the thought of him playing dead to pull out more love confessions both confused and enticed Adam. Sighing, he scoffed. "Damn, you're a worse dude than I thought."

"Well, if I was one of the good ones, I wouldn't have ended up in a Jigsaw trap."

"f*ckin A, we're a match made in heaven I guess." Adam puffed smoke directly Lawrence's way, in total disregard to any unfamiliar smell or secondhand smoke coughing he might cause. To his surprise, Lawrence grabbed his wrist, pulling him into a kiss.

They stood there for a long time, hardly moving. It took a few minutes to realize that Lawrence was sucking the air out of his lungs, quite literally taking his breath away. Pulling apart, Adam choked, trying to catch his breath only for Lawrence to bring him back in, thumbs stroking his neck as if to tell him "I could choke you, but I won't." He was so confusing. So. f*cking. Confusing.

As they parted, Lawrence let out a mischievous laugh, painted with a hint of sadism just like before.

Lawrence plucked the cigarette from Adam's mouth and disdainfully discarded the saliva-coated stick on the ground, promptly crushing it beneath the impeccably polished toe of his dress shoe.

As he turned his back to Adam, Lawrence welcomed the crisp autumn breeze against his skin, his trench coat gracefully draping off his towering frame, swaying in the wind. Once he was certain the cigarette was extinguished, Lawrence turned to walk back to the house, not lingering to see Adam's reaction. With a heavy, vulnerable confession, the blonde stammered, his back turned to Adam still.

"Unfortunately, I need you too now. Don't screw with things that can kill you, for god sake."

Adam isn't sure how to respond, and on a whim, chucks the pack of reds on the ground, angrily stomping them until dirt covers the packet and mixes with the tobacco. A surge of blood pulses through him angrily, intensifying his stomping, as if he's attempting to bury his former life in the meticulously manicured, insufferably pristine, and unrealistically idealistic front yard of Lawrence Gordon, grinding his heel into the earth.

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. Stomp stomp stomp.

With a middle finger in the air, Adam yells towards Lawrence;

"By the way - I'm not quitting just for you, I just don't like the taste anymore- yeah."

Lawrence erupted into a sharp, childlike, hearty laughter, marking the first genuine one he'd experienced in years. His hand shot into the air, mimicking Adam's pose as he beckoned him back toward the house.

Adam clenched his teeth in frustration and let out a resounding yowl, loud enough for the neighbors to catch wind of his exasperation. Finally, he yelled to his partner, loud and clear;

"By the way, I need you too, you pompous dickhe*d!"

In a singular retort, Lawrence flashed a confident smirk, his perfect blonde hair dancing in the breeze, with eyelashes framing his azure irises flawlessly. Lawrence clicked his tongue and muttered under his breath.

"Don't litter, go back and pick up those damn cigarettes. I'm on the HOA, you know."

Adam couldn't contain his laughter, sparking a spirited retort from Lawrence.

"After you're done cleaning, get the hell upstairs, Adam."

Chapter 9: scott tibbs

Chapter Text

Writers note: This chapter contains some musical elements, so I've included some links below to add to the ambiance of this scene. Please feel free to listen!

• Radio Song by R.E.M.
• [ASMR] Vinyl Crackle | Record Player White Noise | Vinyl Crackling
• Trev's Trailer, 8 Hour Heavy Thunderstorm, GTA V Ambience, ASMR, Heavy Rain Sounds To Help You Sleep

Scott’s room was a terrible, horrible, wonderful place. On rainy weekends on the west side of Newark, the two boys would sit on opposite ends of Scott’s bed, while REM’s Out Of Time played on Vinyl. The cracked window created a humid breeze that both sucked out the smell of nicotine and tobacco, and created a certain white noise that soothed Adam’s busy mind.

With one triumphant motion, Scott tore a random piece of Bible paper to begin crafting a terribly messy joint. His room stank to high hell, but Adam didn't mind. They had music, cigarettes, and each other's company – more than he could ask for back home. Adam scratched his chin, exhaled guiltily, and stuttered.

“I don’t think I like girls.”

“Bitches, right?” Scott huffed, choking on his terrible excuse for a joint.

"No, dude, I mean," Adam rocked back and forth in a self-soothing motion. "I mean, I think I like guys. I don't know, have you ever kissed a guy?"

Scott chuckled heartily, his laughter accompanied by another deep cough that rattled through his chest. Adam cast his gaze downward in shame, but before he could dwell on it, he found himself enveloped in a warm side-hug from his closest friend.

“So yer a fa*g?”

“No, I mean, I ‘unno.”

Scott placed his joint down on the bedside table, using the other hand to ruffle Adam’s dark, thick hair. They laughed for some time.

When I got to the house

And I called you out

I could tell that you had been crying, crying

It's that same sing song on the radio

It makes me sad

I meant to turn it off

To say goodbye

To leave in quiet

that radio song

Hey hey hey

Rain pattered on the window, misting their fingertips as they sat facing each other, listening to the record and chain-smoking another pack of reds; a habit that set them apart from their thirteen-year-old friends.

Scott edged closer to Adam, their arm hairs brushing against each other.

“So, you ever kissed a guy Adam?”

Adam’s face turned hot at the question. His face was beat red, accompanied by droplets of sweat. Scott was always blunt, but this was something he never would have expected him to fathom asking.

Adam laid back, scratching his head, pondering the question; lying to seem cool or tell the truth to get some advice from his best friend?

“No. Never even kissed a girl.”

That was the last statement the two of them exchanged for the rest of the day.

The two sat there for hours, kissing on Scott’s bed, occasionally stopping to switch the record or smoke cigarettes into each other's mouths. By the end of the day, Scott’s dad was already cracking open another 6 pack in the den. The smell outside the door mixed with the essence of tobacco, and Scott parted for just a moment to lock the door. Returning to his original spot, he spooned Adam for another few hours, and the two fell asleep in eachothers arms until Marie Faulkner entered the driveway to retrieve her son the next morning before her shift.

For the first time in his life, Adam knew two truths that he had no self doubt of;

One, Scott was a horrible kisser.

Two, he was a raging hom*osexual.

They never spoke of this moment again.

Chapter 10: cut a hole, bury yourself in me

Chapter Text

Dirt grazed over Adam's fingertips, finding homes under his fingernails as he picked up each cig one by one off the ground. He felt like a child playing in the mud, something about the experience of cleaning up his mess felt cathartic and nostalgic in a way. His sorry ass in Lawrence's beautiful home and perfectly landscaped yard felt wrong. This kind of home was something he dreamed of as a kid, a castle in comparison to his parents' water-damaged 2x2 rental on the west side of Newark. The nicest place he'd as much as stayed the night at was when an older man would let him stay over after a night at the club, just a short enough sleepover to get their taste of him but not long enough for him to believe he was anything more than a step up from a hand and closeted fantasies. He'd never gotten attached, just enough to fuel his libido and forget his lonely existence for a night or a few hours. The class divide in their fancy hotel rooms or McMansions versus his sh*thole apartment haunted him. He loved the depravity in these encounters, the degrading ways he was treated turned him on. However, he was damaged by it; further exacerbating his view of himself as worthless, useless, and pathetic.

Things were different with Lawrence. He felt he could actually believe this terrible man may care for him in ways he'd never been cared for before.

He wondered if the doctor was a secret, vile medicine humanized. As he thumbed at the dirt more to pick up the last of the cigarettes, he imagined the thick texture of nyquil oozing down his throat, but his own personal sleep aid; Lawrence Gordon. His heart was so full of this man, but behind every ecstatic feeling of love and affection was disgust at himself. There was no joy for Adam that wasn't glazed with some despair, or hedonistic filth. He imagined what people would say to Diana on the playground at recess, the future patients Lawrence would have who would immediately ask for a referral after seeing a picture of himself and a younger man on his desk. Yes, in this fantasy, Lawrence would finally be in the pictures, 10 second timers snapping piles of photos to develop in the darkroom. He imagined Alison's family berating her for her failing marriage.

Behind all of this, both twisted and good, was Jigsaw. He couldn't blame himself so harshly, but in the same breath, Adam knew he was a common factor in all these ruined lives. Despite Lawrence's decisions that ended him up in the trap, Adam hated himself for loving the man so much. He hated how much he desired him, he hated that he could have died on that bloody floor with a tinge of happiness, just because of his hands on his cheeks.

Finally getting the last cigarette, Adam chucked the package into the dumpster, brushed his hands on his ripped jeans, and made his way back into the Gordon house.

The urgency coursed through him; he had to get upstairs. The absence of Lawrence felt like a deprivation of air itself.

---------------------------------------------------

"Are you listening to R.E.M.?"

Adam slammed the stop button on the Walkman, turning his gaze to the tall doctor standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom.

Adam gave him a light nod, cheeks sucked in and bottom lip bitten. Lawrence took a step to enter the bedroom. "I remember that album. I listened to it all the time in residency."

"Oh damn, I forgot you were like 20 when I was born. Buddy Scott and I would listen to it until the record broke when we were like 13. His room smelled like cigarettes and ji*zz."

Lawrence's facial expression turned from nostalgic to disgusted, but Adam couldn't tell if it was from the description or their obvious age gap in the statement.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that last statement. R.E.M. is classic. You listened to records? Weren't you the cassette generation?"

"It's all about Sound quality, man."

"I can respect an academic appreciation for music."

Lawrence ruffled Adam's hair, relaxing his pose. Something about the statement made his stomach churn.

"I hope it's ok. I borrowed your walkman. It was in the closet. All my music is still back at my sh*thole."

"Of course it's ok. I have one of those…uh, what’s it called - ipods- now anyway. I thought about giving it to Diana. It's as good as yours."

Of f*cking course Lawrence had an ipod.

Adam imagined the one part of his awful apartment he liked. His albums, his darkroom and his cameras. Everything else could be thrown in a jigsaw trap and used as a biohazard for all he cared. The only area he cared about was with his records and media library.

Adam owned a PS2 to watch the 10 DVDs he owned. All films left by his previous roommates or blockbuster cases he forgot to return and chuck out half his rent for. His shelf of music media was his special place.

On the top shelf were his and Scott's adolescent favorites. Nirvana’s Nevermind, Anthrax’s Persistence of Time, Kix's Hot Wire, R.E.M.'s Out Of Time, Alice In Chains Dirt, and Machine Head’s Burn My Eyes.

Late 90s held the second shelf. System Of A Down, The Offspring’s Americana, Beck, Korn’s Follow The Leader.

Recent finds were closest to the bottom. Notable albums - before the bathroom at least. He didn’t get to listen to the new Darkthrone album before getting locked up there. f*ck.

He wondered what his and Lawrence's song would be. If they had any overlap at all.

"I did my buddy's wedding pictures once. My Adderall ran out and I needed money quickly, and their camera guy bailed at the last minute. Did you and Alison have a first dance?"

Lawrence found himself caught in an uncomfortable silence, a question clearly bothering him. His features revealed unease, casting a noticeable difference from his usually composed expression. "Yes. Why?" he replied.

Adam’s response was measured, her words carrying an air of nonchalance. "Just wondering what song you all chose."

Lawrence hesitated for a moment, uncertainty playing across his face. "I'm not sure that's necessary."

"Suit yourself. Just a question," Adam replied, taking an effort to make his tone as neutral as possible, masking any deeper meaning.

The minutes that followed felt like hours, an uneasy tension permeating the room. Adam couldn't help but despise this aspect of their relationship—the persistent need to stake a claim on Lawrence and the consuming jealousy that welled up whenever he came across pictures of the blonde, thin, picture perfect woman who bore the walls of the foyer. It was a bitter realization that this woman had no responsibility for the emotions that stirred within him. It wasn’t her fault. No one would have asked for what she went through.

Lawrence's lips parted, as if to say something. Finally he spoke.

"Time after Time. Cyndi Lauper."

Adam frowned. "Oh. Gross."

"Alison's choice. I think if I got remarried I'd choose a different song. Maybe next time, they say the second marriage is more "you" I've heard."

Adam swallowed, not sure of how directed the statement was.

As the phone rang, Lawrence made his way to the door, his footsteps soft against the floor. Casting a brief glance back at Adam, he leaned in, his words barely above a whisper.

"Maybe an R.E.M. song perhaps?”

As he heard the alternating sounds of the other man's footsteps and the prosthetic far enough away, Adam muttered loud enough to direct Lawrence's earshot.

“If you want to make me your wife that badly, we’re playing Pearl Jam at our dumb, gay little courthouse wedding.”

This extracted a laugh from Lawrence, as he called down the hall;

"By the way, turn it down, I can hear you in the hallway. You'll blow your eardrums out. Hearing loss is no joke."

Adam adjusted the headphones, tucking them snugly back over his head, then deftly flicked up the volume switch before finally pressing the play button.

"Whatever Dad."

---------------------------------------------------

Lawrence reclined against the door, the once-crisp trench coat now neatly draped over a chair beside the bed. His usually immaculate golden locks appeared more disheveled than their usual perfection, a result of the frigid outdoor air causing static in his hair. Even the back of his shirt bore the subtle signs of wear, its wrinkles now visible as he relaxed in the room.

He couldn't be blamed for being a bit messy. The man had nearly lost his family, cut off his own foot, and crawled a full mile bleeding out 2 weeks ago. Adam thought for a moment, maybe they were numbing themselves with each other so much they weren't processing what they went through.

As Adam entered the room, his eyes fell upon Lawrence, who was busy adjusting his prosthetic limb, its surface glistening with the sheen of aquaphor. Lawrence let out a frustrated exhale as he worked on the prosthetic, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I've recommended hundreds of patients to undergo amputations, but I never imagined it could be this maddening," he muttered.

Taking a seat beside Lawrence, Adam leaned his head on his partner's shoulder, offering silent support. "I think it's f*ckin’ amazing. It's a sign you survived, Lar."

"How often do you dwell on it?" Lawrence inquired, his gaze fixed on the prosthetic limb.

"On what?" Adam asked, concern and confusion clouding his tone.

"On the bathroom." Lawrence clarified.

Adam stared at his hands, his expression turning distant. "I guess about 75% of my day. This PTSD sh*t is unbearable."

"How do you manage it?" Lawrence asked.

"We're only two weeks into this," Adam admitted. "I haven't really figured out how to cope yet."

Adam's fingers intertwined with Lawrence's, and Lawrence returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze.

"But, if I had to come up with an answer," the dark-haired man mused, playing with the threads of his ripped jeans with his free hand, "I suppose when it gets real bad , I think about the way your hand felt on my face. I remember that first smile when you showed me your family photos. I guess I just think about you…to keep from falling back into old habits."

Lawrence pulled Adam closer, inhaling the scent of his hair. "How about we create our own little game?"

Adam's face flushed with intrigue. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," Lawrence said. "I'll share a memory, and you share one too. It can be a way to shift our focus when..." His gaze drifted toward his prosthetic leg, a cruel reminder of that fateful moment. "...when things get tough."

"Okay, deal," Adam agreed, squeezing Lawrence's hand. "So, what did you first think when you met me?"

Lawrence chuckled and rubbed his forehead. "I thought you were stupid, dramatic, a bit whiny... and cute."

"Oh, fair. I thought you were a sexy rich pompous dickbag."

"As time went on though, those qualities grew on me. I think when you told me you wanted to be a vet was when I really saw you; A more vulnerable Adam."

"Shucks." Adam replied. "Your smile killed me dude. When you were worried about your family, but also how you coached me through it. I hated how human you were in our sh*t situation. Made my heart throb, I swear."

"Ok here's one. When you lifted up your shirt to look for kidney removal scars," Lawrence looked embarrassed, but his smile cracked through. "I almost asked you to let me see and inspect -- purely professional, medical reasons, of course."

Adam let out a high pitched laugh, landing a joking punch on Lawrence’s arm.

"Pshhh ok perv, you could always ask."

Larry’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Ok, how about now?"

With his index finger, Adam lifted up his shirt, exposing his pink nipples and abdomen. "Sure thing boss."

Breaking from their exercise, Lawrence ducked to bring his lips to Adam's bare skin. Wrapping 2 arms around him to pull him deeper, Lawrence traced the kidney area with his tongue, switching between kissing and sucking.

Adam felt hard immediately, letting out a moan at the sensations of the wet and affectionate gestures.

"So, are we gonna get therapy or are we just gonna f*ck whenever we bring up the bathroom?"

"Shhh" Lawrence shushed him. "Whatever we need to do to cope right now will do."

Adam dove back in, pulling Lawrence’s face into his, fingers digging into his golden locks, while Lawrence’s tongue entered his mouth. He welcomed this entrance, letting out a humming moan into the doctor’s mouth as they caressed each others bodies.

Breaking the kiss, Lawrence slowly moved downward, lifting Adam's shirt once more. His tongue traced circles on Adam's abdomen, leaving a trail of passionate kisses that resulted in a faint pink mark from the burst blood vessels. As Lawrence continued his teasing exploration, Adam felt himself growing more aroused, a bead of precum glistening at the tip of his throbbing shaft.

Lawrence tilted his head to lock eyes with his partner, their heavy breaths revealing their shared excitement. In a hushed and sultry tone, he whispered, "Get down here, now."

Adam glided his body down the bed until he was face to face with Lawrence, their noses almost touching. Gazing down at the doctor's clearly aroused state, Adam knew exactly what he desired. With a swift movement, he undid Lawrence's belt, unzipped his pants, and released his taut member. At the very first contact, Lawrence let out a sharp, pleasurable gasp.

In a matter of seconds, Adam's fingers enveloped the doctor's throbbing shaft, and he lowered his head to begin an arousing exploration. Allowing his tongue to dangle sensually, he initiated his journey from the base, tracing a glistening path with his saliva, inching upwards until he reached the head of Lawrence's co*ck. Looking up at Lawrence, he could see the pleased expression on his face, misty eyes. “f*ck,” he moaned, running fingers through Adam’s hair. Once more, Adam dove back into Lawrence’s hips, enticing a bucking motion from him. He could lie there for hours, Lawrence f*cking his mouth into oblivion. He tasted like Heaven.

With a firm and sudden gesture, Lawrence firmly drew the younger man away from his co*ck, his thumb lightly tracing Adam's lower lip. A mixture of saliva and pre-cum glistened at the corner of Adam's mouth, his eyes ablaze with a potent co*cktail of pleasure and longing.

“Larry…” Adam moaned, looking up at the taller man. “Show me what you’ll do if I litter in your yard again.

Lawrence frowned. “What?”

“Punish me, Lar’ please.”

A sad*stic grin immediately lit up Lawrence’s face, finally clocking Adam’s tone.

“Oh, I will, sweetheart.”

With his much larger hand, he pulled Adam’s wrist back onto the bed, pinning him down to the bedframe with one hand. With the other hand, he searched Adam’s body, finally finding the inseam of his pants and releasing his co*ck.

With one squeeze, Adam could have burst there. “No, not yet,” Lawrence whispered. “How bad do you want my co*ck?”

"Nnnhh, Larry-" Adam's dick twitched at the teasing, his hand scraping at Lawrence's back. "What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Lie back. f*ck yourself open for me."

Adam, compliant, pressed his body against the silk duvet adorning Lawrence's bed. The velvety fabric felt cool against his skin, creating a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his own body, a clear testament to Lawrence's commanding presence. Raising one leg in a suggestive manner, Adam opened himself up to Lawrence, sensually moistening his fingers with his own mouth. Subsequently, he introduced them one by one, applying gentle pressure to his prostate, his eyes closing in rapturous delight.

Lawrence, growing increasingly aroused by the voyeuristic spectacle, watched intently as Adam sensually worked his fingers in and out, his head tilting with each rhythmic motion. "Lawrence, I... I need you," Adam gasped, his desire palpable. Lawrence emitted a low, knowing chuckle, parting his legs and reclining as he locked eyes with Adam. "Not just yet," he murmured, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I did promise to make you beg, didn't I? Keep going."

With his free hand, Adam teased his nipple while maintaining his sensual self-pleasure. A sharp intake of breath marked the moment he slowed down, savoring the anticipation, and gently circling his prostate with his index finger. Meanwhile, Lawrence, still undone, gripped his own arousal, skillfully stroking his length, his thumb sensually tracing the tip while indulging in long, pleasurable movements. Adam stared at him, admiring the size and time between each stroke.

Adam cast a sultry glance towards Lawrence, biting his lower lip and panting as his two hands explored his own desires. Finally, Lawrence rose to his feet, evoking a breathy, relieved moan from Adam. "F-f*ck, please, Lar-" Adam begged, his longing evident in his voices.

Lawrence deftly redirected Adam's hand from its previous occupation to his own throbbing desire. His gaze remained fixed on the lithe figure before him. In a heartbeat, Lawrence brought their heated flesh into intimate alignment and, with a tantalizing flourish, moistened his hand with saliva before commencing a synchronized rhythm.

Whispering, Lawrence inquired, "How badly do you want it?" Adam writhed in ecstasy, his senses overwhelmed by the sensual proximity of Lawrence and their shared act of passion. The striking contrast in size between Lawrence's well-endowed member and Adam's more modest stature was evident, but it held an allure all its own. Adam had always appreciated his partner's endowment, but it was only in this moment that he fully comprehended the extent of Lawrence's attributes.

"Please, Larry, I need you inside me," Adam begged, his plea punctuated by the intensity of his desire.

A sad*stic smile adorned Lawrence's face as he skillfully guided his eager member toward the entrance to Adam's yearning warmth. The head of his arousal met Adam's tender opening, their combined passion and a slick sheen of precum acting as an additional lubricant. Lawrence began a deliberate motion, gradually sliding deeper and causing Adam to arch in blissful response.

"You're going to take all of me," Lawrence gasped into Adam's ear, his warm breath sending shivers down Adam's spine. "Gnn, yes," Adam replied breathlessly as Lawrence steadily pushed himself deeper, ensuring he was entirely enveloped within Adam's willing embrace, all the way inside.

With each rhythmic motion, Lawrence's thrusts grew in intensity, prompting Adam to dig his fingers deeply into Lawrence's back. Their lips melded together in a fervent kiss, mingling saliva and the essence of their shared pleasure. Beads of precum glistened on Adam's hipbones, and he was teetering on the brink of climax. "Lawrence, I'm about to—" he panted, on the precipice of release.

"Not yet, my sweetheart," Lawrence replied, tenderly caressing Adam's face. "I'm not finished using every inch of your exquisite ass."

"God," Adam moaned in response, shifting his hands from Lawrence's back to tangle his fingers in his lover's hair, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. "It's f*ckin’ crazy to think I'm your first with a man—"

"That's what happens when you drive me this wild," Lawrence gasped, intensifying his movements. "I could devote a lifetime to admiring every facet of your body."

"Oh, Lar, and you're not even a voyeur; that's pretty intense," Adam gasped amidst a chorus of moans. He chuckled, partly amused by Lawrence's corny banter and partly astounded that this was his reality. Just three weeks ago, he was following Lawrence into dimly lit parking garages, lost in fantasies back in his sh*thole apartment while music played and he hung the photos up to dry. And now, that very same man was not only passionately f*cking his ass, but also giving himself entirely, body and soul.

"I'm going to fill you up," Lawrence panted, his tongue lightly grazing Adam's lower lip as their connection deepened. "Take it all."

"God, I need you," Adam replied, succumbing to the waves of ecstasy that washed over them both, their climaxes converging in a harmonious crescendo. Lawrence drew Adam closer, ensuring their union was as pleasurable as it could be. In that intimate moment, Adam felt like he was on some euphoric high, an intoxicating sensation that their relationship had ignited.

They nestled together, wrapped in each other's warmth, allowing time to slip away as they cherished these stolen moments. Hours seemed to meld into each other, the rhythm of their breathing and the steady beat of their hearts orchestrating a tender symphony. Adam took the role of the big spoon, holding Lawrence in his embrace as if guarding him from the nightmares that had once haunted both of their sleep.

In this cocoon of intimacy, they drifted into a state of drowsiness, surrendering to the gentle lull of slumber on several occasions. Even when Adam's mind occasionally revisited the haunting memories of that dreadful bathroom, the solace they found in each other's arms felt almost surreal, like a dream within a dream.

At one point, Lawrence flipped over, scooping Adam in his arms, nestling his nose into the nook of his neck.

A few times, Adam swore he heard him mumble “I love you,” but it could very easily have been the sound of Larry’s snoring, peacefully sleeping. He could have died there, letting his delusions and fantasies carry him away in bliss.

Maybe to finish this picture, he should order Chinese food and put on a movie.

–

Adam's cell phone stirred him from the edges of slumber, its faint vibrations punctuating the stillness of his room. His groggy consciousness struggled to anchor itself in the present, grasping at the elusive threads of sleep that threatened to pull him back into their embrace.

With a reluctant sigh, he finally acknowledged the persistent intrusion and reached for his phone. Its screen illuminated the dim room, revealing a solitary message from a sender unknown to him—Jill Tuck. Adam couldn't help but wonder who this person was and why they were contacting him. The message was simple, yet it bore a weight of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Is this Adam? I’m outside your apartment."

Chapter 11: mother

Chapter Text

"Is this Adam? I’m outside your apartment."

Adam dialed the number on his phone, stealing a quick glance at the slumbering figure beside him. Lawrence lay there, out like a rock. Bringing the phone to his ear, Adam tiptoed into the master bathroom and gently closed the door behind him.

A gentle, hushed voice responded from the other end of the line. "Adam?"

“Hey, it’s me - Real sorry, I’m not there right now.”

She laughed, and Adam heard a hand slap against her face. “I’m ridiculous. I should have remembered you’d be staying with Dr. Gordon.”

Adam released a hesitant chuckle, uncertain about how to reply to the statement.

“Hey, uh - not that this is a big deal or anything but - how’d you get my address?”

"Please, don't call the hospital," Jill sighed, clutching a bag close to her chest. "To be honest, I went to great lengths to find your address, and I may have broken a few rules. I just wanted to check on you,” the woman rambled, confusing Adam further. Realizing she wasn’t getting much out of him, she spoke again in an attempt to continue the dialogue; “I brought some muffins. Proper nutrition is crucial for your recovery."

Risking her job and breaching patient privacy with confidential medical documents for some f*cking muffins. What was her deal?

She was stupid enough to be wandering out to his sh*thole apartment by herself, this late at night.

"You really didn't have to do all this," Adam said with a sigh, his toes curling in anxiety. He leaned against the opulent, annoying, stupid rich idiot sink in Lawrence's bathroom.

Jill ran her fingers through her hair, adjusting the cell phone to improve her connection with Adam. She softened her tone as she spoke, her concern evident.

“I wanted to. I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay.”

Adam paused, his voice trembling, as he asked, "As okay as I can be - hey, can I ask? Why are you doing this?"

Jill's voice tightened with hurt and anxiety as she replied, "Doing what?"

"Being so kind to me? How do I know you're not the one who kidnapped me?" The words left Adam's mouth with a surge of panic. His vision clouded, and his throat went dry. He desperately needed water. This felt like the onset of a panic attack, a sensation he knew all too well but not with this intensity.

He felt like he was going to pass out.

Adam discerned the soft rustling of fabric, indicating that Jill had settled in the apartment hallway. She sighed audibly, her lips moving as if she struggled to find the right words. Minutes of tense silence passed before she finally spoke.

"Adam, you have nothing to apologize for. I should have been more considerate of your mental state right now. Can I share something with you? It might make a little more sense why I'm doting so much."

"Go ahead," Adam replied, his chest tightening.

“I talked to your mom, Marie.”

"Okay," he responded with a heavy sigh. The clouds of grey in his vision hadn't disappeared yet. His throat tightened, dry like sand as he attempted to swallow. The heart palpitations increased.

Jill continued.

"She reminded me of my mom. Fragile. Weak."

“That’s a word.” Adam pulled at his face, nerves shot.

“When I was sixteen, I got pregnant. I needed her support.”

Adam, overwhelmed by Jill's vulnerability, struggled to find the right words. He sensed the pain, reminding him of all those times he had needed his mom.. From the moment he was forced to come out from his father’s discovery, to all the days he returned home from school battered and bruised at the age of 14. To the day he packed his things and never looked back, slamming the door of that godforsaken 2x2, not ready for the world he was facing. Each time, there had been no emotional support, only worried expressions, and a conspicuous absence of affection.

No harm no foul, no words, no reach.

Jill went on, her voice laden with anguish. "When I miscarried at 16 weeks, and my father blamed me, she did nothing. I know what it's like to be left without the support you desperately need. I knew that if I didn't speak to you," Jill clenched the bag of pastries tighter, as if she were cradling her own child, "I'd regret it for the rest of my life. Some people are so ungrateful for their own children."

Adam stood there, stunned by the raw pain in Jill's story, his mind reeling. The feeling of the cold tile on his bare feet contrasted with the anxiety making his skin hot. His luxurious surroundings felt irrelevant in the face of the heartbreaking revelation. "I'm sorry," he finally managed to say. He wished he could find better words, be more comforting, more personable. Why was he always at a loss in these moments?

Why did he never know what to say. Why was he like this. Why couldn’t he be more personable. Why couldn’t he comfort her.

"Don't be. It's shaped me into who I am," Jill said with a gentle smile, brushing away a teardrop from her eye.

Adam returned the smile. "Your kids are lucky as hell." he remarked.

Jill let out a slight sniffle, followed by a soft laugh. "I don't have children."

Adam's face turned crimson with embarrassment. "Oh God, I'm so sorry - I just... you mentioned if I needed a mom-"

Jill interrupted him, her voice tender and warm as it cut through his apologies. "I did. We've tried a few times. I hope, maybe one day, to have my own. Being a mom isn't just about giving birth. It's about love."

Adam felt a warm wave of gratitude washing over him. He had only encountered this woman a handful of times, yet her gestures had bestowed upon him more maternal affection than he'd ever received from his own parents.

"Jill?" he inquired, resting against the sink basin.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Can I come to see you tomorrow? Maybe at the hospital to pick up those muffins? I'm seriously craving something sweet. The sweetest thing Lawrence has at his place is bran flakes. Doctors, man. I've already raided the fridge."

Jill's smile persisted, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.

"2 PM. I'd be thrilled."

–

Adam's lack of suspicion was a saving grace. If he had questioned her, he might have discovered that the person from whom she'd obtained his address was none other than her own husband, John Kramer.

–

Adam walked out of the bathroom and back to the bed, seemingly molding into Lawrence’s arms in his embrace. Lawrence’s breath from his nose ticked Adam’s cheek, warm beats as he exhaled.

Tomorrow, he thought.

Better to leave the house once than never.

Chapter 12: chained

Chapter Text

The light of the moon illuminated the silk pillows. Adam still hadn't fallen back to sleep since the phone call with Jill.

Suddenly feeling the larger figure behind him pull his body into a warm embrace, Adam seemed to melt into Lawrence's spooning. Hair on his back stood up when he felt the tinge of pain and pleasure as Lawrence's hand gravitated to his shoulder, caressing his gunshot wound. The edges of his skin creating the beginnings of a scar, mixes of pink, purple, and white dancing on its edges.

"Does it hurt?" He inquired, his voice devoid of empathy and sensitivity. This time, it felt more like a demand, a heartfelt plea hidden within the guise of a question, a desperate need to hear, "Please, god, please tell me I didn't cause you pain. Please tell me I didn’t hurt you. Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you forgive me." all concealed to alleviate his overwhelming guilt.

"Sometimes." Adam said, placing his hand on top of Lawrence's, who continued to stroke the wound.

"You know," he whispered, sighing with a deep, heavy weight in his words, burying his head in the comforting tent of Adam's neck, "I'd hate me if I were in your shoes."

"Oh, I know. I’d hope you’d forgive me though, if it was me who had to shoot you." Adam said, returning the coldness in his tone, two corpses of their previous self dancing in their poisoned game. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. I feel like I'm bound to you Larry. Actually, wait, forgive my pun, but chained ."

Lawrence chucked at this.

"I'm personally relieved you don't hate me."

"I literally can’t. You're stuck with me."

"Thank you, Adam."

As he faded off to sleep, Adam felt the coarseness of his fingertips. The same coarseness that hadn't faded since 3 weeks ago, when he bashed Zep's head in, devout of any moisture, cracked like broken glass and straw. The same hand that had scraped multiple times against the floor of that cursed bathroom, leaving his skin dry and aching.

Lawrence and him were bound, by more than the sins that lead them to the trap, but the ones that occurred during it.

Blood on both their hands, open gashes and stab wounds from each other, sewn together with a red string by the arteries that connected their hearts.

Together, chained.

"I think about all the other ways it could have gone. Constantly." Lawrence whispered, his voice cracking at the last word.

Lawrence drew Adam closer, and the emaciated man could feel Lawrence's soft body pressing against his sharp spine. His chest and tummy provided a cozy pillow of warmth against him, and Lawrence's lips delicately brushed against the nape of his neck.

"Tell me about it." Adam chuckled. “You wanna talk about it?”

"Well, if I had perished there and failed to escape for us. What if you had been the one forced to sever your limbs? If I hadn't been there exactly in that moment, I wouldn't have been able to signal down that passing car. Considering it was a secluded rural road, it felt like a near-miracle that I had the strength to scream and wave them to a stop.” A tear nestled in Lawrence’s eyelid, wetting Adam’s shoulder. This felt so special. He didn’t think Lawrence to be an easy crier, even if he had witnessed it multiple times now, from the bathroom to the hospital. “I frequently reflect on the church pews, where my mother had me baptized, the entire situation feeling surreal. This thought haunts me: what if I had bled out while holding you?"

"I'm glad we're both okay," Adam breathed, rubbing his thumb against Lawrence's arm.

"If I had bled to death…I had died then and there, it'd have been worth it to touch you just for that moment."

Adam recalled the roughness of Lawrence's palm against his face, the way his tough electrocuted his system with relief. Even that roughness, the harshness of his hands that had just committed the inhumane act of sawing through his leg, felt like relieving aloe against his cheek.

He vividly recalled the agonizing emotional torment tugging relentlessly at his chest, with deafening screams reverberating in his ear canal. He remembered desperately extending his hand toward Lawrence, yearning for him to halt and let their life forces intertwine, as they bled out together on the cold, unforgiving bathroom floor. He questioned whether that same excruciating sensation had clung to him as he watched Lawrence inch away, the icy hot throbbing of fear coursing through his veins, his heart pounding with a relentless drumbeat. He watched Lawrence's agonizing, slow crawl towards safety just before he made his solemn, final vow to never lie to him. To this very day, he remained unwavering. He would not, could not, betray that promise. He hadn’t, despite the rot that ate at Adam with every day that passed in that freezing, dark bathroom waiting for him in the dark, hallucinations from the dehydration echoing Lawrence's vows in his ear like a siren's song. The way he recalled that final moment to pass the time, hunger allowing him to become numb, his nerves breaking away, his mind melting as he recalled Lawrence. Even if he was to die there, he wanted Lawrence to be his last memory, his last thought, his famous last words.

Turning to face Lawrence, the two men stared into eachothers eyes, green seaglass mixing with blue cerulean.

Lawrence's lips felt soft against his, the essence of high end balm and cocoa butter contrasting with Adam's split, cracked bottom lip, only ever lubricated using spit for chapstick.

A hand gently cradled the back of Adam's head, as Lawrence's warm touch blanketed a comforting layer of heat upon his chilled, pale face.

This time, their touch wasn’t filled with lust; but unrelenting, desperate, unbroken need for each other's presence. Like two rats intertwining their tails, to feel connected, to reconnect the chains shackled between them.

Their kisses seemed to stretch on for hours, and even when the 5:30 AM alarm blared, they persisted for a while longer, gradually acknowledging and accommodating the unwelcome interruption. It was time to get up.

As Lawrence raised himself to sit on the edge of the bed, forcefully silencing the blaring alarm with a swift hand motion, Adam found himself reflecting on the stark contrast of their surroundings— a luxurious castle owned by a man he was desperately, passionately, horribly, destructively in love with, a place he never thought he would find himself; the him that sat on another bed blasting R.E.M. 15 years ago, smoking cigarettes into Scott Tibbs mouth.

Chapter 13: lucky

Chapter Text

For the first time Adam feels grateful for Lawrence's stupid rich person bathroom. The walk in shower as a glorified glass enclosure, the vomit inducing dark red walls and hand towels that had no purpose other than decoration. He wondered if he was back home, in that terrible, equally stupid sh*thole apartment, if the tiles that resembled the bathroom trap would be panic attack inducing. Today, he chose gratitude; not the jigsaw kind, but the lack of apathetic, negative viewpoints he usually chose.

The rain shower head was nice, after all. Who was he not to partake.

Maybe he was changed after all.

Or maybe it was just Lawrence.

A soft knock could be heard from the other side of the door as Adam anxiously shuffled through the cabinets for some dial. "Are you ok in there?"

The humidity from the running shower filled the room with moist air.

In a situation that would usually expand his lungs, he found it hard to breathe. Maybe it was the thought of showering, an executive task proven difficult since the trap, or maybe the feeling of anxiety that throbbed in his chest.

"I guess." The other man responded.

Bypassing permission, Lawrence opened the bathroom door to reveal Adam's cabinet raiding. He chuckled at this. "Just use what's in there. Alison already took her toiletries."

"Can't." Adam huffed, "I can't use that nice sh*t. Probably costs more than my whole childhood room just to use a drop of that shampoo."

"Don't be ridiculous." The blonde man entered the room, leaning against his cane to take in the view of the master bathroom. "I know its not usually wise to take a bath after surgery, but showers are hard to navigate for us both right now. Would you like one?"

Adam swallowed, turning his head to look at the claw bathtub, pristine and probably costing a fortune; an antique find if he had ever seen one.

"Nah," he responded. "I think it'll take a bit before I'm back in one of those."

Lawrence persisted. "Okay, understandable." Leaning against the counter, their eyes met, Adam's doe eyed expression contrasting with Lawrence's sharper features. "What if I took one with you?"

–

The bathtub was cramped, Lawrence got in first, positioning himself against the back, allowing room for Adam to lean against him. They were a fight fit, but the champagne bubbles and warm water felt soothing on Adam's skin, combined with the sensation of Lawrence's chest on his back. Lawrence, brilliant surgeon as he may be, decided to use kitchen wrap to secure their wounds, making sure there was no risk of infection.

"I haven't taken a bath since I was a teenager," Adam scoffed. "Even then, my dad gave me so much sh*t for it."

"Ridiculous," Lawrence scoffed, reaching to grab the brush at the end of the tub to begin scrubbing them both. "Baths are one of the best things you can do for your body. They're the closest thing we have to healing hot springs, and universally relaxing. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

"Pshhh," Adam laughed. "I'll put it on my list to get you one of those fruity spa gift baskets for Christmas."

Lawrence beamed at the suggestion.

"Oh, I'd be delighted," Lawrence replied, lifting up Adam's arm to brush soap onto his arm, scrubbing softly to create bubbles. Adam bit his lip at first, but felt his body relax as Lawrence continued to scrub lightly against his arm. "Doesn't that feel good? It's called exfoliating."

Adam's face turned red, trying not to laugh at this side of Lawrence, vulnerable and beaming with what he would label feminine energy. "I love it."

Cupping water into his hand, Lawrence washed Adam's arm, relieving him of any suds. "Okay, now me."

"Okay, big guy," Adam took the brush and reached behind him to wash Lawrence's shoulder. "sh*t this stuff smells so good."

"Oh, bergamot and lavender. It’s a pleasant one.”

Lawrence reached to grab Adam's face, bringing him to a side-kiss.

"Time to get out. I'm getting pruned. Did you get your face? Skin Care is important. If you’re going to smoke as much as you do, we should at least cross one cancer you’re at risk for off our list."

Adam splashed hot water onto his cheeks, getting small droplets on Lawrence’s chest.

Turning around to look at him, the dark haired man smirked. "Got it, thanks Dad." He responded in a sarcastic tone, pulling the plug of the bathtub, a tinge of anxiety surging at the sound.

Noticing Adam wince, Lawrence pulled him back to his embrace as the tub slowly drained. Kissing him behind the ear, Lawrence exhaled, and squeezed the smaller man.

"It's ok. You're safe here. We survived a much worse bathroom."

–

The flannel clothed his frame like a makeshift dress, starkly highlighting the disparity in size between the two men. Nevertheless, Adam felt a surge of gratitude for the clean attire, particularly that Lawrence owned a flannel shirt. His favorite kind, detailed with a blue and green plaid, warmer than any of his clearance rack clothes back at his apartment. Lawrence was the type of man to buy wholesale from the LL Bean Catalog every single Fall. Rich bastard, but one with taste at least.

He really should get going over there at some point, if none of the sh*thead neighbors had ransacked it.

Before buttoning the last of the shirt, he pulled up the fabric to his nostrils, a shiver going down his spine taking in Lawrence's scent. A mix of his cologne, laundry detergent, sweat and medical grade hand sanitizer haunting the threads.

In any other situation, he would rest himself against the wall and allow his hands to wander to his inseam, but not today. Looking cleaned up was not his style of choice, but this meeting with Jill felt like he was returning a favor. He had never dressed up this much for his own mother, but felt the need to let her know his appreciation - even if it was in the form of looking decent and bathing that day.

After running a comb through his hair to make himself look at least presentable, Adam pulled out his mobile phone to send a text to Jill.

–

>>To: Jill

>>Subject: Today

Is 2day still ok to come by?

–

>>From: Jill

>>Subject: Re: Today

Of course, I am on my 30 at 2. So glad you are coming by. Safe travels.

–

>>To: Jill

>>Subject: Re: Re: Today

Thnx. See u then.

It was then that Lawrence poked his head in the room. With a soft grin, he stood there while Adam fidgeted with the cell phone.

“It looks good on you.”

“Oh - thanks. Also…thanks for driving me. I promise at some point I’ll get my own car.”

“Nonsense. I don’t start back at the hospital until next week. I’d have been making phone calls all day anyway,” Letting out a sound that resembled both a groan and a chuckle, Lawrence scratched the back of his head, not knowing what to do with his posture. “I got a referral to get us both into physical therapy…calling journalists and investigators back…I’m happy to.” Lawrence scratched the back of his head and walked, cane first, over to the drawer to fiddle with the rejected clothes Adam had to choose from. “This will be a good way to get us both out of the house.”

Closing the door to the closet, Adam brushed off his pants and bypassed Lawrence. Following him out to the garage, Lawrence suddenly leaned on Adam, who returned his embrace. The tremors came quickly, leaving Adam shaking at the idea of going back to that hospital, or even leaving the safe enclosure they had found in Lawrence’s home. The place he had pretended these last few days were not haunted by the memories of his wife and child, a place that he felt he tainted just by breathing in it.

The bliss with Lawrence was real, but not without its elements of escapism from the trauma. They couldn’t have experienced what they did without some problems, but the honeymoon phase lingered over them like a heated blanket, devout of any chills.

After standing there for a while, holding the pose of Lawrence holding Adam from behind, the taller blonde man whispered into Adam’s ear.

“You go see Jill Tuck. I’m going to go to my daughter’s school for a bit, call me and I’ll pick you up. You’re safe. Remember that.”

–

Jill's hair carried the sweet scent of cinnamon, and her embrace radiated a warmth and affection that even surpassed the embraces of Adam's own mother.

He couldn't forget the words Jill had used to describe his mother – "weak."

Adam understood that his mother loved him, but her maternal instincts always seemed tethered to the whims of his father's approval. Her loyalty was to him first, and her two sons came second.

The more Adam pondered this, the more he felt a deep sense of pity for her.

He truly pitied her.

"I hope it's alright," Jill said with an easygoing tone, separating from Adam and gently resting her hand on his shoulder. "I made us sandwiches – nothing too fancy, I'm afraid. I didn't have much time this morning. I hope you're okay with egg salad. I should've sent you a text."

Adam slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, resuming his typical posture, which often appeared timid and somewhat hunched. He replied; “I’ll eat just about anything.”

Jill chuckled, leading the younger man into the billing department’s waiting room. From her tan insulated lunch bag, adorned with an elegant monogrammed "J," she revealed two sandwiches neatly wrapped in plastic, bags of crispy potato chips, and meticulously sliced apple segments.

As Adam observed Jill's maternal demeanor and the contents of her lunch bag, he couldn't help but question whether she was being completely truthful about not having children. She seemed to embody every mom stereotype merely by having that bag.

“I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable for me to say this,” Jill said, gently closing the refrigerator door and shifting her focus to Adam. “I always used to daydream about making these for my son’s lunches one day. Back when my mom started neglecting us, I used to make these for my sister and myself. They're the perfect sandwich – rich in fat, carbohydrates, B vitamins, and protein."

Adam eagerly devoured half of the triangular sandwich, savoring the delectable blend of mayo, mustard, and egg as it filled his mouth. With a mouthful of food, he managed to reply, “You sure do know a lot about science. A sandwich is a sandwich in my book.”

Jill's laughter, like a warm breeze, broke the silence.

They continued to savor their meal in companionable quiet for a few minutes. Then, the blonde woman broke the silence, her voice soft and understanding.

"I realize you came here for the muffins, and I apologize for keeping you," she said.

Adam, feeling a twinge of defensiveness, replied, "Oh no. I want you to know that I don't see you as just a source of food. Today, I think I really needed a Mom, probably for the last 27 years, if I'm honest."

Jill's face brightened with a warm smile.

Setting her sandwich aside and easing into a more relaxed posture, she locked eyes with Adam.

"That means a lot," she responded. "How are things going at Dr. Gordon's house?"

Adam hesitated for a moment. "Well, it's... alright - Good, actually, really good I guess."

Jill's brow furrowed inquisitively, silently urging him to elaborate.

“Good? He cuts off a limb and you have a bullet in your shoulder, and you both are good ? That’s relieving.”

This pulled a smile from Adam.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’m processing what happened. I’m kinda taking this thing one day at a time.”

A blush crept across Adam's face, which didn't go unnoticed by Jill, who shot him an affectionate smirk.

It was the same kind of smirk he had secretly longed for from his mom all those years ago, the kind that would have reassured him he could openly discuss his early experiences and first kisses with boys. It was a playful grin of understanding, a shared connection in the realm of feelings – whether it was a simple crush or love, it didn't matter. Jill wanted to hear it.

“He’s caring for me.” Adam responded, finishing off his sandwich in one last bite.

Jill playfully punched Adam's stronger arm, eliciting an exaggerated "Ow!" from him.

"Tell me more!" she urged with a teasing glint in her eye.

Adam's face turned a vivid shade of crimson, and Jill couldn't help but envision the fleeting white marks it might leave if she were to poke him.

"He... He noticed me panicking in the bathroom this morning," he stammered, his voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and amusem*nt.

“...we took a bath together.”

Scandalous, he thought, wincing at the words as they tumbled from his lips, feeling like the very homewrecker he had been afraid of becoming. In 2004, a year when so many still clung to the belief that two men being together was inherently wrong, he couldn't help but cringe at saying it outloud.

"Oh!" Jill exclaimed with a radiant smile. "My husband John and I used to take baths together. It's such an intimate experience, right? Just the best."

The conversation felt surprisingly natural. Adam found comfort in the ease of talking to her and discussing Lawrence without any fear or judgment.

“It was! Nice. I learned what exfoliating was.”

“Oooh, Dr. Gordon knows skincare. That’s rare for men.”

“He sure does. I guess I gotta get him some bath supplies at some point or some sh*t, least I can do for letting me stay in his f*cken mansion.”

Jill's laughter rang out once more as she opened her bag of chips, extending it toward Adam. He didn't hesitate to plunge his hand into the bag, helping himself to half of its contents. It felt perfectly acceptable; after all, he was a growing 27-year-old man.

“I’d be happy to go shopping for him with you. TJ Maxx has some good deals.”

“Oh god, please. I don’t know sh*t. Lawrence won’t know if it’s from there or some fancy shcmancy place, sounds great.”

Their conversation took a pause as the two finished their lunches.

Jill looked at Adam with intent. “Go ahead.”

“Was John- your husband - the father of the baby you had - the one at 16?”

Jill’s face didn’t turn. She thought for a few moments.

“No,” she responded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But we experienced a similar loss before. He might as well have been.”

Adam's brows furrowed in response, a wave of sadness washing over him as he empathized with her.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she responded. “Maybe one day. You know, if my first son had made it, he’d be around your age.”

Adam felt cold.

“You don’t look 43.”

Jill landed another joking punch on Adam’s arm.

“ Adam, manners.”

As they prepared to part ways, Jill extended her arms for another heartfelt hug, and Adam cherished the moment, savoring it perhaps longer than he should have. Eventually, he gently accepted the bag of muffins from her grasp. They exchanged waves, and in a predictable, comforting fashion, Jill left him with the same parting words she had spoken the very first time they met.

“If you need a mom, I’m here.”

As she walked back to her station and returned to work, Adam stood outside the hospital, watching as Lawrence’s car made itself visible in the horizon.

He couldn’t wait to tell him everything; to hear everything, from Diana’s school to the drive in.

No matter how hard things were, today, he was grateful to be alive.

Chapter 14: diana gordon

Chapter Text

I am in pain

The piercing sound of a bell mixed with children's laughter

My vision blinded to all but you, the one I could find in a crowd of 800,000

My daughter

And I am tortured

Knowing what has happened to you

You are only a child

And one day I will look at you and think

You were only just a child

You hug me

Scream

"Daddy"

As your face is lit up with joy like it always was

I relish, cherish the moment where things feel normal

Then I remember

The signs of trauma

Do not impact some victims

Until age 14

I hold her tight

My child

As she tells me about her room at the condo

Asks me when I'll be coming home

To which I say

I'm not sure

But that she can visit me anytime

This is her home too

She tells me about how the dog is settling in

How mommy is doing

Only reference to the event

Is in

The confession

That she no longer enjoys her favorite breakfast

Ơ̴̜̟̞͚̔̇r̵̪͝ ̵͕̊̄͠t̴͈̼̤̊͒͜ȟ̸̳̯̦̀ẹ̶̦̦̯͑͑̇͠ ̸̖̰̜̗̰̓͛̇͠ś̴͍͓͝m̸̤̼̋̔̎͠ė̸͖́l̷͓͔̥̻̼͐͂̓̀l̶̪͗ ̸̛͖̀̊̀̆o̵̦̫͓̥̲̒̈̒̋̇f̶̬̂̉͋͑ ̴̞̠̟̞͎̀̆̈́̑b̴̨̜̗̅͆̐a̵͖͎͚͗̎͝ć̷̡͇͎̓́̚ŏ̶̠̦̻͈ṉ̴̢̮̻̀͝ ̴̧̙̫̫͖̍̈̒

We sit on a bench

I say I'll drive her home

She tells me about school

Asks me about my friend

Ţ̷̛̛̝͓̻̃̐h̴̦͐͘ē̵̮͕̪͗̐̌͘ ̴̡̝̩̭̤͒̌o̸͔̓́̋̓͊n̵̡̛̤̖̉̈́͋͘ȩ̵̱̙̯̮̀ ̸̢̪̦̋͐̿͘͘͜w̶̺͉̟̩̽̾h̵̛̟͔̕ȯ̷̟͕̩́̉̈́͐ ̸̛͈͓̠̥̀ͅm̵̤̏͂̉ò̴̪̖̯͓̀m̴̖̀̒͐̍͜m̸͙̟̎͆̎̉̓ͅy̶̰̰͒͂ ̸̛͈̞̩͈̇̌͂͠s̶̜̺̉̾ą̶̲̦̦́y̵͉͍̤̅̀́́͜s̶͓͊͒̏̈́͠ ̵̰̥̌̍͛̋͘ş̸̬̪͌̈́̄͘ť̴͈o̶̟̰̒̈́̍͗ͅl̷̳͉̔ę̷̡͈̼̓̈́̽̋͛ ̵͇̍̌̋̅͝m̴͍̺͋̾̑e̸̺̟̗̥̓̚͘ ̴̜̱̮̒̋͆̈́̇f̷̣̙̪͙̫̓r̸̫̤̲͔͖̎͂͐ỏ̶͕̱̭̮̭͋́m̶̭̣̹̲͆ ̸̲̉̉̿̉t̴̰͖̼̤̐̀h̵̢̛̝͆e̵̡͍͚͍̅͑́m̴͙̈̈́ ̷͔̰̕

̸̼̈́

I do not have the bravery to respond

C̶̳̀̃͝͝ȍ̴̞̹̈͊̏ͅͅẇ̶̥͔̲͈͋̽ͅǎ̴̲͍̿ŗ̶̕ḏ̶̯̟͍̒ ̴̧̳̞̮̈́̓͋̋

̵̢͓̘̤̪̓

And it is then that the guilt hits me

And I remember

I am the reason

Someone would do this to a child

S̸̨͕͖̬̾̏̃͗h̶̡͌͘͝è̸̢͔̗̳̈́̿̿̐ ̴̞̥̫͑d̵͉̤̙̻̑̕o̷̯̟̯̭̒è̷̫̝͙͉̿̇̃̂s̸̻̙̆̇̊ ̸͇͂̊̒̕͝n̶͈̝̭̗̻̒̈́o̵̡͎̍̃́̕͝ṫ̵̠̬͛ ̴̢̳̤̱͕̿̌̓̋̈́m̷̨͍͋̌́̚ė̶̩̼̓̃͆̇n̷̡͈̲̟̓̂͑̌̓ṭ̷̩̥̈́̃̐i̷͉̊o̶͔͍̮͔͑n̸͈̊̈͋̇͒͜ ̵̹̀̽͌̾̚t̶̪͓̰͌̍͗̚h̴̢̛̩̩̿̅͒e̶̡̤̹͑ ̸͔̥̲̂̂̈́̊͘͜ͅc̵͍̪̖͊͛̕a̴̤̋̈̿͠n̵̤̣̮̦̹̿ẹ̶͛̊̽͆ ̷̭̐̿ơ̷̰̹̲͛̎͘r̴̡̦͇̀ ̶̗̋͊d̴̞͖̀̈́̇͜ă̷̳̙̪̜d̴̦͍̖͋̑d̴̟̞̮̯̒̊̎y̶͍̜͎̌̄̿'̵̭̭̳͕͇̑s̴͔͊ ̶̢̧̤̗̯̑n̸̳̠̲̣̾́̃è̸̪̼w̵̮̍̅͛̄ ̶̭̈́͌͌̄f̴͔͉̖̳͓̀͝o̷̤̼͚̺̓͂ǫ̸̦̒t̸̟̹̯͗͊͐̀͝

I am still her father

I will always be her father

It stabs like a knife

The sharp sensation of metal cutting flesh

I cannot hear a single word you say as I drive you home

I envision a future

The 3 of us

Maybe even Alison

I̶̦̫̠͓̐͐́͝ ̵̛̛͙͚̿̚h̵̲̪͆̚̕ạ̶̩̳̾t̷̀̃ͅë̶̡̪̻́͛̔̆͘ ̷̩̙̦̉͗͆͑̐ͅt̴̨̜͕̳͎̐ḥ̷̹̟̕͝a̵̙͛̊̿͋t̷͉̭͙̫̀͋ ̵̦͖͖̄̽͒͜ấ̶̛̗͔̉ ̴͕͙̤́̿̓̀͠p̵̼̿́͝â̴̖̥̰͎̂̍ṟ̷̝̝̎ţ̷̹͚̻̺̅̏̽͛̚ ̷̡͔̘̹̍͒̿͌͒ŏ̶̢͍̠̉ḟ̶̘̪͚̦ ̴̧͍́m̷͓͆͌e̸̠̔̓ ̸̱̼͇͋̎͘͠ẃ̷̩̼ì̸̗s̵̖̯̱̙̜͑́͑͝h̵͎͚̼̞̩̉̆̒͘͠ë̸̞͈̄͝d̵̢̲̟̀ ̴̡̧̛̗͉̈͗̒͆s̴̨̛̈̔̂̌ḧ̴̹́̎̍̕ê̸̹͙̦̇́̌͂ ̸͕̘͚͕̐̇͒d̷̡̨͓̭̾͒̎̑͜͝i̵̠͛̈́̚e̵͍͂͜͜d̶̛̺̀

4

No

I̶̦̫̠͓̐͐́͝ ̵̛̛͙͚̿̚h̵̲̪͆̚̕ạ̶̩̳̾t̷̀̃ͅë̶̡̪̻́͛̔̆͘ ̷̩̙̦̉͗͆͑̐ͅt̴̨̜͕̳͎̐ḥ̷̹̟̕͝a̵̙͛̊̿͋t̷͉̭͙̫̀͋ ̵̦͖͖̄̽͒͜ấ̶̛̗͔̉ ̴͕͙̤́̿̓̀͠p̵̼̿́͝â̴̖̥̰͎̂̍ṟ̷̝̝̎ţ̷̹͚̻̺̅̏̽͛̚ ̷̡͔̘̹̍͒̿͌͒ŏ̶̢͍̠̉ḟ̶̘̪͚̦ ̴̧͍́m̷͓͆͌e̸̠̔̓ ̸̱̼͇͋̎͘͠ẃ̷̩̼ì̸̗s̵̖̯̱̙̜͑́͑͝h̵͎͚̼̞̩̉̆̒͘͠ë̸̞͈̄͝d̵̢̲̟̀ ̴̡̧̛̗͉̈͗̒͆s̴̨̛̈̔̂̌ḧ̴̹́̎̍̕ê̸̹͙̦̇́̌͂ ̸͕̘͚͕̐̇͒d̷̡̨͓̭̾͒̎̑͜͝i̵̠͛̈́̚e̵͍͂͜͜d̶̛̺̀

3

I̸̼̙͌̍̃ṇ̷͙͖̈̎́́͆ş̶͎͓̐̓ṭ̴̑̀ͅe̷͇̔a̷͎̼͔̿d̵̨̮̫̓̾̉͜ ̴̮̎͠͝o̷̥̬̞͖̜̓ḟ̴͕͒̒͒ ̵̣͍̠̻̐â̷̲̙̳͗̾̈́ ̸̛̜̇̍̄̏p̸͎̘͓̺̻̄̾̍̕̚a̴̪̺͍̹͋͆͛ṛ̸̨̠̃͜ͅt̴͓̿̑̽͛ ̵̟̽̑̌̉̕o̶̩̻̮͛̾̾f̷̖̀ ̵͎̝̔m̶̹̈́͠ȇ̷̙̹̊̀ͅ ̵̢̳̹͗̐̑s̷̤̦͈̖̓̑͒͑͗ẗ̶͖͍̝̺̞́̄̚i̶̡̪͎̥͘͝l̴̡̧͉͇̒̃̓̆l̴̗̣̲̝̤̑̋̄̌̚ ̸̱̈́i̸͖̦̔̐͗̃͜ń̴͙̣̠̔͒ ̸̡͖̉̂̽t̴̥̜͛̋̆̎ͅh̵̡̹͕̳́̑̔̎̚a̷̦̠̫̞̬̐͠ţ̸̱͙͖̤̇̔ ̴̫̩̎b̶̡̻̯͖̒a̶̛͓͓͌̋̚ẗ̵̢͓̣͓͚́ĥ̴̤̫̚r̴͙͇͘ŏ̶̟̥͓̀̈́͝o̶̧̠͔͊͆̆̚m̷̛̺̘̘̻͊͐͆͜ ̴͕͔͎̘̔̿̕ͅ

Just us

A happy future

Where maybe

We could be peaceful

Chinese food

Christmas play

But then I remember

I am the reason

Someone did this

To a child

Before I stop the car

To kiss her and say goodbye

To say I love her

And that daddy is always thinking of her

She mentions

She's so grateful

n̶̯͗͜o̵̭̩̤̗̍̇͋͝ ̶͎̜͙̏̑͛̕o̷̠͕̓̂̅ń̵̼̓̃̋e̶̢̻͇͖̜̿̀̃̉͠ ̵͔̤̩̮̌̿͂̌̕ͅh̷͎͑͠a̴̡͔̟̙͚̓̈́̾ş̴̹͉̽͑͌ ̶̝͈̞͍̟̚b̷̨͉̠͍̓̍̾̚ṛ̷̜͎͎͆̕͝ō̴̮͈̲̈́̊k̶̛̤͓̥͐e̶̬͓̼̱͍̔͒͐n̶̪̭̎̉̀́ ̵̛̭i̷̡̙̞̓̈͌ͅń̴̦̞t̷̰̎̔͆͛o̶̠͍͌ ̷̩̮̙͚͔͊̾̒̈́̽t̶̬̗̅́͑h̸̨͇̩̉̈́̏̕e̴̼̓ ̸̛̜̝͊c̴̰͌̊̃o̴̮͆n̶͕͑̐͂d̸̞͙̱̳̾̓͌̅̔o̴̬̳̗̔ ̷͕̇y̷̰͔̭̙̅̿̅̿̇è̷͙̻͝t̶͖̋

̷̠̪̓́̾

The casual tone in her voice

The voice of a child

I burst into tears when I see her close the door

Her mother glaring at me from the window

Only interrupted when she asks for her after school snack

Her mother who was once my wife

My heart knows not this unfamiliar place

I think about my life

"Lawrence, sit down-- I'll get a paper bag, just sit tight"

And that

̶͕͉̭̃̆̀̃͆͜a̵̼̙͚̺͕̓̈́͘m̶̠̯̭͎̅ ̴̤̳̜̭̎̾ţ̶͐̆͋̐h̶͔̊̊͠è̸͔͖̏̈̓͜ ̶̲̏͗r̴̢͙͇͍̗͑̅̉ẹ̷̢̛̗̠͔̐ą̵̛̩̯̟̏͜s̸͕͈̘̔̌͝õ̸̺̤̦n̸͎̯̍̏ ̸̢͕͔̓̓̑͜ͅw̴̟̗͎̒̇̚͘h̷̰̖̯̕ỵ̴͔͚̇̈́̀̕͜ ̸̞̳̩̭̀͌͂s̸̼͈̞̝̐͊̉͘ő̸͉̗͎̙m̸̺̮͙̉e̸̛͉̱̲͖͛̋̈́o̷̥̪͛̌͘n̴̨̼̈͒̓̀̆e̵̼̝̳̥̼͌̚̚͘ ̸̫̰̓̾̏d̵̢̛͙̜̿̇̋ĩ̵̱̭͇̮̈́̄̈́d̷͔͓̬͆̓͋̚ ̷̨͈͖͇͔̌͑̕t̸̡̞̝͎̫̂h̴͓͕̺̍̄͆͛̕í̸̢̛͖͕ș̷̱͋͑͆͝ ̵̭͖̲͆̈̀͝t̸̰́̿̎̅͂o̸̙͇̭̒̓͜ ̵̖̣͗̽̀͌ͅm̴̙̞̙͘ẏ̴͎̻̱̎́͘͝ ̸̻̞̮͉̗͌͐c̸͎̙̆h̵͎̲͙̀͆i̶̝͉͍̞̎̀l̷̖̒d̶̛͇̭̜̝͊͝

I am

"Lawrence, breathe"

The reason

I will be the reason

For all her suffering

"Lawrence please say something, look at me, please!"

I̶͍̍̈́m̴̺͇̈̔̚͠ ̶̢̜̓́̉s̷̢̬̖̝̤̽̑͂̓́o̵͖͛̚ ̶͉͒̓s̷̝̲̩̄o̴̝͝r̵͉̯͔͉̩̀͊r̶̛͔͚͔̠̯̊͛y̴̝̽̋̀ ̴͇̫̮̤̌D̷̩̲̓̈́̀̅͘î̴̢̳̹̞̅̅̆̓a̴̠̟̺͕̔̈́̓n̸͇͊̓̊̄͝ͅą̸̢̗͚͍̽̃͂ ̷̳̔̄

"I'm calling 911, Lawrence please hang on!"

Chapter 15: hospital bed / last flowers

Chapter Text

Just a few days had passed before returning to the oppressive scent of death that haunted the hospital corridors. Lawrence's room was different from the initial post-bathroom admission—a makeshift space separated by a drawn curtain, shared with two other patients. In this peculiar arrangement, Adam was soundly asleep, his head and upper body perched at the foot of the bed, leaving Lawrence to wonder how he maintained his balance, in spite of his restless toss-and-turn tendencies.

Jolting awake, their eyes meet.

Once again, safe.

"Morning." Adam mumbles, smiling. Lawrence does not mirror his expression.

“What the hell happened?”

"I think you had a panic attack," Adam stretched, yawning after a few hours of rest. "I dunno. You stopped responding. I wasn't taking any chances."

"Ridiculous." Lawrence scoffs. "This was uncalled for."

A young man wearing a long white coat enters the room, reaching out to shake Dr. Gordon's hand.

He does not return the gesture.

He reminds him of his residency days.

Young, progressive, and eager to diagnose.

But rarely to treat.

"Dr. Gordon, how are you feeling this morning? I'm doctor Nelson. I see you had a pretty bad episode. 'Normal for PTSD victims to have these."

Lawrence does not respond.

"Ok, I see we’re getting straight to it then," the young man flips through his clipboard. "Good news is you can go home today. I'll be sending you home with some Xanax and a low dose of lexapro. That should help you stay outta here for a while until you're in consistent therapy."

Lawrence scoffs again, shaking his head in frustration and irritation.

"Nonsense. I've been practicing medicine since before you were born.”

The other doctor laughs. “I think we were in the same resi-”

Lawrence interrupts him, with a scowl.

“- I think psychiatric medication is an overreaction, I just had a little moment of confusion."

The other doctor’s expression turns cold.

"A moment that was almost a heart attack, Doctor Gordon."

He frowns as the younger doctor scribbles something on his clipboard.

"-as a fellow medical practitioner, you should know there's nothing wrong with taking these medications."

Adam shot Lawrence a reassuring nod.

He rolled his eyes.

The young doctor extended a firm handshake to both of them, subtly urging Dr. Gordon to comply. He finally returns the gesture. With a swift turn, he directed his attention towards Adam.

"Make sure he takes these," he whispered.

In the blink of an eye, he was off to his next appointment, vanishing before any questions could be raised.

Merely a few minutes later, the room's tranquility was disrupted as a statuesque, blonde woman dashed into the space. She was clad in sleek, knee-high leather boots and a deep burgundy trench coat. None other than Alison Gordon, yanking Diana by the arm behind her.

Halting abruptly, Alison surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings with a discerning eye, her arms folding firmly across her chest. The room's atmosphere shifted, subtly charged with a blend of anticipation and apprehension, as everyone awaited her response.

Her presence is ominous.

"Larry! What happened?"

"Just had a small scare, Allie - I hardly think Diana is needed here. Why did you bring her back here? Allie!"

"Because," Alison exclaimed emphatically, "she has to know that her dad is all right."

In the corner of the room, Diana sat engrossed in her own little world, playfully toying with a rubber glove.

Adam and Diana's eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. He broke into a warm smile, and she, in her innocence, mirrored his grin, creating a simple yet profound moment of reassurance. Children, with their uncomplicated gestures, had a way of imparting comfort in the most genuine of ways. Children, are simple.

"Allie, you can go now," Lawrence takes a long sip of water. "That quack doctor just gave me medication, can you believe that? The young ones these days. All pill pushers."

Visibly annoyed, Alison impatiently tapped her foot and rolled her eyes, her arms tightly crossed in a posture of frustration.

"Larry, both Diana and I are on them. It's nothing to be ashamed of. How else would we be functioning?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lawrence rolls his eyes, throwing up his hand in an exaggerated gesture. "My father never needed these and that man was born in a barn, watched all his siblings die one after the other and served in Korea. Not a single pill."

Alison shook her head in irritation, pressing her palm to her hand. "So…what he went through was just a walk in the park? Damn it Lawrence, you're smarter than this."

Adam keenly observed the dynamics at play between them, noting their growing discomfort, which made it evident that they had indeed been married. However, as he watched them navigate a conversation, a glimmer of hope emerged. Perhaps the impending divorce wouldn't prove to be as challenging as he had initially feared.

Alison's gaze turned to Adam, who hadn't spoken a word since she arrived.

Unexpectedly, she reached her hand out, her soft palms meeting his rough hands, her handshake tight but warm.

"Thank you for taking him in." She spoke, authoritatively but with a kind, welcoming tone. Unexpected.

Adam's eyes shot open, timidly returning the handshake.

"No problem."

An hour goes by before discharge time.

They split Diana's school lunch before the doctor returns, hands Adam the prescription, and walks out before they can say a word once again.

As Adam checked out, he waved at Jill, responding with mouthing, "Are you okay?"

Adam, in response, shook his head and waved his hand in a reassuring gesture.

As Lawrence leads them out, with Adam's arm wrapped around his arm, the taller man leads with his cane faster than usual, eager to leave.

As they reach Lawrence's car, the blonde man responds quietly, in almost a whisper.

"Thank you."

Chapter 16: craigslist personals

Chapter Text

"What are you doing?"

Scooping up a hefty spoonful of Lucky Charms, Adam leaned over his laptop, a look of irritation etched across his face. The Mozilla Firefox window on his computer was buried deep within Craigslist, 46 pages in.

"I'm looking for a job," Adam mumbled with sugary flakes and milk dribbling down his chin. "Have you seen how much that hospital bill was? I need to get back out there."

"On Craigslist personals?" Lawrence inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty, as he poured two pills into his hand, washing them down with a Fiber One bar and a glass of orange juice.

"This is where some sketchy stuff happens but people pay good," Adam responded, raising the bowl to his lips to slurp the sugary milk. "I might make a couple hundred bucks tailing a husband for a few days, it should help cover the uh - the con pay."

"Its Co-pay. Also that's not what Craigslist personals is intended for –"

Adam raised his head and fixed his gaze on Lawrence, his expression contorting into a scowl as he glared at the taller blonde man. Adam’s gaze shifted to Lawrence’s pill bottles.

"You know, you're not supposed to take Xanax every day. Make sure you slow your load."

Lawrence let out an exasperated sigh, finishing the last bite of his Fiber One bar as he strode out of the room.

"Considering the image of you browsing Craigslist personals in the dead of night is burned into my head now, I might need more than just that," he quipped.

Adam's face tightened, a small chuckle escaping him. He could tell Lawrence was in a mood, and after the events of the last 24 hours, he couldn't blame him.

A sense of hopelessness gnawed at his stomach as he found himself at the same page of listings he had left off on that morning, the day before he woke up in the bathroom. His life was routine, neither good nor spectacular, but predictable. He couldn't help but recall those moments when he had sat in his living room, reliant on his neighbor's subpar Wi-Fi, scrolling through personals as if it were his full-time job to stalk and stick his nose into people’s business for a few quick bucks.

Well, in a way, it was his job.

Shutting the laptop, Adam sighed and reflected.

Money was not a problem in Lawrence's house but he wondered how long their sandbox would last. How long it would take until Lawrence got sick of him, or how quickly it'd take Adam to make him angry. How long it’d be until he was disgusted by him, and the way he chose to live his life in contrast to Larry’s. How long it'd be until an outburst, or he realized how impatient, irritating, sloppy and haphazard Adam's judgment was.

Whatever.

Adam snatched Lawrence's previously used Walkman, slipped on the headphones, and tucked it into his sweatpants pocket before heading towards the door.

The familiar sounds of an R.E.M. disc filled his ears. The one thing he could find on Lawrence’s shelf where their taste overlapped. He felt relieved though knowing that he hadn’t found his way into Lawrence’s record collection, maybe then they could bond over a Duran Duran vinyl or some deep cut hard rock band Lawrence had a phase for during the jaded, sleep deprived days during residency.

As he gripped the brass handle of Lawrence's front door and felt the crisp autumn breeze against his stubble, he was reminded of one important task on his to-do list: his own apartment.

But for now, he decided to put it off until later. There was nothing wrong with taking a walk to clear his thoughts, if not for a moment.

–

As Adam ascended the porch stairs and reentered the house, he was taken aback by the sight of Lawrence in the middle of a midday nap. Uncharacteristic of him, nestled under sheets in broad daylight.

Peeking out from under his blankets, Lawrence's glasses still perched on his nose, their eyes locked.

His eyes were glassy. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyelids, reminding him of the haunting look on his face after the self amputation. Even if it was 1% of that, he knew the look well. He was looking rough. Depressed.

With a casual wave of his hand, he gestured for Adam to approach, body language saying, "Come here."

Complying, Adam placed the Walkman on the bedside table and allowed himself to melt into Lawrence's arms and the warm sheets.

Softly the blonde man whispered "are you okay?"

Adam clenched his jaw.

"No. I’m not. I'm sorry. I’m sorry about the hospital thing."

"Don't apologize," Lawrence replied, "If I weren't a doctor, I'd have done the same thing."

He drew Adam closer, running a hand through the short, black waves of his hair. Gently pressing his lips against the smaller man's forehead, he urged, "Tell me what's on your mind."

Adam remained still, allowing Lawrence to cradle him. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Everything. Everything about this. Being here."

"Go on," Lawrence encouraged.

"I don't want you to take care of me. I'm afraid of letting that happen. I'm just so terrified of losing you when all of this stops being new."

They sat there for a while, the silence stretching longer than Adam would have preferred. The autumn leaves rustled in the wind, and Lawrence's breath softly brushed against Adam's ear to create an ambience of his own personal ocean sounds.

"Well," Lawrence sighed, "Do I have your trust?"

Adam matched his tone. "Unfortunately, yes."

Lawrence's lips met Adam's, feeling soft as they kissed, his hand gently cradling Adam's cheek.

"I've never felt this way about anyone, and that scares me a bit too," Lawrence confessed. Adam's face felt cold as he heard the sincerity in Lawrence's voice.

"You know, I wasn't joking about asking you to drive out to California and marry me. We just need 9 more dates."

Adam couldn't suppress his tears any longer; his body quivered as he allowed himself to unravel in the comforting embrace of the doctor's arms, floodgates pouring.

As he rubbed Adam's back in a soothing manner, Lawrence's other hand gently cradled his head against his neck. "We've already survived real things to fear. If we've made it through our bodies almost bleeding to death, I'm confident our relationship will be just fine."

Adam continued to sob, finding solace in Lawrence's reassurance.

He reflected on all their intimate conversations, from the low-key pillow talks to the very first time he'd felt Lawrence’s touch in the bathroom, the slick texture of blood allowing his grip to slip. He thought about how Lawrence's hand had felt against his face, the desire to stay alive equated only by the urge to kiss him before he escaped.The rush of adrenaline brought back memories, both the fear of never seeing Lawrence again, and the overwhelming desire for Lawrence to stay, even if it meant dying on that dirty floor together. His love was selfish, unforgiving, deadly, and driven by the same unwavering principles that had led him to the trap in the first place. He recalled the contrast between the cheap hospital bed sheets and the luxurious silk ones of Lawrence's bed. Each moment was unique and profoundly special, etching itself into his memory, forever marked by his unwavering love for Lawrence.

Adam reached up to kiss the blonde, and Lawrence reciprocated with no hesitation.

In a soft whisper, Adam confessed, "I love you, Lawrence Gordon."

They briefly separated, with Lawrence pausing to absorb the weight of his words. The initial shock waned, and a smile of pure euphoria slowly stretched across his lips.

With a fervent grip on Adam's hands, Lawrence leaned in and moaned into the other man's mouth, passionately tasting his lips as they ventured into the fabrics of Lawrence’s bed.

"I love you," he confessed, shuddering as the words spilled from his lips, "-and when I die before you, I’ll still love you until the end, Adam Faulkner-Stanheight."

As the confession reaches his ears, Adam pulled him back to him, taking in the moment of bliss, ignoring that even when they were old together, he would bury Lawrence one day.

And under the ground, they'd return to the soil together, years later than he had thought they would back then, side by side on the bathroom floor.

---

I'm the next act
Waiting in the wings
I'm an animal
Trapped in your hot car
I am all the days
That you choose to ignore

You are all I need
You're all I need
I'm in the middle of your picture
Lying in the reeds

-Radiohead, all I need

Chapter 17: darkroom

Chapter Text

Lawrence, clad in a pristine white suit adorned with a pink tie and complemented by brown suede dress shoes, delicately holds the gold ring, sliding it onto the younger man's finger. A smile graces Lawrence's face, a subtle undertone of relief evident in his voice as he utters the words, "I do."

The surreal reality hits him. They are married. The disbelief lingers as they stand there, taking in the moment, glancing out at the assembled crowd. Jill, adorned in a white shawl and a short-sleeved, baby blue dress, sobs unabashedly in the front row. By her side is Scott, whose sentimental expression lingers as he flips Adam the bird.

Diana brought them flowers. Even Alison is there. He looks out on the crowd of new family, friends, in-laws, a life he never dreamed he'd have let alone with Lawrence Gordon.

He can't believe it.

As he feels Lawrence's lips brush his face, his stomach drops. The smell of flesh reaches his senses, Lawrence's lips are freezing cold, like a corpse. He tastes blood.

Then, the smell of iron hits his senses next. He feels like he's going to throw up, acid reaching his throat with a slight burning sensation, clawing through his esophagus.

As Adam pulls away, his gaze turns downwards, staring directly at the bloody hacksaw in Lawrence's hand. His other foot is severed off, and Adam isn't sure how he's balancing. The blood is spilling everywhere, down the stairs of the podium they're exchanging vows on, like a sick, deadly waterfall trickling down into a valley.

No one notices. They just keep smiling, clapping, like some surrealist horror movie.

Lawrence's hand touches Adam's. He’s freezing. The ends of his fingers are blue, frostbitten and rotting.

The bullet wound feels deeper than usual. The feeling of pain and rot grinding into his flesh.

Adam hears a click, and as he looks up, Lawrence has a gun pressed against his forehead.

"In sickness and in health, til death do us part," he murmurs in a hushed whisper, bloodshot eyes and deepening dark circles intensifying with each passing moment. The crimson hue beneath Lawrence's eyes is hauntingly familiar, a visual punch to the gut that grows more profound the longer he gazes into them.

"Lawrence, why?’ he exclaims, and with no trouble, the safety is off.

Lawrence fumbles awkwardly with the pistol, and Adam's recognition kicks in—it's the same one Lawrence used to shoot him in the bathroom.

Finally, Lawrence locks eyes with him, an expression so laden with hatred that it pierces through Adam's emotional defenses, threatening to bring tears to his eyes.

"You destroyed my family, shattered my marriage, and wrecked my life," Lawrence hisses, the venom in his words echoing the devastation that lingers in every corner of their shared history. "You destroyed my home, annihilated everything good in my life."

With two bullets, one piercing through Adam and the other in Lawrence's skull, their lifeless forms entwine on the solemn podium floor—the very stage that was meant to witness the celebration of their union on the day of their wedding.

The 2004 Los Angeles Times remains silent on their tragic tale, relegating it to the pages of a small local newspaper. The headline tells a grim story: "Jigsaw Victims Die In Murder-Suicide," encapsulating the heart-wrenching conclusion to a narrative that once amazed the public and tabloids.

Adam jolts up in bed.

He just wants the nightmares to end already.

Lawrence pulls him back, still half asleep, but almost instinctively knowing he needed comfort.

Heart still pounding, the guilt makes its bed another night, burying itself inside of Adam so deep he can hardly keep his eyes shut.

–

Coffee tastes better when Lawrence makes it. Adam takes note of his repetitive morning routine, but makes time after their alarm goes off to softly kiss Adam's forehead. Lawrence uses the bathroom and then makes his way out to the kitchen.

He separates the grounds before pouring enough water in for 4 cups, adding a little extra just in case. For two people with minimal routine at the moment, Adam questions why he's still drinking this much in the first place. Maybe to give himself the energy that won't come easily, or to keep some normalcy in his mornings. Lawrence’s morning ritual to maintain a semblance of normalcy in the otherwise unpredictable days ahead.

The baths become a regular thing and Lawrence can’t be bothered to think about the water bill. From washing each other's hair, to what Lawrence introduced to him as “exfoliating,” he wonders how he survived without these affectionate gestures before. Adam noticed his skin clearing, and the softness on his arms when he felt them.

By 11, Lawrence takes his lexapro - this time without the Xanax- which reminds Adam to take his Adderall. They clink their glasses as the pills go down, a corny gesture that Lawrence started the last few days.

At some point in the afternoon, they drive out to a 7-11 for Adam to buy another pack of cigarettes, and Lawrence a newspaper. They take a longer route on the way back, windows rolled down to get some fresh air. The leaves are redder than before, a symbol of the passage of time.

When they get back to the house, Lawrence flips on the TV remote, and Poseidon is playing. A smirk paints his lips as he glances at Adam, fiddling with his lighter. Lawrence's face lights up with childlike delight, and he bursts into hearty laughter, remarking, "Do you think they're deliberately replaying this just to toy with us? How many days has it been since the last rerun?"

Adam smiles slightly, remembering their routine back in the hospital.

Lawrence takes his seat and Adam follows.

As he sunk into the couch, head resting on Lawrence's shoulder, he sighed.

“I think I’m ready to go get my stuff from the apartment.”

----------------------

The halls are so much dirtier than Adam remembers, the red halls creating the same sick feeling he recalled from his dream. Letting Adam lead, Lawrence reaches out every few minutes to brush the tips of his fingers that aren’t occupied by the handle of a cane against Adam’s. An affectionate gesture that reminds him he’s there, and not to be afraid.

At last, they arrive at the entrance of Adam's former apartment, where the crude inscription "f*ck OFF" remains etched on the door, accompanied by an eviction notice securely taped to the front. "Welcome home to me, I guess," the younger man remarks, casually swiping the paper from the door and tossing it disdainfully onto the ground.

Curious, Lawrence inquires, "Do you even have a way to get in?" As if on cue, Adam lifts the welcome mat to unveil a hidden key. How no one had broken in was a miracle.

As the key turned in the lock, the door swung open with a creak.

The apartment was as dreary as he remembered it, red walls with cracked paint and graffiti dicks drawn on the walls from both the previous tenants and the leftovers of him and Scott taking too many edibles. Regrettably, he turned to look at Lawrence, whose face was red and stuck like glue to his palm. “Did you…?” He asked.

“Don’t be a f*ckin prude Larry, and yeah, I drew some of them. You bring the boxes?”

He coughed, and handed Adam the first box, still folded. “Yes.”

Navigating towards the closet, Adam flicked on the switch illuminating the darkroom. Hanging on the line were discarded pictures of Lawrence, still bearing the vestiges of a 10-week old developer solution.

Adam felt his knees weaken seeing the expression on Lawrence’s face, clearly feeling violated.

"I decided to keep a couple for myself," Adam shared, gently plucking one of the photos from the line. In the image, Lawrence was clad in his customary trench coat and sunglasses, a nonchalant posture with a diet co*ke in one hand and a briefcase in the other. "I liked this one. You seem so natural here."

A quiet settled between them as Lawrence remained wordless, his gaze fixed on the captured reflection of his own expression in the photograph.

“I’m sorry Larry.” Adam choked, feeling the guilt like a sharp blade, the bullet wound burning.

“No, no, we’re past that. I just -” Lawrence took the photo from Adam, staring at his own expression. “I’m just thinking about how miserable I was in this photo.”

Adam leaned against his partner.

Lawrence continued. “It’s kind of insane that the happiest I’ve been in years has been these last few weeks with you - the same man who was following me.”

“That’s sad, Lar.” Adam commented, still not able to believe what he was hearing.

“Maybe, but not as sad as the loneliness I felt before.”

“Goddamn, you should write a book of corny quotes Larry,” Adam swiped back the photo, placing it securely in his pocket. Lawrence followed him as he picked each photo off the line and secured them in the box. Finally, Adam huffed. “You know, the most pathetic thing?”

“What?” Lawrence responded, leaning against his cane.

“I used to fantasize all the time about you in here. We’d never spoken before but I had this whole idea of you in my head, you’d follow me back here after days of watching you and scold me.”

“Go on,” Lawrence curiously encouraged.

“Yeah, you were a real f*ckin’ dickhe*d. You’d call me names and then f*ck me over the counter here.”

Their usual silence hung in the air, and Lawrence felt his presence on his back like a magnet.

Lawrence kissed Adam’s ear, his breath soft against his cheek as he wrapped his arms around him from behind. The smell of Lawrence’s breath was enough to make him feel weak, encouraging his arousal. “I never did get to properly punish you for all that, did I?” Lawrence remarked, his hands making their way under the belt loops of his Jeans, reaching into Adam’s pants. It was almost embarrassing how hard Adam already was, already this hard from a hug from behind and a hint of a touch.

“Oh, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Bottomfeeder.” Lawrence remarked.

No matter how passionate their sex was before, Adam never abandoned his degenerate roots; this level of degradation had him begging for Lawrence’s touch, and an even more demanding tone.

Finally, he felt Lawrence’s grip on his co*ck, already starting to pump him slowly. “I bet you would have begged me for it if I caught you, begged me to f*ck you in that dirty alleyway, right?” Adam could feel how hard Lawrence was too, his groin pressed against his backside, driving him insane. “God, f*ck,” Adam gasped. “Yes, I’m filthy Lawrence. f*ck, make me dirty.”

With a swift hand movement, Lawrence pressed the frailer man against the counter, unbuckling his pants and pressing it against his. “Beg,” Lawrence demanded, digging his nails into Adam’s hair, beginning to pull down his pants and rub against his ass.

“f*ck, Larry, please; please f*ck me. I need you inside me.”

Using his own precum for lubricant, Lawrence stuck two fingers in to open him up, the tips of them rubbing against his prostate. Adam groaned at the touch, his hands lighting up every nerve in his lower half.

The red lights of the dark room gave this encounter an even more surreal feeling, and Adam felt like he was going to explode. Finally feeling he was ready, Lawrence rubbed the outside of Adam’s hole with his head, forcing wimpers from him as he backed up into him, only to be stopped by Lawrence as he positioned himself. “When you fantasized about me f*cking you in this room, how bad did you want it?”

“Nggg, f*ck-” Adam gasped again. “I could have come just from seeing you in my apartment, that’s how pathetic I am Larry. f*ck me already.”

“As you wish, princess.” Both the affection and degrading tone sent shivers down Adam’s spine.

As he pushed into him, all of Adam’s nerves were on fire, his co*ck hardening as Lawrence began to move. Thrusting himself all the way in, his rhythms sped up quickly, ramming his hips into Adam’s ass and he swears he can feel every single movement, from shaft to head, filling all of him. “f*ck,” Lawrence gasped, as his length exited and entered Adam with a slap, “The way your slu*tty ass takes all of it so well, you must have fantasized about this a lot.”

Adam almost laughed, hearing Lawrence’s acting and the way he pretended Adam wasn’t already an expert just from the few times they’d f*cked. Lawrence was well endowed, which hurt until he adjusted and Adam wasn’t about to waste any of it. “Oh yeah,” He played along. “You can bet I fingered the f*ck out of myself to that diet co*ke picture.”

“I bet. You dirty whor*. slu*t.” Lawrence gasped into Adam’s ear, panting as his motions sped up, his head rubbing against his prostate with every ram. “I’m going to fill you up, and I bet you you’ll savor every drop.”

Additional shivers coursed through Adam, the intensity of Lawrence's words in the dimly lit room making him feel as though he might succumb to the sensations. "f*ck, Larry, keep going, I'm close," he whimpered.

Lawrence's hands traversed from Adam's head to his hips, his nails leaving imprints on Adam's pale skin as their movements quickened, reaching a climax in perfect synchrony. Their bodies entwined, they shared a moment of intense connection.

Collapsing onto the floor, Adam found himself contemplating what held a more profound sense of intimacy: the tender moments in the hospital bed or the raw intensity of their encounter in the dark room.

Regardless, the symptoms hadn’t gotten to him yet being back there, and he was happy to say goodbye to his once home, leaving sweat and bodily fluids as a tribute to the sh*thole he considered his domain, the horrible place he once loved.

They cleaned up quickly, relieved that f*cking cleared Adam’s head enough to pack his stuff. He threw Radiohead’s Ok Computer and his record collection in one box and a few flannels and childhood photos in the other. Lawrence takes extra care when Adam packs up his photography supplies, muttering under his breath a few times “You never know when I’ll need this stuff again-.”

Adam left his walkman, checking twice to make sure he didn’t leave one of his CDs inside it. After all, Lawrence had a goddamn ipod and a goddamn walkman that was all his now.

Sealing three brimming boxes, Adam secured the front door, cheekily murmuring, "Bye, sh*thole," eliciting a subdued laugh from Lawrence. Slipping the key beneath the mat once again, they started on their journey back home, leaving behind the lingering eviction notice on the dusty hallway floor.

The melodic strains of R.E.M.'s "Radio Song" wafted through the stereo, windows down. Lawrence's car, Adam's CD—their shared life, unfolding in new beginnings.

Chapter 18: time is running out for us

Chapter Text

FROM: ADAM

TO: YOU

SUBJECT: :P

I went back to my apartment

–

FROM: JOHN

TO: YOU

SUBJECT: Tonight

Hello Jill. I am sorry. Can I come by tonight?

–

FROM: MARK HOFFMAN

TO: YOU

SUBJECT: (no subject)

Respond when you get this

–

FROM: AMANDA

TO: YOU

SUBJECT: John

We need to talk. I'm sorry about last time. I know you know John as well as I do

–

Jill stirred her tea absentmindedly, her mind in disarray as she glanced at the messages lighting up her phone.

She tapped a quick response to Adam, a simple yet heartfelt, "I'm proud of you."

Then, with a swift motion, she deleted the messages from Mark and Amanda. At this rate, getting a burner trakfone seemed like a sensible investment to maintain her privacy and peace of mind. Those two were always at it with each other, and somehow she always got looped into their dysfunction, especially when it involved John.

Tapping out a response to John's text, she typed, "I'm here all day."

With a sigh, she snapped the phone shut. Carrying her cup to the sink, the blonde woman slumped onto the floor, feeling the weight of stress dragging her down, like an anchor against the polished wooden flooring of her apartment.

–

John's knock was almost a whisper, laden with a sense of guilt and an overpowering presence that felt both aggressive and yet oddly gentle. Opening the door, their eyes met, and he lingered in the doorway until Jill gestured for him to join her on the couch.

"I fixed the clock, Jill," he announced quietly, his tone a mix of apprehension and eagerness.

Somehow more beautiful than before, wooden edges glued back together and the repetitive sound of ticking. A symbol carefully crafted by John of the life they once envisioned together, hanging in the balance, the older man trying ever so carefully to maintain a semblance of what was. There is no love in this room. Only heartbreak. The love of a mother hit with grief, and the devastation of a man whose life was tested far too many times.

John carefully set the restored clock on the mantle, turning to Jill with an anxious yet hopeful look, silently seeking her validation. His blue eyes, misted with a mixture of regret and compassion, lingered on the woman who had been his wife—a gaze that held a lifetime of shared memories and unspoken sentiments. She would forever remain the beating heart within his world, an indelible part of his being.

Finally, she responds, trying not to tear up as her voice cracks.

“That's nice.”

“So, did you get any use out of Mr. Faulkner's address?” John's hand brushed over the mantle, his movements falling naturally into the familiar routine of tidying up as soon as he crossed the threshold of their once-shared home.

Jill's swirling of the tea intensified, mirroring her inner anxiety.

"I did," she admitted softly.

A faint smile graced John's lips.

“I see. I assume you saw him then. Have you changed your mind?”

“No. He's traumatized now, John. I don’t think he wants to live any more than he did before.”

"Ah," John settled into his seat, the ache in his legs wearing him down. "I wanted to discuss that with you."

Jill's expression hardened, a subtle grimace revealing her frustration.

"I thought so. I think you should find a new oncologist. I imagine he’ll return to work eventually; you said Adam saw your face."

The blonde woman anxiously scratched her face in a nervous habit.

"Their relationship will likely turn codependent, if it hasn’t already. You don’t know if he’ll see you."

The older man winced visibly.

"Oh no. I don’t intend to continue my treatment with Dr. Gordon." John crossed his legs, reclining slightly as he locked eyes with his ex-wife.

"I need to have a conversation with him, and if you can assure me you won't approach him beforehand, I can guarantee none of my associates will contact Mr. Faulkner again."

"What would they need him for? Why?" Jill's stomach churned with knots of anxiety.

"The cancer has progressed. My capacity to devise future games is crumbling. I need his expertise, and considering he survived, I know he possesses what it takes to make his life meaningful. I understand his abilities. He could become my most valuable asset."

Jill’s posture stiffened, eyebrows turned in to make an angry, threatening expression.

“By wrapping him up in your bullsh*t John? The police are going to catch up to you. You’re lucky I haven’t said anything, just leave them alone and move onto the next game.”

But he remains silent.

"John. Stay under the radar."

"Soon, I'll be gone from this world, and I need someone to protect you too, Jill."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." The golden-haired woman lowered her head into her hands, haunted by vivid images of Mark Hoffman following Adam in a dark alley on his way to buy cigarettes, coercing him into doing their work. Not him. Anyone but him. Her maternal instincts twisted her stomach into knots of anxiety.

At last, summoning her resolve, she rose to her feet, casting a glance at John before heading to the door. Pausing, she pivoted, their gazes locking and softening, a silent understanding passing between them, softening the lines of worry on their faces.

“The pain must be bad. I'm going to run a bath. You're welcome to join me, John.”

The only sounds that run through the apartment are the ticking clock and the running water.

Sometimes, distractions were necessary for them both.

Chapter 19: I’ll take a quiet life / A handshake of carbon monoxide

Chapter Text

As the sun filters through the sheer curtains of the master bedroom, Adam wakes to the gentle trickle of running water and an intricate blend of aromas—coffee, bergamot, and a hint of sweat—mingling in the air. With a sleepy rub at his eyes, he gradually emerges from rest.

Lawrence stands in the doorway, his expression dazed yet determined. “Thought it'd be a good way to start the morning,” he mentions, tipping the coffee cup to savor the final sip. "It's chilly outside. How about a bath and a brisk morning walk? I got a call with my supervisor at noon. Perhaps we can head into town afterward."

Adam's brows furrow as his arms instinctively reach for Lawrence's, a sudden flashback transporting him back to that poignant moment in the hospital where he first held him. With careful steps, leaning on his cane, Lawrence makes his way to join Adam on the edge of the bed, arms reached out to wrap tightly around him. Adam's head pressed against his blonde partner's chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“Let's stay in today, I don't wanna get up,” The dark haired man whispered.

“Well...It's time to get up, we can do whatever you feel like. Know your limits."

“Gnnnn,” Adam groans, still half asleep, failing to give into his body wanting to fall back to slumber in the warmth of Lawrence's arms and the comforting smells of their bedroom.

Sometimes, he wondered if this was Lawrence’s plan all along. The guest room was Adam's, and ever since they returned from the apartment, they’d spent a few hours here and there moving clothes into the closet, the photo supplies in. Adam placed his records and CDs conservatively besides Lawrence’s. It felt like a fantasy to see them side by side, but also a humorous reminder of their age difference.

Simon & Garfunkel and Deftones were a match made in heaven. No, really. It was nice.

Remembering the running water, Lawrence takes his hand and leads him into the bathroom, undressing him like Adam has never done a single executive task in his life. With eyes still tempted to close, eyelids struggling to stay open, Lawrence leads him to the ledge of the bathtub, carefully taking off his oversized sleep shirt and pulling down his boxers before helping him, one step at a time into the tub. How Lawrence is able to balance with his cane and still support his weight is beyond him.

As the warm water envelops his body, Adam senses the comforting presence of Lawrence settling in close behind him; his soft belly like a cushion, continuing their recently established bathing ritual. The familiar embrace brings a sense of ease, a cherished routine.

For the first time in his life, Adam knows what care feels like. What it’s like to be taken care of.

“Yano- Larry. How funny would it be..." Adam sloshed the water with his pinky as Lawrence started to scrub with soap. "If we f*cked in the tub. How pissed would you be if we got water everywhere?” Adam stretches, feeling the stiffness dissipate from a solid twelve hours of sleep.

Lawrence's cheeks flush crimson, and Adam senses a subtle tension, as he swears he can feel him harden instantly beneath him. The creases on Lawrence's face deepen as he grimaces, softening into a gentle expression upon locking eyes. Tracing his lips along Adam's earlobe, Lawrence exhales a sharp whisper. "Is that what you want?"

Adam pivoted to meet Lawrence's gaze, any sleepiness disappearing as he caught sight of the horny expression on Lawrence's face, a stirring of arousal igniting within him. "Oh, f*ck yeah I do." He murmured in response, his voice barely audible in the intimate moment.

The younger man took the lead, enveloping his partner in a passionate embrace, initiating a deep, lingering kiss. Lawrence's taste, a mix of coffee and morning breath, stirred a surprising arousal in Adam, unsettling yet undeniably enticing. It astonished Adam how the raw, “dirtier,” less polished aspects of Lawrence charmed him— his signs of aging, the damp smell of sweat he carried in the morning, the unrefined, authentic imperfections he showed him in the bathroom. The anger in his voice, an anger that Adam could relate to all too well. But then, his softness towards him and his family. Then, that smile. That one, an almost concerning smile he made when he felt he had won an argument, or had the upper hand. These traits that likely disgusted so many, only enticed Adam, his heart fluttering remembering that smile he made finding the box with the cell phone. He had won, he had the upper hand, that smiling facial expression creeping into their f*cking now and then, anytime Adam moaned his name. He loved everything about him. His disarrayed closet, the rings left on the kitchen counter, the scent of morning breath, the tousled hair—each detail seemed to deepen Adam's affection in an inexplicable way. In a remarkably brief period of the last few weeks, he found himself utterly enamored with this man, their shared experiences creating a bond as deep and hardened as their entangled bodies in the warm water of the bathtub.

Gently caressing Adam's nipple with his thumb, Lawrence leaned in, planting a kiss on his chest and eliciting a soft moan from Adam. "Didn't take you for a biter," Adam moaned, prompting Lawrence to trail his tongue along his chest. "Honestly, it's something I've always wanted to try. Feels like something you young folks might be into."

Adam leaned in to kiss Lawrence, running his fingers through his blonde locks and lightly biting his lower lip back. “You guessed right.”

Breaking away from the kiss, Lawrence's lips traced a path down Adam's neck while his hands dipped into the bathwater, pressing both of their co*cks against each other. Nibbling gently on Adam's pale, delicate skin, Adam squirmed in his embrace, igniting an intensified arousal within Lawrence, the pink tip of his co*ck bobbing against his abdomen.

“Lar,” Adam gasped as the water sloshed beneath them, “get the f*ck inside me now, please–”

Lawrence's lips crashed against Adam's, vibrating a moan into his mouth as his hands migrated to Adam's lower half, 2 fingers entering him slowly. Adam gasped as he felt each finger inside him, beginning to rub against his prostate. “Yeah– Larry– god– ”

He wondered how they'd gotten to this step of their relationships. How safe, comfortable and open he was with Adam, the same man who was tied up opposite him in that dirty bathroom only a few weeks ago. How they'd gone from caressing each other on the dirty bathroom floor, their faces and arms drenched in crimson blood, to the euphoria of f*cking in the security of Lawrence's comfortable suburban home.

He wouldn’t mind being a housewife to this man, waiting on him hand and foot, worshiping his body and his mind, giving everything to him. Adam wanted to give everything to him.

Just like the church pews that Lawrence had grown up kneeling on, Adam could spend a thousand years on his knees, dirty bathroom or $3,000 vintage claw foot bathtub, worshiping Lawrence Gordon.

As Lawrence fingered his ass passionately, Adam felt his org*sm approaching, and pulled Lawrence’s hand away.

“I'm ready, please-” Adam begged, pressing against Lawrence's groin. “Adam-” Lawrence moaned, and slowly, the pink head of his co*ck rubbed against Adam's ass, spreading him open and entering him one inch at a time. With a sharp gasp, Lawrence found his rhythm, water sloshing out of the tub as Adam flung his arms around his neck. Lawrence looked up at the face the younger man was making, and he swore he was looking at God, or some holy, angelic figure able to walk on water. The way Adam's green eyes rolled back with each thrust, his lips quivering and his face flushed, Lawrence loved the way he could conjure this from him. He was the most gorgeous goddamn thing he had ever seen.

"God," Lawrence groaned, drawing Adam closer until he was enveloped entirely, warmth embracing his throbbing arousal. "I'm close, sweetheart," he whispered into Adam's neck, breath hot against his skin. "Let's come together."

Gasping and panting, Adam rocked his hips to match Lawrence's thrusts. “You're so corny sometimes, I love it so much Larry- ” Adam joked, bringing his lips to Lawrence's mouth once more, lightly biting his lower lip.

Their climax surged swiftly, a synchronized explosion of sensations racing through their bodies. Lawrence clutched onto Adam's hips, his fervent movements propelling him towards his peak.

Collapsing onto his partner, Adam had swiftly come to understand that for Lawrence Gordon, post-coital cuddling had become an essential ritual, regardless of how wrinkled the bath made them.

As the euphoria of their org*sms ebbed away, the descent from that ecstatic high felt like a prolonged journey. Yet, Adam didn't linger in that space for too long. He soon found himself back in the comfort of the bed, feeling Lawrence's tender kiss graze his forehead before Lawrence reached for his cane, preparing to make his way down the hallway.

With a soft sigh, Adam shifted, reaching out to grasp Lawrence's hand for a moment longer before releasing it. He watched Lawrence move, the familiar click of the cane against the floor echoing down the hallway, a sound that had become an inseparable part of their daily rhythm. It was a scene that had become both routine and intimate.

Despite being a doctor, Lawrence never quite emphasized the dangers of excessive sleep. Whether it was the shadow of depression, the lingering side effect of medication, or simply the yearning for rest now that relaxation was within reach, Adam found himself slipping back into a habit of sleeping 15 hours a day the last week, a depression habit that plagued his youth. This time it was different. This time it was like catching up on 27+ years of plagued thoughts, and healing in his own cocoon of Lawrence's duvet.

He could hear him now.

“You need your rest.”

“Get some rest.”

"Listen to your body."

He couldn’t be bothered to question him anymore.

Lawrence's gentle humming, reminiscent of an old lullaby, served as a soothing melody, cradling Adam back into the arms of sleep.

Just outside the door, the lineland phone rang, Lawrence picking up quickly.

Not even a hello from the voice on the other end of the line, falling into an endless monologue.

In a soft voice, attempting not to wake Adam up while still presenting concern, Lawrence replied, “Slow down, Alison - what happened?”

Chapter 20: another dream sequence

Chapter Text

The blonde medical resident runs fingers through his hair, eyes bloodshot and face gaunt. 27 years old. 6’1. 3 hours of sleep a night.

The man stands by the side of the building, leaning against brick as he lights the end of his cigarette.

It is then that Adam realizes who he is looking at. It is 27 year old Lawrence Gordon. With a glance at the window, he realizes he hasn't aged. They're the same.

“Do you want a cigarette? You've been staring at my hands. Quite rudely.” The young man inquires, handing a cigarette to Adam.

Taking a place leaning against the wall besides him, Adam flicks his lighter. Their height difference feels so much more obvious now.

Lawrence's hair flows in the wind. Adam wants to reach out and touch its softness but knows this version of Lawrence may be less than receptive.

“Thanks. Sorry. You look like someone I know.”

The blonde man stands in silence. It's then that Adam takes the opportunity to admire his features. Clear skin. Beautiful, soft, layered, shoulder length blonde hair. Long eyelashes. Soft lips the same as the Lawrence he knew, wrapped around the white Marlboro.

“You a student?”

There's a slight accent to his voice, a hint of british.

“Freelance photographer.”

“Mm,” the man remarks. “Like it?”

“I don't starve and I make my own schedule.”

“Fair enough. Must be nice.”

“It sucks. But it's what I'm good at.”

The young man stares at the ground and snuffs out the cigarette with his heel.

“I get it. Thats why I'm here.”

“Doctor?”

“Oncologist in fact,” young Lawrence snears, a mockery in his voice the way he says it. “Living the dream.”

“Well, call me if you make 6 figures one day.” Adam banters.

The other man laughs. “Oh, I will actually. I can still call you though, if you'd like.”

The young man scribbles a number on a cigarette and hands it to Adam.

“I have lab duty, but there's my number.”

He walks off without another word.

Adam wakes up.

For once, the dreams seem pretty ok.

Hes grateful.

Chapter 21: another scott tibbs chapter

Chapter Text

“I’m not f*cking gay.”

Scott removes the cigarette from his lips, releasing a cloud of smoke and a cough as if he hasn’t been a pack-a-day smoker with habits he's upheld for the past four years. Adam kept track; their "listening parties" had become a well-worn routine. Whenever a fresh alternative rock album hit the shelves, they'd go halves, treating the music like they were parents with shared custody. Adam had R.E.M. for Christmas, while Nirvana was Scott's for all Jewish Holidays. Metallica put on and celebrated together for Easter—a Holiday they didn't celebrate, yet relished nonetheless, especially when sneaking Jelly Beans from Scott's little sister's Easter stash.

Adam sparked his cigarette, casually leaning against the brick wall beside Scott. Graduation was 3 days away now, an accomplishment neither had imagined reaching. Summer School plagued them every year, June afternoons spent etching their initials into the desks of the sweltering, AC-lacking school trailers during remedial English classes.

"You know I'm not either, man. But think about it, we split the rent, get our own place," Adam suggested, taking another drag and shaking his head at Scott's obliviousness.

Scott chuckled, interrupted by another fit of coughing that could have doubled for a lung eruption.

“I’m not living with you dude, people will say all kindsa sh*t.”

“All kinds of sh*t, like we’re roommates? Don’t be f*cking stupid. No one here’s smart enough to jump to those conclusions.”

Adam sensed the prickling sensation of rejection coursing down his spine, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Scott's words landed like a blow to the stomach, leaving him winded and deflated.

“They’ll say I’m your roommate, then the minute they see something fa*ggy from you rumors will fly. Not a f*cking chance.”

“fa*ggy?” Adam scoffed, a tinge of frustration evident as he gritted his teeth, releasing a cloud of menthol-infused breath. “fa*ggy. fa*ggy like all the times you beg me to suck your tongue Scott? It takes two to tango.”

They never spoke about the kisses, the times on Scott’s bed where they’d spend hours lapping into each other's mouths, but not going so far to enjoy below the waistline action. Scott felt safer this way, soaking in his denial and repression like a quilt. Adam thought this was way gayer than he probably justified it in his head, at the very least he thought Scott would at least use him for one or two things, closing his eyes and pretending Adam was someone else. He saw him with girls at school every day, he knew he went both ways.

Scott was a good friend when he wanted to be, but too weak to resist throwing Adam under the bus when he wanted to.

This time though - Adam knew he had gone too far.

Jumping off the wall, Scott stormed off, and it was then that Adam really noticed their height difference. The way Scott’s muscular physique contrasted with his frail form, anger radiating from his best friend as he stomped away.

“Wait-” Adam begged, a hoarseness in his voice.

“f*ck off puss*. f*ck you, Stanheight. puss*. puss*. ”

Tears formed in Adam’s eyes, dropping like crocodile tears. This seemed to be Scott’s weakness, stopping as soon as he heard the first sniffle.

“Scott, stop-”

Turning back around, Scott started back towards Adam, rolling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around him in a tight squeeze. Adam’s tears were wet, leaving drops on his cotton graphic tee.

With an annoyed breath, Scott mumbled. “I’m sorry, f*ck, stop crying.”

“f*ck you, Scott-” Adam whimpered. “I just want to be somewhere that I don’t feel judged every f*cking day, I thought we were friends. I thought this'd be a good solution yknow. I don’t wanna live with my parents after graduation, I don't wanna be there anymore. I see the way my Dad looks at me. He f*cking hates me Scott.”

Scott sighed, as Adam felt his embrace tighten. “You can take him. Grow bigger than him. Get the f*ck out of there.”

“I want to- I just don’t have the cash." Adam cried harder, causing Scott to part from the hug, their eyes meeting. Scott ruffled Adam’s hair.

“Your dad got you that nice camera right? Come to my gigs, take some shots, hustle, and save. It ain't that hard.”

Adam sobbed harder, coming undone in his friend’s arms. He got it now, why Scott always called him names, looked down on him, and somehow managed to twist a knife so painfully into his side. Scott was all he had, really, but somehow the only person he could forgive for being so damn mean to him.

“f*ck, I don’t want him to get the satisfaction. f*ck dad. f*ck photography. He’s right, I am a fa*ggot.”

“Shut up dude. You’re better than him, don’t be f*cking stubborn. Money is money.”

Adam felt his knees give out, pulling Scott onto the concrete as he cried harder. Pulling out a zippo lighter from his jacket, Scott lit another cigarette, placing it in Adam’s mouth like a bottle to a baby, breathing him through getting the hit of nicotine, calming down his system.

Scott’s hand felt warm as he pulled Adam back up, patting him on the back so hard it made him shake.

“Come crash at my place tonight.” Scott offered, and Adam nodded his head as more tears fell down his cheeks.

Once they arrived, Scott pulled out the air mattress, a striking contrast from the previous spot he allowed him to sleep over in Scott’s bed. He knew it was over.

After graduation, the kissing stopped. Scott had a new girlfriend every show, somehow still managing to resemble Adam. Always short, pixie cut, and big, Dark Brown eyes. Every time.

And everytime, he watched as they kissed, remembering the warmth of Scott’s lips, the way his tongue tasted, and the way he kept him at arm's length.

Waking up in Lawrence’s arms felt like home. Things were different. After all these years, he finally found his home. A safe place.

Chapter 22: slow dance

Chapter Text

Diana Gordon perched in a chair positioned squarely across from the opulent master bed, idly kicking her feet and twirling a yoyo between her fingers. Adam, perched by the headboard, found amusem*nt in her playful antics, observing as she deftly manipulated the small plastic toy, the string looping down and springing back up with practiced ease.

His pulse quickened at the sound of two voices drifting in from beyond the bedroom door. Despite having enjoyed a solid sixteen hours of slumber, Adam hesitated to relinquish the comfort of the bed, especially with Alison’s unmistakable tone resonating anger, and Lawrence undoubtedly not too far behind.

--

“She’s seeing him, Lawrence, hallucinations aren’t normal. This isn’t normal, she needs more support.”

“I’m right here Allie. We’ll get her into a good therapist.”

“She’s already seeing a good therapist, Larry, if you bothered to even call you’d know that.”

--

The bickering reminded him of his own parents, suddenly feeling thirteen years old again in his twenty-seven year old body. His stomach churned, slowly feeling the weight of fatigue punching his gut, only to be brought out by a small, mousy voice.

“Are you Daddy’s friend?”

Adam lifted his gaze and met Diana's disheveled appearance, her long, tousled brown locks cascading down to her lap, clad in a white puff coat layered over black jeans. Traces of mud on her shoes hinted at her recent outdoor adventure, probably recess. Despite her playful engagement with the toy, she maintained unbroken eye contact with Adam. It struck him then how weird this must be for her — the younger man seated squarely on the bed her parents shared. The young child’s earnest brown eyes locked with his, mirroring a familiar concern, one that had etched itself on his face throughout his childhood.

While anxiety had made its home in his head since before he could remember, he realized the stark contrast between his own struggles and the harrowing ordeals Diana had endured—kidnapping and attempted murder weren’t exactly something she could easily share with her friends, let alone find kids her age who had experienced the same. Her expression held a weight he recognized from his turbulent childhood, but Adam knew his own worries paled in comparison to the horrors she had faced, the traumas she had endured so young.

He pondered his response, finally coming up with an answer. When Lawrence was ready to tell Diana, he would.

“Yeah, good friends.”

Diana smiled in response.

“Do you know the bad man too?”

“The bad man?”

Zep. He knew exactly who she was referring to.

The sound of Lawrence and Alison’s quarrel peaked through the thin walls from the hallway.

“She hallucinated him, Larry, her whole class won’t even look at her now. We need to take her out of school for a bit, so she can recover from this.”

“She can come stay here if she needs to on weekends, I don’t think that’s necessary to take her out of school. It might even be worse for her development to take her away from her peers.”

“Jesus Christ, Lawrence, do you even realize what we’ve been through?”

The telltale sound of fabric rustling filled the room, signaling Lawrence's presence as he adjusted the cuffs of his pants. Each faint whisper of material sliding against skin underscored his movements. The room's atmosphere shifted subtly, an unspoken tension threading through the air with each deliberate motion he made, causing Alison to sigh as she tried to avoid staring at the prosthetic, and the place his foot once was.

“I know exactly what you’ve been through.”

A resounding sigh reverberated through the room, followed by the distinctive staccato of Alison’s heels punctuating the air. The finale of the symphony that was their argument was the sharp slam of a door, signaling she had left the room. The aura of their argument hung in the air, granting a temporary reprieve from the heated fight that had engulfed the space outside the room Diana and Adam shared.

Diana spoke again, finally.

“I see him in my closet, and even at the condo. He’s in my dreams too. I’m scared he’ll come back for me and Mommy.”

Adam’s heart sank hearing the fear in her voice. Monsters in the closet were nothing out of the ordinary for a kid her age, but imagining her kidnapper was an understandable symptom of her own experience. The guilt stabbed him like a knife once again, fighting off visions of the ways this would impact Diana’s future.

Maybe if he had found the cell phone earlier. Maybe if he had let Larry shoot him. Maybe if he hadn’t followed Lawrence, maybe if he was a better person. Maybe, somehow he could have prevented this from happening.

And then, here he was, taking her father too.

He had to be there for her, it was the least he could do.

“I have dreams too.” Adam sighed, not breaking the sympathetic eye contact the two shared. “It really sucks to see them there, when all you want to do is sleep, I get it.”

Diana’s facial expression softened, he had gotten through. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” Adam shrugged. “All the time. I can tell you for sure though, the guy is dead, and he’s not going to come back and hurt you. Your mom also kicked his ass from what I heard.”

Diana's face lit up like a shining star in the night sky. Her smile, gentle yet glowing, held a glimmer of relief after sharing her story. It was as if a hidden treasure had been discovered, a secret joy peeking through the clouds after a storm. Her eyes sparkled like magic as she found solace in opening up about her experience, a sense of warmth spreading across her features like sunshine on a cloudy day.

Then, the clouds came back. Diana was smart. She needed proof, and wasn’t the type to just take an adult’s word without a few questions.

Adam's anxiety surged unexpectedly, caught off guard by this sudden curveball in their conversation.

"I, um... I heard the sound when... when it happened. I mean, his skull... it...cracked."

Adam faltered, abruptly halting as he witnessed Diana's expression shift drastically from relief to an overwhelming sense of fear, her eyes widening like a frightened deer caught in headlights. The relief was gone, and replaced with complete horror at the mental image.

Adam continued.

“I ki-”

The look in Diana’s eyes told him all he had to know. He could make a decision now, to be known as the murderer who saved her dad - a murderer nonetheless, or a trusted bystander.

This time, he chose a lie, for her, pushing back the horrible sound of Zep’s bones crushing under the toilet lid that echoed in his ears daily.

“The police took him out, Diana. I promise you you have nothing to worry about.”

Several minutes passed, and suddenly, like a whirlwind, Diana sprung from her seat, hurrying over to the edge of the bed and enveloping Adam in a tight embrace around his neck. "Thank you, Daddy's friend."

His interactions with children were scarce and limited to the few times someone god forbid brought kids to one of Scott's gigs, or the few times he had been invited over by old friends. He liked kids, hell, he wouldn't mind having a couple, if adoption was an option with Lawrence. Biological kids weren't anything he took interest in, but he felt a fondness to them, a relatability and sympathy, a desire to break the cycle. In that moment, as Diana nestled against him, he knew this support was vital, an important puzzle piece in his life with Lawrence. He wanted all of Lawrence, all the problematic edges of his personality, everything - and that included someone important to him, his daughter.

This connection was vital.

“Adam. My name's Adam.”

“I’m Diana. Nice to meet you Adam!”

In a shared moment of quiet, Diana persisted with her yoyo, while Adam, his mind racing like a hamster wheel, fidgeted with the bedsheets, anything to make noise that would distract from the piercing awkward silence. Thoughts zipped around his mind like a high-speed chase, pondering what the HELL a kid like her would need in this situation. He looped through a hundred mental laps.

Better to ask, maybe.

“Well, is there anything I can do to keep you company while your parents uh, talk?”

Diana looked up, biting her bottom lip. After a few moments of thinking, she finally whispered, like a secret.

“Lamp.”

Adam winced.

“Lamp?”

“Lamp. Daddy used to sing me the Lampshade song when I had nightmares.”

What the f*ck is the Lampshade song?

“Oh- Ok.”

Without further adieu, Adam pulled the white lampshade off of Lawrence’s bronze bedside illuminant, assuming this might have something to do with it. He was basically doing stepparent improv. Diana’s facial expression seemed amused, indicating he must be doing something right.

“How does this go?”

“Well, you put it on your head and sing -” Diana clapped her hands, moving them to the top of her head, showing Adam. Then, she sang; “I’ve got a lampshade on my head, I’ve got a lampshade on my head.” My daddy does it all the time.”

Holy f*ck, Lawrence. Adam held in his laughter, in disbelief of what a dork the doctor was really. There was something so sweet about this though, Lawrence trying to calm his daughter down with such a silly song.

Succumbing to the charm, the two sat for 30 minutes, trading off the simplistic lyrics of the lampshade song.

Finally, Alison retrieved Diana, not making any eye contact with Adam, but softly whispering a quiet “Thank you for watching her.”

He responded with “Don’t mention it.”

After he knew they had gone, the sound of Lawrence’s cane signaled his presence, and it was probably time for Adam to get out of bed anyway.

After 18 hours, it might be time to get out of bed.

—

Throwing on a hoodie, Adam made his way out to the living room. There, Lawrence’s silhouette came into view—clad in a tan cardigan paired with loose brown pants, he stood poised beside the record player.

“Lawrence?” Adam called out, sensing the stress coming from Lawrence’s posture.

“Come here.”

Adam walked to the side of the older man, pulling him in, hands on his waist. “Thank you for everything today.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do. How to heal from this, how to be a good father, and how to be the best I can be for you.”

“Stop. Just be you.” He thought he might cry just seeing Lawrence this vulnerable. Not that it had been the first time, but he knew from the way his voice shook, he was hurting. For his daughter, for himself, and for his family. “That’s all I ask Larry. Don’t hold anything back from me.”

“I missed my call with my supervisor today.” Lawrence sighed, moving one hand to the side of his face, wiping half a tear from his eye. “I don’t want to leave you here. I don’t know if I want to go back to work.”

“Baby…” Adam soothed.

Then, everything stopped.

Baby?

Baby???

Both of their faces turned red at the unexpected pet name, and Adam realized never in his 27 years had he ever called ANYONE that. Lawrence looked up at Adam’s confused face, a smile brimming on the edges of his lips. “LAWRENCE,” Adam corrected, embarrassed, and confusion glazing his tone. Lawrence ate up every drop of it.

“Take your time, man. You don’t need to go back if you need more time. For f*cksake, we could make just as much cash in the interviews you keep not following up on, I think we’re all good. Just say your foot hurts or something.”

“Ha,” Lawrence laughed, wiping another tear as his grip on Adam’s waist tightened, holding him like a scared child would a stuffed animal. “I think the foot excuse won’t go so well with my supervisor who also has an MD.. but I’ll try.”

Adam smiled, his hand finding its home on Lawrence’s head, brushing his fingers through his blonde hair.

“I talked to Diana today.” He confessed.

“Thank you for that. How did it go?”

“I told her Zep is dead. I sang her the lampshade song.”

Now, Lawrence’s face was red.

“Oh. She told you about the lampshade song.”

“Yes, she did. That sh*t was hardcore. Almost had me headbanging. You’re quite a musician.”

Lawrence stopped for a second, throwing his head back and letting out the deepest, heartiest laugh that Adam had ever heard from him.

He looked absolutely stunning, a sight to behold, with his eyes narrowing into slivers of joy and his mouth wide open, emitting hearty laughter that seemed to dance in the air. His entire demeanor radiated warmth and ease, instantly relaxing Adam as if warm water had been applied to his worries. The infectious nature of his laughter spread, enveloping the room in an atmosphere of joy and mirth.

Then, he felt the pull - the pull of Lawrence’s arms, bringing him down to the floor with him and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Will you do something with me? Something maybe a little bit silly?”

“I’ve found your deepest secrets from that lampshade, so I think we’re beyond silly.”

“Oh, true.” Lawrence groaned, pulling himself up with his cane and holding out a hand to support Adam until the pair was facing each other.

“Have you ever slow danced?”

“Oh f*ck Larry-” Adam’s whole face went bright pink imagining it. He had only ever slow danced as a joke, high off his mind with Scott, and practicing for a school dance with his older step sister once.

The concept was otherworldly to him, even embarrassing, but this suggestion was very Lawrence.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“Oh god, Lawrence, you’re such an old man. Yeah, sure.”

Lawrence grinned and winked at Adam before sauntering toward the record player with his cane. With practiced ease, he flipped the switch and adjusted the tonearm, fine-tuning the machine until the grainy sound crackled to life. In an instant, Adam was transported back to the days of his youth, memories flooding back as he found himself staring at Scott on his unkempt bed, the smell of cigarettes in his nostrils.

This was different though. The grains that haunted the sound as Scott lapped the roof of Adam’s mouth were ones that stained his memories with rejection and pain, his first experience with experimentation, rejection, heartbreak, even at the hands of his best friends.

This grain came from romance movies, directed by a man who was experiencing real affection for the first time in his life.

Lawrence’s grain was new. Unrepressed. Finally, able to express himself.

Just like Adam had found out all those years ago, he wondered if Lawrence was also having those same thoughts. If he knew, finally, that he was a raging hom*osexual.

Lawrence walked over to Adam, cane leading him. “This might make it a bit difficult, but let’s try.” Lawrence said, almost in a whisper, placing one hand at Adam’s waist, as Adam rested both hands on Lawrence’s shoulders. Their foreheads rested against each other, eyes closed, as they swayed back and forth, Adam making sure that Lawrence was steady and not to put too much weight on him.

The grain was cut out, and the first song played.

Of course, Lawrence chose Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away.”

Adam could hardly contain his amusem*nt.

“OH you old man. I love you. Top Gun is gay as f*ck. I love that f*cking movie.”

“Shh, this one's for me and you. We missed this movie during our TV marathon.”

Balancing on his cane, Lawrence tightened his hold on Adam's waist, while Adam shifted one arm to support Lawrence's side, aiding their stability.

Suddenly, the phone rang, interrupting the moment. Lawrence didn’t budge.

“Don’t you need to get it? What if it's your supervisor?”

Lawrence’s expression softened, rubbing his nose against Adam’s. “I have another tone for Alison’s ringer. My supervisor will go to voicemail. I used to put work over my family. I just want to cherish this moment with you.”

Adam felt a lump form in his throat, an overwhelming surge of emotions welling up within him. The scene unfolding before him felt so emotional, like it was taken from a 90s romance movie. He fought back tears, deeply moved by the moment's emotional weight, and this side of Lawrence.

If “Take My Breath Away” wasn’t such a cornball song that made him want to laugh, he knew he would be in shambles on the floor.

“I used to practice these dances for hours when I was a teenager with my friends,” Lawrence chuckled, dipping Adam slightly, then pulling him back to his arms. “I have to admit though, it never felt as right as it does not with us - two men.”

"Oh, Lawrence," Adam replied, his voice rising in anticipation. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“You’d look dashing in puffy sleeves, Mr. Faulkner-Stanheight.”

“Don’t touch me, I’m a supple virgin, but once we’re married, I’ll be Mr. Faulkner-Stanheight-Gordon, so please take responsibility!”

They laughed, and Adam felt the warmth of Lawrence’s lips against his. He was home. The bulletwound felt warm against his chest, throbbing slightly as he felt his whole body light up as the kiss elongated.

As Lawrence’s leg finally was at its limit for the day, he pulled Adam to the couch, his body resting on top of him, nestled into each other as the record continued to play.

Tomorrow, Adam decided he would get up with Lawrence - no more 10+ hour nights. They’d eat breakfast together - no more protein bars for Lawrence, a REAL breakfast that Adam would make. They’d go on that brisk walk, into town in the afternoon and to visit Diana. He’d call Jill, do a check-in. Last but not least, he’d finally, f*cking apply for those jobs.

They were going to get through this, they were going to move forward.

Lawrence gets up, his fingers slowly letting go of Adam’s hand one at a time.

He approaches the player, switching it out.

The record skips. Then, The Bolshoi’s “Away” plays.

Adam knows, even if he recognizes the influence, he’s too young for this song; but he relishes in the beat regardless, letting images of shy, closeted Lawrence, hitting clubs in his early 20s float in his head. Admiring men he knew he could only look at but never touch, the same longing glance Adam had for him in that dim parking garage, taking those pictures.

13, 20, 27 or 41, it was never too late to find themselves. His bleeding heart, held on a leash by Lawrence, both of them begging for air that could only be provided by the other. Oxygen from stolen glances in the streets outside those sh*t motels to the feeling of the softness of his skin, resting with him on the couch.

–

1 NEW VOICEMAIL

Hello Doctor Gordon. This is John Kramer. I am calling about my follow up and results. We have a lot to talk about.

Chapter 23: airbag

Chapter Text

4 NEW VOICEMAILS

Hello, Jill. this is Marie Faulkner calling. The billing office gave me this number, said you were handling my son’s case before he was discharged - oh, my son is Adam Faulkner. I believe we spoke before on the phone. I’m wondering if I could get his new contact information. Please call me back at XXX-XXX-XXXX. Thank you.

MESSAGE SKIPPED

Hi Jill, it’s Marie again. I’m just wondering if you got my last message. I’ve been trying to get Adam’s new information and it doesn’t look like he’s listed in the yellow pages. Please call me back. Thanks.

MESSAGE SKIPPED

Hi Jill…Marie again. I hope this is still your number. I’d like to chat and prepare Adam’s old room again, and see if he needs a place to stay…we love him, always here for him. Please call us back. XXX-XXX-XXXX. His Dad - well, he wonders about him. Call me back.

MESSAGE SKIPPED

Hi Jill. Don’t worry about that last message. Adam’s Father and I have decided it’s best he not stay with us…we need our space from his dysfunction. Call me back, would love to have his new number. Thanks.

MESSAGES DELETED.

Jill's stomach twisted with guilt as she swiftly deleted the voicemails, anticipating a fresh message from Marie Faulkner every week when she punched in at work.

She knew every Monday, each and every week when she clocked into work, she’d have a new message from Marie Faulkner.

She remembered, after the first message, how badly whenever her own mother and her had a fight, how much she craved a sign of affection. A warm hug. Baked goods. Muffins, in particular. Besides all the materialistic stuff, all she ever needed was A Mother.

She knew Adam needed a Mother too.

After that final message, she stood firm in her conviction. Entrusting Marie to Adam in his vulnerable state was never an option. She was right.

The guilt felt like a knife. Should she be keeping this from Adam? Was she denying him a connection? Did he lie awake in Lawrence Gordon's opulent bed, seeking solace with his protective arms around him, wondering whether his mother even cared about him? Whether they would reconnect? She wondered if, after 27 years, he genuinely believed his mother held no love for him.

If only he grasped the profoundness of a mother's love and the vast extents it traversed.

However, if only Marie Faulkner knew how easy it was to cause pain to her child, or if she understood the profound damage her rejection and vulnerabilities had inflicted on Adam’s confidence.

Weak. Weak. The words echoed in her head, causing a pain so sharp it could have triggered a migraine.

Anxiously tapping her fingers against the desk, Jill noticed the perfectly hardened pink polish coating each nail, a tiny distraction amidst her nerves. Then, the edge of her pointer fingernail chipped, and she stood, realizing the harshness of her tapping. She had no idea how much this would affect her, but if she could protect Adam, she could live without regrets for now. Despite all she knew of John. Despite it all.

Her thoughts were only interrupted by her supervisor, throwing another pile of papers on her desk.

“Got some discharges today. Start calling these numbers.”

Finally grounding herself, it was time to get back to work.

“Sorry, I’m a little distracted today. I’m going to take an early lunch today and call my son.”

The man didn’t ask questions.

—

The bullet hole in Adam's shoulder had turned purple, with blackened edges encircling the crusted center where the metal had entered.

With a grimace, he dipped a finger into the jar of salve, spreading it over the wound's surface, emitting subdued groans with each cautious stroke. The doctors had drilled into his head the importance of this balm for healing—keeping the wound moist and sterile. Yet, he grappled with the repulsion of touching or even acknowledging the wound while battling an intense urge to vigorously scratch at it, as if to tear the whole thing apart. He wrestled between ignoring the damn wound and scratching the living sh*t out of it.

Some days, the wound felt like nothing. Some days, it itched like hell. Other days, it hurt. Today, it hurt.

“Need some help?”

Lawrence stood in the doorway of the bathroom, perched against the wooden doorframe. Adam heard the guilt in his voice, the feeling that weighed him down every time he watched Adam brush his fingers over the wound.

On the days when the pain peaked, Adam adopted a strategy: either ignore its existence entirely or, on occasions when he sought refuge in his thoughts, recall the sensation of Lawrence's lips grazing over the afflicted area.

The warmth of Lawrence’s breath made the edges burn whenever he did this, but the sentiment relaxed him. No matter how badly it hurt, how deep the pain felt, how hot the burning felt. Those kisses carried a weight of remorse, yet above all, an overwhelming affection he never thought possible. Adam understood that had he not taken that fateful shot, they'd still be lying motionless on the bathroom floor, likely never to be found. Lawrence became a remedy from the most elusive supplier, his mere presence calming the chaos within him, especially on the toughest, highest pain days.

“No, I’m good,” With a pained grunt, Adam dipped his finger into the jar, gently applying the ointment over the raw gunshot wound.

“You’re getting it all over the place, please let me help,” Lawrence insisted, walking towards Adam and taking the jar from his hand.

He really didn’t want to waste this sh*t. It was expensive, as is. Lawrence would know what to do.

“Fine.”

He recognized Lawrence's expertise as a doctor, the way he tended to the wound with a practiced hand, skillfully massaging the salve onto the cut. Using just a small quantity of ointment, Lawrence managed to cover the entire area with ease.
“All done. It’s looking better, by the way.”

“Yeah.”
“You’re up early, by the way. I’m glad.”

Up early, as in, didn’t sleep the whole day away.

“Not craigslist personals, right?”

“Goddamnit Larry, I guess, no, not craigslist personals. No luck there last time I looked anyway. ”

Lawrence smiled.

Adam recognized this face. The “I won” face. The “Haha, I was right” face. His f*cking goddamn Lawrence Gordon, stubborn, catty, and full of himself some days.

Damn bastard.

“Come with me to my meeting with my supervisor. He wants to do it in person. If you’re worried about jobs, there’s always an open position at the hospital gift shop. They always need photographers too…families who practically live there like getting pictures for some reason. I think you’d do great.”

Lawrence nodded to the camera equipment shoved in the corner of the room, untouched since they moved items out of the apartment.

Adam hesitated at first, but found relief in Lawrence’s goddamn sincerity. There was something so genuine about his tone, like he really believed in him. Hell, he was used to a register from all his seasonal jobs, and the camera was where he honestly was most comfortable once he blocked out all the negativity he experienced behind it. He could get lunch with Jill once in a while, and would be close enough to beep Lawrence if he really needed anything. It was a done deal, a perfect idea.

“Oh, sh*t. I’d like that actually. Do you get a “I save lives” discount or something on those big teddy bears? Maybe we could get one for Diana.”

Lawrence’s mouth turned upwards into a smile that was almost cartoonish.

“She begged me for one every time she visited me at work. That might be a perfect way to win her over once she starts staying over more regularly.”

He smirked.

“I think I technically won her over when I told her her kidnapper was dead, but I’m sure a bear wouldn’t hurt.”

Adam rested against the bathroom counter, surrendering to the brief illusion of domestic bliss they'd created, a temporary escape from reality that waited for them outside the house. An escape from all these years of fear, self hatred, and insincerity.

Lawrence shook his head.

“ Ha, ha, funny.”

Cane in hand, Lawrence exited the bathroom.

Adam could hear the opening of pill bottles. It was med time already. He called out to him.

“We still got a lot to plan for that Christmas play you keep bringing up, Larry. I still don’t know Diana’s favorite Chinese takeout!”

Lawrence chuckled between the loud swallowing sound that accompanied the pills going down his throat.

“It’s Sesame Chicken, just for your reference.”

—

As they prepare to depart, Adam finds solace in the familiar embrace of his walkman. He carefully picked up the small machine, letting the rhythmic melodies wash over him, creating a cocoon of comfort as Lawrence changes and gathers his briefcase. The same briefcase he held at his side, in that fateful parking garage.

Lawrence enters the room, and their eyes meet. He recognizes the suit, and the satchel instantly. Deja vu carries them both.

“Time to go.”

Lawrence extends his hand, and Adam instinctively grasps it, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace. Together, they step out of the house, and Lawrence maintains his gentle hold, a silent reassurance, as they traverse from the driveway to the hospital entrance. With each step, Lawrence's unwavering grip serves as a steady anchor, a gesture of solidarity and support, guiding them through the entrance.

He never lets go. With every awkward step as he tries to find his rhythm walking, cane in one hand, Adam’s grip in the other, he never lets go.

Regardless of the multitude of stares or the recognition from nurses who know Lawrence Gordon, a man who was once married, now firmly holding the hand of a significantly younger man—emphasizing the word "man"—there's no mistaking the intimate connection between them. This isn’t platonic.

Lawrence’s eyes say everything. The way he rubs his thumb against the top of Adam’s hand, the sweat from their palms mixing.

As they find their way to the gift shop, Lawrence shoots Adam a reassuring nod, and without hesitation, for the first time in his life, fearlessly;

He kisses the top of his head. In the open, for everyone to see.

As tension eases. And Lawrence relaxes, he feels brave.

Their lips meet. The crowded hospital fades away, and Lawrence’s heart, beating 100 miles an hour, seems to slow when Adam wraps his arms around him.

It's reminiscent of the fantasy they've spun, akin to the promises made—the hand he’d hold on the table, woven in California dreams, anticipating their 10th date just a few miles down the road.

–

In a deep, deep sleep of the innocent

I am born again

In a fast German car

I'm amazed that I survived

An airbag saved my life

In an interstellar burst

I am back to save the universe

In an interstellar burst

I am back to save the universe

In an interstellar burst

I am back to save the universe

– Radiohead, Airbag

–

1 MISSED CALL

LAWRENCE GORDON

1 VOICEMAIL

“Hi Mr. Kramer, I’ve been away for some while now - not sure if you’ve been watching the news. I’d be happy to reschedule your appointment and go over the results. Let’s talk soon.”

Chapter 24: orderly

Chapter Text

Adam swiftly realizes it's best not to doubt Lawrence's charm or his significant influence within the hospital. Without relying solely on his own good looks and position, Adam knows he can rely on how effortlessly insufferable and what a genuine dickbag Doctor Gordon can be.

Fortunately, this situation is different. After a brief conversation with the manager, the hiring process concludes promptly, securing the position without further hassle. Adam has the job on the spot, which he’d see as a suspicious prospect if he didn’t know how high up Lawrence was, leave or not.

Lawrence leaves for his meeting insisting he starts training right away.

He feels like a child, left with a babysitter, arrangements made on his behalf.

His new manager's name is David. The man looks about the same age as him with brown eyes and a pair of headphones strapped around his neck. A black jacket drapes messily over the gift shop uniform and as soon as he faces Adam he can smell that they clearly smoke the same amount of cigarettes. Great.

It’s awkward, but quiet. The gift shop has a good arrangement of teddy bears and a candy section, flowers that have seen better days, and half priced gift baskets.

David leans back against the counter, shooting Adam a look that makes him question if he should have agreed to this. The two are eerily similar, but with David really pushing his luck not to fit a little more snug into the “Tool” category.

"I've known Doctor Gordon for a while. Used to be an orderly here," he mentions, nonchalantly flipping through bills after opening the register.

"Oh," Adam responds, caught slightly off guard, reaching out a hand to help sort paper money.

"He's quite the catch, I must say. Noticed how he eyed you. How long did it take to bag that guy?" David continues, with Adam freezing, shocked at the bluntness from a man he's only known for a few minutes. A sly smirk begins to shape at the edges of David's mouth.

“I dunno. I guess it depends on which one of us you ask.”

“Gotcha.”

Change the subject, Adam thinks to himself.

“David -what about you? You got someone at home?”

A frown gradually overtakes the expression of the dark-haired man. The smirk is officially dead, and a different energy takes over David’s body as he flips through fives.

“Hmm. Not really. There was a guy I was seeing here but he stopped returning my calls recently. It ain't exactly uncommon to date other orderlies here. Taking care of sick people is a depressing job.”

“Oh sh*t” Adam responds. “You do something last time you see each other? Did he seem off?”

David hands Adam more bills, waving towards a bag to sort the ones into.

“Nah. I dunno, people are fickle. Maybe he decided he wasn't gay or something.”

“This guy got a name? I can ask Larry, maybe he's heard of him and can keep an eye out.”

“Oh, yeah, guy used to f*cking hate Dr. Gordon -” David puts his hands in his pockets, leaning back, recalling the man that brought flowers to his doorstep after working a double. “Zep.”

Adam's stomach sinks. He feels like the world has fallen beneath him, any platform he had to stand on completely removed. He could cry, scream, strangle David just from the intoxication of guilt hearing his name.

Zep.

“You’re too late.”

Zep.

“It’s the rules.”

CRRRRRRK.

Then, there it is again; the ever familiar sound of Zep's skull cracking, the gruesome symphony of his bones yielding to the relentless force of the toilet lid, the porcelain mercilessly shattering his nose and skull. The sickening crunch of bone mingled with pulverized plaster echoes, reverberating through Adam’s mind, triggering a vivid somatic flashback that overwhelms him, his whole body numb. He’s only calmed by his safe space, remembering the feeling of Lawrence’s warm hand on his cheek.

It all feels so real. The anger, the guilt, sinking into his chest and making its home 8 layers deeper. To take a life. Self defense, regret pushed into the corner. He killed this man who meant something to someone. The person in front of him.

His mind fixates on the unimaginable horror of imagining if it was Lawrence lying there, skull cracked open on the unforgiving bathroom tiles. In that moment, Zep's wrongdoings fade into nothingness. He’s forgiven in that moment, overtaken by the guilt and shame of Adam making himself into a murderer. The raw intensity of the emotion consumes him, amplified by the newfound depth of his love for someone else. Love couldn’t bring back Zep. It's a feeling so visceral, so potent, that it eclipses everything else. He’s a murderer. He killed someone.

He’s snapped out with David clapping.

“Dude, you good?”

He’s back in the gift shop. The flashback is over.

“I'm sure,” Adam responds, shakily. “I'm sure he'll call you back eventually.”

–

Lawrence sawing his own leg off echoes in his ear, only challenged by the sound of Zep's skull breaking against the floor.

David hands flowers to the customer across from the counter, looking back to make sure Adam is picking up on the day to day. He doesn't respond. He just watches, as his thoughts hold over him like a raincloud.

Adam wants to go back to the 3 moments in that prison that give him security in these times.

1. Seeing Lawrence across from him. Finally able to meet him. The freezing cold water from the bathtub doesn't rock his senses once he sees Lawrence.

1. The feeling of Lawrence's head against his cheek, holding him, close enough to brush their lips but not enough to kiss. His only regret is not doing it then.

1. The sound of the bathroom door opening, feeling moments from death, knowing freedom was near.

Lawrence.

It’s all Lawrence.

Sometimes, he cannot believe he is alive.

His phone beeps, and David looks irritated at how uncommitted Adam acts on his first day. The text from Jill brings him down, reading:

“I meant to call you today but we have a big caseload. Let's get together this week. I'm proud of you.”

With a slight smile he responds.

“thnx. I really could use a mom right now. Love u.”

The text tone comes not a second later.

“Stay strong. Love you too:)”

–

On the other side of the hospital, Lawrence's supervisor signs a form for him to start 2 weeks later. He's all clear. Just great. Great. Work, money, long hours, and therapy that he might have to fight his insurance for, despite the news running Jigsaw Survivor headlines around the clock, the Gordon Household voicemail backed up for interviews. He should call them back at some point.

If only he had used that leg excuse Adam had come up with, he might not be in such agony thinking about returning to work, not spending countless hours with Adam every day, their bath routine cut short and the feeling of his hips grinding against his whenever and wherever he wanted.

He knew this was temporary; the routine they had made up of a lack of routine. The control they had in their day, made up of monotonous, non-responsibilities carefully constructed by Lawrence to keep busy and limited in their stress.

Lawrence stops in his tracks. He never had felt like this before, always working such long hours without a second thought about who he was or wasn't with- somehow it feels like a kick to his bad leg when he thinks about even spending more than an hour apart from Adam now. He feels like a dog ripped from its master, a fawn shot down while feeding in meadows. Knowing his hand, his cheek, the same cheek he cupped on the bathroom floor, might be far from him soon made him feel like he was dying.

Always independent, never this dependent, Lawrence Gordon always lived his life on his own terms.

Lawrence's hand migrates to his face; touching his lips, the taste of Adam still lingers, the flavor of cigarettes on windows-down drives, lucky charms cereal, and a stick of double mint he pulled from Lawrence's glove compartment.

Then the memory floods back, that unforgettable kiss that seemed to play out for the entire hospital to witness—the smaller figure entwined in a passionate embrace with the esteemed cancer doctor, Lawrence Gordon.

At first, a sense of weightlessness overtakes him, swiftly followed by a tinge of nausea. He feels ill, for a moment.

Yet, today, the fear isn't an enduring presence, just a fleeting moment. It’s short lived. It doesn’t bury itself in him like it did in Dance clubs 20 years ago, and all the times he tried to convince other men - and himself - he wasn’t gay. He was just there for the music obviously. He was tired, he wasn't thinking right, was always his excuse when he gazed at another man. The fear that haunted him, the fear that drove him to f*ck every nurse and secretary that crossed his desk, convincing himself he could f*ck the desire, the repression, the need for men out of him. It doesn't encompass a lifetime's worth of dread and self-denial. In these echoing hospital corridors, saturated with the scent of loss and desolation, a warmth envelops him today.

Today, the phantom pain, as sharp as it is, dulls with Adam's presence by his side.

Lawrence had never felt happier to be this f*cking gay.

After years of waiting
After years of waiting nothing came
And you realize you're looking
Looking in the wrong place

-Radiohead, Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box

–

1 NEW VOICEMAIL

JOHN KRAMER

“ Hello Doctor Gordon. Thank you. I'm glad to see you survived your test.”

Chapter 25: i dwell on your hand the way christians pray to god

Chapter Text

"How often do you dwell on it?" Lawrence inquired, his gaze fixed on the prosthetic limb.

"On what?" Adam asked, concern and confusion clouding his tone.

"On the bathroom." Lawrence clarified.

–

If only Lawrence could fathom the sensation of being trapped there, deteriorating slowly, the excruciatingly painful wait as his heartbeat slowed, feeling the numbness creeping into his feet amidst the chilling cold and dampness of that forsaken bathroom.

Eventually, he stopped screaming, his throat raw howling for hours on end in desperate pleas for help.

The first day was hard. He had no idea though, ignorant to the grim reality that each passing day would get so much worse. Still though, he held onto that promise from Lawrence. At times, he caught himself murmuring, repeating the words, "I wouldn't lie to you," as if to mimic the tremor in his own voice, fighting to preserve the image of the frightened yet sincere gaze in Lawrence's eyes when he made that very promise. He didn't want to forget the sound of his voice. The way he said it.

He made sure that even if he was to die there, he wanted to keep holding onto Lawrence. He wanted to hold his love in his chest, the same love that burned with infatuation and lust in what he had previously thought was the same tendency he held as a young man to get attached to the men he followed. To get attached to the men he photographed. The same photos his dad hated. Lawrence was different.

Lawrence made a promise, assuring everything would be fine. He'd return with help. Lawrence's soothing gesture, thumb caressing his cheek, reminiscent of how he touched women he laid in bed with, left him longing for his touch again. He needed that feeling back, he wanted him back for just a moment longer.

A sudden gurgle from his stomach surprised him. He marveled at how his body found the energy to produce such a sound amidst the starvation.

His eyes, filled with the fog and auras, still made out the outline of Lawrence’s amputated foot in the corner of the room.It brought him comfort. Somehow, it gave him peace to know a part of Lawrence was still there with him.

Sometimes, when he could find the energy to force movement, he’d attempt to reach for the hacksaw, still covered in Lawrence’s dried blood, tossed in the corner of the room. He felt an odd desire to clutch it, to embrace it as if it were a cherished companion—this very tool had freed Lawrence - it deserved tenderness. He daydreamed about brushing his tongue across the jagged edges, slow enough to taste but not fast enough to cut, to savor the taste of iron. A way to keep a part of Lawrence close, eternally. The thought of swallowing that blood, letting it engulf his senses, filled his mind, intoxicated him.

He wondered how long it’d take for his toenails to fall off, if frostbite hadn’t already begun to eat at the nerves in his toes. He had lost feeling in them long ago.

Lawrence, no, he had to keep thinking of Lawrence.

If only he could stretch far enough to touch the foot. In his more desperate moments, he wished he could press it against his cheek, a feeble attempt to recreate the sensation of Lawrence's touch. He wondered how it felt. He wondered if he could reach it. If he were a bit more disconnected from reality, perhaps he could envision it as a substitute for Lawrence's hand, pressing it to his face like the same palm that caressed him. The shame didn't have a chance to sink in when he had these thoughts. He didn't care. He wanted him close, dear god he needed him to hurry up and bring someone back.

In those dark, desolate moments, he found himself praying for a co*ckroach or a mouse to scurry by, anything that could offer sustenance to quiet the gnawing hunger, allowing him to rest without the constant sense of fading away. Lawrence remained oblivious, unaware of the times he licked at the bathtub, the gritty floors, desperately seeking hydration. He had to persevere, had to remain alive for Lawrence's return.

The day before he was rescued, he wondered how the hell he was still alive. The ways his chest felt hollow, his heartbeat reverberating in his ear like a drum.

On that same day, he allowed the deludedness, the sickness, the braindead feeling to take control of any and all daydreams his mind wanted to. One in particular, Lawrence pulled open the bathroom door, and run to his side, then they’d f*ck hard, bare on that awful bathroom floor. He’d suck the moisture from Lawrence’s lips, like he was stealing his soul, and feel life come back to him as Lawrence entered him. No paramedics needed, no police, no one but just him and Lawrence, spooning and exchanging body fluids like love drunk 20 year olds on that disgusting floor.

Eventually, Lawrence would pick him up, holding him like he was some kind of fairytale princess, and they’d escape to safety together.

This was a fantasy after all. He let it be as fruity as he wanted it to be. Scott wasn’t here to tell him otherwise, he didn’t have the energy to think about Lawrence’s family; just them.

He would never have admitted this of course, for f*cksake, that first meeting back in the hospital he thought was just a courtesy. Having what they had was never in his plan, something that he only allowed to fester in the fantasies of the darkroom and in his near-death state in that cursed prison.

He wondered though, if in cutting off his own foot, Lawrence had left a part of himself in the bathroom that day. If by removing that part of himself, he was choosing a life he could live freely as himself.

Maybe, the real bathroom was a closet, buried behind 20 years of doors locked behind doors by self hatred and internalized bias.

He still remembered though, the feeling of seeing that light peak through when he was rescued. The sight of Lawrence, on the edge of his hospital bed. That first time he brought him coffee, the hospital routine, the feeling of his touch on his cheek, his hands on his body in that hospital bed.

All in all, even if he couldn’t taste Lawrence’s blood, his heart was still bleeding for him to taste if he so wanted, waking up every day besides him.

–

Something seems different this morning.

Lawrence tipped the pills from their containers, passing one to Adam as their glasses lightly clinked. A subtle sadness lingered in Lawrence's eyes, a shift from the day before, and Adam could sense it.

"Okay, spill dude," Adam prodded, a hint of both frustration and bewilderment in his voice. "What’s up with you? What’s wrong?"

Lawrence's brow knitted together.

"Nothing," he replied, but Adam, attuned to Lawrence's nuances after spending so much time together, remained unsatisfied.

“Bullsh*t, yeah, no - tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

Lawrence strode toward the door but halted mid-step. The dark-haired man observed as Lawrence paused, deftly switching the cane to his other hand before pivoting to face Adam once again.

There were tears in his eyes.

Lawrence's eyes glazed over, tears pooling at the edges. He let out a heavy sigh, using his sleeve to dab at his face, brushing away the tears. In a heartbeat, Adam hurried to his side, reaching up to envelop Lawrence in a tight embrace. Then, Lawrence spoke, his voice quivering with emotion as the words left his lips in a hushed tone.

“If anything ever happens to me - if I ever disappear, you’ll wait for me. Right?”

The question hit him like a bullet through the shoulder, a sharp and piercing sensation that reverberated through his chest. There was something about the way it was posed that felt like a stabbing pain, more painful and insidious than the rusty nail Scott stabbed him with. Harsher, faster than the bullet Lawrence shot him with.

“...What are you saying Lawrence?”

“If they ever come back, the pigs,” Lawrence sobbed, falling apart in Adam’s arms, causing him to grip his back tighter. “If they ever get one of us, you’ll come find me, right? You’ll wait?”

Adam felt like he was being hit by a truck watching him fall apart. His tone, the way he sobbed took him back to the breakdown in the bathroom, yelling at Zep.

“f*ck, of course Larry- god, of course I will.”

Lawrence felt lighter, he felt his face soften just hearing the reassurance.

“I’m sorry - I’m too scared to lose you. I’m so scared, Adam.”

Adam pressed their foreheads against each other, feeling Lawrence’s blood pressure spiking from his pulse.

“You never will, old man.”

Pulling apart from the embrace, Lawrence pressed his lips against Adam’s again, requiring just one more spec of validation that his fears were not founded.

“Adam. Do you promise me?”

The younger man smirked, knowing exactly what to say in this situation.

That promise, that promise that Adam had held onto, the promise that kept him alive and swore was his one reason for still kicking, those days rotting in the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Chapter 26: another country

Chapter Text

“I remember when this movie came out.”

This Is Spinal Tap was on TV.

Lawrence, wrapped in his robe, gestured towards the television as Adam slouched on the couch like a shrimp, spooning Lucky Charms into his mouth, a trace of milk lingering on his lips.

“Oh god,” Adam laughed, his mouth still full of cereal. “I’m reminded again just how old you are whenever we watch something.”

With an affectionate eye roll like an annoyed father, Lawrence made his way toward the kitchen.

This was Adam’s first day off since his job at the gift shop started, the job that Lawrence had carefully arranged on the spot for him. His feet hurt, his back was sore, and he suddenly remembered why he quit his job at blockbuster to follow sleazy businessmen in alleyways for $100 bucks a night, cash up front. $6.75 an hour hardly seemed worth it. Thank god David was also a smoker, or he’d never be getting away with the amount of smoke breaks he took to call or text Lawrence with any other manager.

The third day, he remembered the text he received from the other man. It was to the point, simply;

“Do you have a 15 soon?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Adam pressed down on the number pad on his phone.

“I dunno. Gotta ask David. :P”

His whole face turned beet red at Lawrence’s response.

“Ask now. I don't need long. Meet me in the parking garage, where you took that one picture. Hurry.”

Jesus Christ. He practically dashed back into the store, his eyes darting between David and his phone screen, David’s glance flickering in one of pure annoyance etched on his face as he anticipated the inevitable break request.

Adam's voice quivered as he spoke, his breath unsteady, feeling his stomach churn.

"I... I don't feel well. Gonna take a fifteen."

David's eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he continued unboxing another container of teddy bears.

Adam's heart raced, his face flushed with a mix of anxiety and urgency. "It's the nicotine. I'll be back soon, okay? Just need another cig. Years of chain smoking catching up with me."

David rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Don’t count on employee of the month anytime soon.”

Adam wasted no time, practically sprinting to the parking garage. There it was, Lawrence's Mercedes, his blonde hair easily identifiable even through the tinted windows. He caught the silhouette of Lawrence, recognizing the same outfit from the photos Adam had taken, complete with those obnoxiously douchey sunglasses he always wore. As Adam neared the car, Lawrence lowered his shades, their eyes locking, a smirk curling on the blonde man's lips as he rolled down the window.

“Backseat. Now.”

Adam swiftly opened the door and slid into the backseat, prompting Lawrence to adjust his seat and join him in the rear of the car. He pulled Adam’s face into a kiss, and lifted the frailer man onto his lap, immediately pulling off his belt to free his member. Feeling the larger man grip his co*ck, a gasp was released from Adam’s lips.

“I thought about this all the time. How the f*ck, Larry, how did you know-”

“We don’t have much time,” Lawrence whispered, moving his lips to Adam’s neck with a sharp exhale as he freed his length and pulled off Adam’s pants. Pawing at his ass, Lawrence’s fingers entered Adam, stimulating his prostate with care before positioning himself to fill Adam.

His head slid in first, and with a few movements, he entered Adam fully, Lawrence’s precum lubricating the entrance and allowing easy movement.

With mastery, Adam rocked back and forth, their bodies meeting with a slap in the backseat, comforted by the privacy of the tinted windows and the eroticism of knowing this was where they really first met. Lawrence breathed into Adam’s mouth, pulling him into an open mouth kiss as he thrusted deeper in him, as Adam let go of the kiss to arch his back and let Lawrence fill him deeper.

“I'm close-” Adam whispered, and Lawrence cupped his cheek to kiss him as he finished inside.

It was over as soon as it started, and Adam panicked as he wiped his own liquids off of his work shirt and pulled his pants back on. It was so obvious, the way he smelled and the sweat that stained his brow. “sh*t.”

Lawrence pulled Adam into another kiss and unlocked the door for him to return. “Hurry back,” the older man urged, “I’ll see you at seven. We’ll get pizza tonight.”

Adam smiled.

f*ck this guy, f*ck this idiotic, sexy, stupid beautifulman he was in love with.

“Sounds awesome. See you Larry.”

“Oh- wait-”

Adam came to a halt.

Lawrence leaned over, reaching into the front seat, brandishing a Starbucks cup and held the drink out the car door.

Adam grabbed the warm cup from Lawrence's hand, their fingers brushing. “Thanks?”

The cups appeared almost identical, matching, Lawrence's bearing the name "LARRY" etched on the side, while the other cup had "LARRY ADAM" scribbled in a different color Sharpie. It was an unexpectedly endearing detail. He imagined a bored Lawrence waiting for Adam to text him or call him, making a pit stop to buy a Sharpie - not even the right color - at a Staples on the way to the hospital just to correctly label it.

“Have you heard of these? They call them Pumpkin Spice Lattes. They’re just incredible, Adam. I’m addicted. ”

–

Just like Adam thought, David did indeed ask him what the hell he got on his uniform, and with his face red and flushed, he began unpacking the new inventory, a skip in his step, all Lawrence Gordon.

David seemed to forget it all when he handed him the latte, which seemed to quickly erase any complaints about the extra ten minutes he took.

–

The sex was insane, unsurprisable and offered comfort in the shared trauma they’d faced. From the hospital to their now shared bedroom, to the darkroom, he couldn’t believe how many times he’d gotten to f*ck the daylights out of Lawrence.

Better yet, he was all his. Lawrence Gordon was his.

Obviously he was in love with him. He wanted a life with him. He had a life with him. Sex was not the only thing that made up their companionship, but the sex was an obvious plus. When they both felt outside of their own bodies, Lawrence quite literally, the phantom pain aching somedays, one of the few comforts they had to their advantage was taking comfort in each other's.

Today though, he would be pissed if he had to move a single inch off the couch.

He tried not to think about the conversation they’d had earlier in the week. The fear of Lawrence leaving haunted him, the anxiety and nightmares of the pigs, of Jigsaw, dancing in the back of his head. The PTSD came with these fears, some days harder than others, but he tried not to dwell on it. Maybe it was a bad day.

Footsteps from the adjoining room signaled Lawrence's return to the living room, this time bearing a coffee with two creams in hand.

Adam rolled over on the couch, fixing his gaze on Lawrence with the eagerness of a puppy eyeing a treat. "Ooohh, is that for me? Can I pretty please have a coffee?" he asked, his voice taking on a playful, sing-songy tone.

Lawrence passed him the mug, a subtle hint of annoyance flickering across his face, while Adam couldn't contain his laughter, taking a sip of the warm, bittersweet drink. Resistance seemed futile; Lawrence couldn’t say no. With a resigned sigh and a groan, Lawrence navigated back into the kitchen, his movements now a well-rehearsed choreography with the cane, as he expertly poured yet another cup.

This time, Lawrence reappeared with an "I <3 Daddy" mug, a creation crafted by Diana during her kindergarten days.

"Aww," Adam playfully teased. "You got a mug dedicated to me?"

" Enough ." Lawrence retorted with a slight gurgle, hastily sipping his coffee, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“So, you wanna watch this movie with me? Like the good ol days - what, months ago now?”

"Why not, I’d be delighted" Lawrence replied, a hint of both sarcasm and genuine warmth lacing his words as he settled beside Adam, who had already finished his coffee.

They both fixed their gaze on the TV, Adam inching closer to Lawrence and snatching a throw blanket from the nearby seat, a PIER 1 IMPORTS tag still hanging off it.

“1984 was a great year for cinema.” Lawrence commented during the commercial break. “I was in my 20’s. Terminator. The Karate Kid. Footloose.”

Adam interjected. “Hmm, Nightmare on Elm Street, Children of the Corn…”

Lawrence blinked as their sentences intertwined. "Red Dawn..."

"...Ghostbusters..."

They settled in as the movie unfolded, reaching the scene where Nigel Tufnel proudly displayed the bands amps, emphasizing the significance and rarity of cranking it up to eleven.

"Speaking of 1984 - have you seen 'Another Country'?" Lawrence's expression dimmed, his posture growing rigid. Undeterred, Adam rested his head on Lawrence's shoulder, continuing his train of thought.

“I swear, I was so paranoid that someone would see me steal that tape from the rental place. I think I watched that scene of them in the boat like, 8 times in a row, kept rewinding it again and again. It was like p*rn to me. You couldn’t find movies like that back then.”

Lawrence's face turned pale, vivid memories of med school repression dancing in his head.

“I’ve seen it.”

Adam arched an eyebrow, turning his head to fix his gaze on Lawrence, who was pretending to be engrossed in the mockumentary playing on the TV.

"Well, any thoughts on it?"

Lawrence drummed his fingers on his knee, nervous.

“No, not really.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“You didn’t cry?”

“...No. Did you?”

“Course I did. I’m not a f*ckin’ monster.”

“Hm.”

They sat in silence for a while, long enough for Lawrence to finish his coffee, and for Adam to slide down the couch and rest his head on his partner’s lap. Eventually, Lawrence’s hand migrated to Adam's hair, petting it gently. He had relaxed a bit.

It wasn’t exactly abnormal for these shifts in Lawrence’s mood to occur; some days he felt comfortable. Some days he was still as scared as he was when he woke up in the bathroom. It was all a process, recovering from years of poor life choices and repression - and of course, the bathroom and sawing off his own leg didn’t exactly help.

“You know,” Adam said, “I never wanna pressure you to talk to me about that stuff, y’know, your gay experiences and sh*t, when you knew-”

Lawrence tensed briefly, then relaxed, akin to the ebb and flow of waves in the ocean. As Adam sat up, their eyes locked, instilling a sense of serenity in Lawrence's chest. Adam continued speaking.

“-but when you want, if you want, know I accept you Larry. All of you, this big house, your family, your f*ckin’ problems, all of it. I still can’t believe you kissed me out in the open like that-”

Reaching his arms out, Lawrence pulled Adam into a warm embrace, and immediately remembered the feeling of their bodies caressing each other the first time he held him in the hospital bed.

Closing his eyes, Adam surrendered to the first genuine rest he had experienced in weeks. Lawrence held him with a tenderness that felt like being wrapped in a warm, protective blanket. The scent of Lawrence's cologne and the musky hint of sweat intoxicated Adam's senses as he drifted off. Lawrence's lips brushed against his forehead, fingers running through his hair, and he rocked Adam gently, holding him close, assuring him that he was indeed safe.

It suddenly became evident how Lawrence's scent had evolved over the past few months. While his signature Armani cologne lingered on his skin, Adam found himself enamored with the new nuances of Lawrence's scent. There was something captivating about the way his unshowered skin carried an earthy note in the morning, how his breath held a bitter tinge that oddly complemented, and the hint of cedar in his shampoo. Adam had grown familiar with numerous facets of Lawrence, yet his past remained shrouded in mystery on certain days. He still had so much he wanted to learn about Lawrence. So much love in his heart for this man he still had so much to get to know about.

Lawrence started to speak, then stopped. Adam reached out to squeeze his hand, urging him to continue.

“I started liking men in medical school. I convinced myself it was sleep deprivation, illness, depression - any lie I could tell myself to convince myself otherwise.”

Adam smiled at him. Lawrence was finally opening up about something he had been holding back for most of his life.

Adam sighed. “Hey, that makes sense. It sucks. I knew when I was thirteen. They don’t exactly treat ya well when you’re open about it, I’ll tell you that. Especially when you don’t do much to hide it. Times are changing but its still hard."

“I know.”

Visions of the torment he faced in school clouded Adam’s vision, his safe space in Scott’s bedroom being his one space of minimally emotionally secure solace. On the other hand, Lawrence recalled the first man he had ever been attracted to, back in residency, shoulder length brown hair and dark green eyes. He resembled Adam in a way. He knew the other man was gay, even following him to nightclubs once or twice just “for the good music” but never crossing the line and freeing himself.

Things were better, but the past was still evident in the back of his mind some days.

In that world, it wasn’t safe. He couldn’t allow himself to be free. He couldn’t admit to himself that he felt the way he felt.

In that world, he could slice through his own flesh and bone with less fear than he could admitting his fantasies to himself; his true self.

Lawrence had lived through a lot. Adam tried not to bring up any sore subjects, but he knew their age difference was also a symbol of the history they had both lived through. Bigotry, an epidemic, societal oppression, it all stained their history.

Lawrence knew it. Adam knew it. They didn’t talk about it. It didn’t matter here, now, but it mattered more than ever.

If only the bathroom was the only trauma they’d had experienced in life, it’d all been at least 1% easier.

Lawrence’s lips opened again, his voice trembling, almost a whisper.

“I thought, if I marry the most beautiful woman in the room, it’ll make it stop. If I have the right amount of sex, it’ll make it stop. I just had to get the thoughts to stop. I’ll be honest-” Adam grabbed Lawrence’s hand, holding it tight. “Sex had never felt as right as when it was with you. I never felt so me as when I was with you.

I know the divorce won’t be easy but I’m…relieved.

Adam. I-I love you so much. I'm not afraid anymore.”

His whole face lit on fire. He could never get used to the emotional teenage girl that Lawrence could become, with somehow still the sentimentality of an older man.

“Oh, the sex is f*cking awesome, same here,” Adam laughed, pulling an irritated smile from the older man, who reached out to rub the younger man’s cheek. “No,” Adam started. “For real. I love you Lawrence. I’m f*ckin’ proud of you.”

He wondered, when things might slow down, when their days would get boring, but maybe it wasn’t in the cards now.

Lawrence pulled Adam to him, while This is Spinal Tap played in the background, as his hand wandered to his waist.

As long as they didn’t have to get off the couch, he wouldn’t mind going for a round, just like they did in the backseat.

Cracked eggs, dead birds
Scream as they fight for life
I can feel death, can see its beady eyes
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again
And fade out again
Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love

Street Spirit, Radiohead

—

46 MISSED CALLS FROM JILL TUCK

FROM: JILL TUCK

TO: JOHN KRAMER

HELLO JOHN, THIS IS JILL –

1 SKIPPED MESSAGE

JOHN, CALL ME BACK. I SAW YOU AT THE HOSPITAL–

1 SKIPPED MESSAGE

I’M SERIOUS JOHN. STAY THE f*ck AWAY FROM HIM.

1 SKIPPED MESSAGE

JOHN. PLEASE — KKKKKK — PLEASE. WHAT IF IT WAS GIDEON? WHAT IF IT WAS YOUR SON? STAY AWAY FROM DR. GORDON. STAY AWAY FROM –KKKKKKKKKK - THEM.

– 1 MESSAGE DELETED.

--

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM ALISON GORDON

TO: LAWRENCE GORDON

Hi Larry, its Alison. I need a favor - I've been asked to lead a support group. It's called S.U.R.V.I.V.E. My therapist thinks it'd be good for me. I'll need to drive up to renew my license next week, I'll be in philly for a few days. I'll bring by the signed papers before then - can you watch Diana for a couple days? Thanks so much. Call me back.

Chapter 27: warning

Chapter Text

Diana’s room was right as she left it. A more familiar environment than her new home at the condo, with every surface adorned with stuffed animals, preserving the familiar ambiance. Her floral bedspread was recently washed with floral detergent anticipating her arrival.

Adam found himself adjusting to the novelty of owning a washing machine, a luxury he hadn't fully embraced after 27 years of trips to the laundromat—still an infrequent occurrence. His aversion to laundry and cleaning persisted past his teenage years, a specific kind of executive effort that had always drained him. When it was time to clean, he found himself walking around his apartment, avoiding the idea of a single task. Diana, however, stood as an exception. His desire for her to feel at ease in their shared space came from multiple angles. Part of it stemmed from a lingering sense of guilt for "taking away" her father, yet there was a deeper drive—to offer her the sense of security he himself hadn't experienced in his upbringing. Projection persisted.

Diana had a CD collection of her own.

"Hey, Larry!" Adam's voice echoed into the next room as he meticulously dusted the counter surfaces, the feathered tool swaying in rhythm to the music emanating from her boom box. Pointing to the shelf, as if almost just to himself, he laughed. "Green Day? You bought Green Day for your kid?"

Lawrence shuffled into the room, a hint of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah," he admitted. "She asked it. Apparently, the other kids at her school are into them. Didn't seem too inappropriate for her, I suppose."

“HA, well they have a new album coming out soon. American Idiot. Great kid gift for Christmas. Anti-Bush stuff I think.”

“As they should. That man is a moron. There’s a song on that album you’re holding called Church On Sunday, so I thought it’d be fine, wait-”

Lawrence hurried over to the petite pink boombox, his hand reaching out to seize the album, swiftly pulling out its insert to inspect the lyrics.

Today is the first day of the rest of our lives

Tomorrow is too late to pretend everything's alright, now

I'm not getting any younger as long as you don't get any older

I'm not gonna see that yesterday never was

Bloodshot deadbeat and lack of sleep

Making your mascara bleed

Tears down your face

Leaving traces of my mistakes

When I say

If I promise go to church on Sunday

Will you go with me on Friday night?

If you live with me, I'll die for you and this compromise

I hereby solemnly swear to tell the whole truth

Lawrence's eyes skimmed the lyrics, a frown forming as he bit his bottom lip—an unmistakable sign of disapproval. Adam shook his head, amused by his partner's unwitting exposure of his daughter to alternative rock at such a young age. It seemed like a win in some way, a newfound common ground for Diana and him. Good for her. They'd certainly have something to discuss now, other than the bathroom and her kidnapping at least. Extra points for common ground.

"Come on, you're too much," Adam chuckled, bemused by the other man's innocence, his gullibility evident in purchasing a CD laden with both swear words and existentialism for his daughter. "The religious reference got you butthurt or something?"

Lawrence cast a glance back at Adam, his eyes lingering for a moment, silently conveying a depth of affection and connection that words couldn't capture.

“No, I just think this song kind of reminds me of us.”

Adam’s face flushed. This was his weakness.

“Yeah, this one.” Lawrence pointed at the insert, and Adam moved closer to him to inspect the lyrics of Church on Sunday.

I'm not getting any younger as long as you don't get any older

I'm not gonna see that yesterday never was

Bloodshot deadbeat and lack of sleep

He wasn't sure if his heart should sink or beat harder at the reference to the bullet in his shoulder, shot meticulously and carefully enough in an area that he would definitely survive. He was grateful Lawrence was a doctor with years of working in ERs under his belt. If he wasn't, his fate may have been different.

“ ...and this one.” Lawrence continued, his finger migrating to the bottom of the verse.

If you live with me, I'll die for you and this compromise

I hereby solemnly swear to tell the whole truth

He wouldn't lie to him.

Adam was speechless, if not for the reference, then at Lawrence’s sentimentality.

“Damn. Green Day knew. I'm glad to know they got to corrupting Diana with anti establishment sh*t first, but I’m at a loss.”

As Lawrence leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss onto the crown of Adam's head, a surge of unexpected emotion washed over him. The discovery in his daughter's room had unearthed an unfamiliar nostalgia, a wave of joy that shook his core. Adam reminisced about listening to that very album, sharing cigarettes with Scott in his bedroom while printing posters for an upcoming gig.

And now, here he was, all these years later, with Lawrence. In this house he never could have imagined he'd set a foot near without the cops being called.

"Should we add it to our first dance playlist?" A mischievous grin spread across the blonde man's face. In that moment, Adam couldn't help but notice the nuances that made Lawrence’s age more obvious — the precisely folded sleeves of his cardigan, the endearing corniness in his speech, and the overwhelming sappiness that permeated their interactions. It was these endearing quirks that made Lawrence so uniquely endearing.

f*ck, he loved him.

He loved Lawrence so much.

Taking the insert from Lawrence's hands, Adam swiftly tucked it back into the CD case before carefully returning it to its spot on the shelf. A smile tugged at the corners of Adam's mouth, impossible to suppress. Despite any internal doubts about deserving this love, he couldn't help the rush of joy and giddiness that surged through him.

“Don’t take CD inserts out without Diana’s permission,” he replied. “You can't display CDs without em. They're important.”

Lawrence smiled at the younger man, who seemed fixated on fitting the paper back in the plastic case just right.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

—

Diana’s backpack was pink, adorned with her initials, DG, contrasting with a gray leather suitcase, obviously bought full price at pottery barn kids. Adam looked at the way she bounced from place to place, reminding him of his own child self before the ritalin. Never in a million years would anyone have thought that only a few months prior, she was held captive in this house alongside her mother, fearing for her life.

But then again, trauma manifests in different ways for everyone.

The panic attacks had become less frequent, even with Lawrence’s job starting back up in a few days.

He wondered how long this would last, before the next shoe would drop.

Lawrence stood at the doorway, his cardigan now replaced with the same dark blue suit that Adam knew so well, Diana at his side, her long light brown hair falling perfectly at her shoulders.

“I need to run to the hospital for a bit. I have a meeting with my supervisor. You mind watching her?”

Adam made eye contact with the child, hugging her father's side. There was no resentment in her expression. No judgment. She was just happy to be there, in the presence of her father and her home. Maybe Adam too.

Kids were so much simpler than he had ever imagined.

Adam nodded, turning his gaze from Diana to Lawrence, who looked both exhausted and elated at the same time.

“Jill's stopping by for a bit. Are you cool with that?”

“Of course. Diana will like her I'm sure - or she’ll just stay in her room. It’s fine either way.”

Lawrence patted his daughter's head, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Be good for Adam and Mrs. Tuck. Okay, Di?”

The girl hugged Lawrence tightly, then dashed over to cuddle with Adam on the couch, settling closer to him than he anticipated. Diana seemed incredibly comfortable, maybe from the connection they'd formed during her initial visit, when they discussed Zep. He empathized with her, knowing what it was like to carry the world's burdens at such a young age. Chaotic parental relationships, the pressure of fitting in, and now, Diana was also grappling with PTSD.

“Diana,” Adam started, shifting his focus to the smaller girl beside him as he heard the front door shut. “I saw you like Green Day. Good choice.”

Diana squirmed in her seat, hands clasped on her kneecaps excitedly. “My friend Jordan brought his walkman to school. They're so COOL!”

“They're super awesome,” Adam's hand landed on her head, patting it softly. This gesture was almost on impulse. His hand seemed to move on its own, reaching affectionately towards her excited face.

For a moment, he forgot Alison was her mom. For a moment, it felt like Diana was some entity that had sprouted out of the ground, resembling Lawrence but also partially Adam.

He respected Alison though. He wanted to keep Diana happy, safe. She deserved nothing but love after all she had been through.

He had never thought about having a kid, or wanted them in the slightest - but here he was, looking at Diana as if she was his own. All he wanted was for her to be safe, to feel all the comfort and joy he had never been able to as a child. He wanted to express interest in what she cared about, even if it was because he loved Lawrence. She was an extension of him though, a necessity - but one he was somehow so okay with.

“Has your dad told you about my record collection?”

Diana's mouth opened wide in excitement.

“You have a record collection?”

“Yes ma’am. I have a friend coming over for a bit. You don't need to meet her if you don't feel like it.”

Diana shook her head back and forth with a fierce “ no strangers.”

“Got it. Do you want some CDs to listen to?”

The young girl practically bounded off the couch, landing on the floor with a skip before darting into the hallway, brimming with excitement. Adam slowly rose, feeling the strain in his bones, trailing after her.

He guessed that was a yes.

–

Adam had seen Diana's shelf, adorned with Radio Disney and her fair share of Hilary Duff. However, he knew you didn't get into this genre overnight in some cases- for so many of his friends, it wasn’t like one day they were listening to The Beatles and Madonna, the next day Black Sabbath. It took time. Diana's original interest was a first step.

“Since you like Green Day, Diana, I'm going to give you a few CDs you might like, and you gotta tell me what you think, ok?”

Diana shook her head in amusem*nt as Adam handed the small girl a pile of albums, enough to entertain her while he talked to Jill. He had to admit too, this was somewhat healing, to watch a kid so similar to his younger self discovering this music be held so dear for the first time.

“Got a few new ones, a few old ones in there too. If you ever want to listen to one on my shelf, feel free. Just keep those sticky kid fingers away from the backs of the discs please.”

Diana nodded.

“Got it.”

In her arms, Diana held:

• I brought you my bullets you brought me your love, by My Chemical Romance
• Cheshire Cat by Blink-182
• Take This to Your Grave by Fallout Boy

On the back of each CD he scribbled a list of songs.

“When you’re a little older I’ll show you some deep cuts. Erm, don't listen to these ones” ok?” Adam gestured at the note, making sure that it was legible enough for Diana to read. “They're uh, not meant for kids.”

Diana nodded in agreement, excitedly examining each CD.

“I like the kitty.”

“Oh that album is great. Blink-182 is so beast.”

Diana paused, looking up at Adam with a confused expression.

“Beast…?”

“Oh, sorry - it means good!”

“Beast. Is Daddy Beast?”

Adam felt his chest nearly explode at the question. Dear god, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

“...Yeah.” Adam said with a shrug. “Larry - your dad is pretty beast.”

—

Jill arrived promptly, savoring the first warm gesture from Adam as he swung open the door to the Gordon residence and enveloped her in a hug.

Once inside, she took off her coat and hung it on the vintage rack, her eyes flickering briefly toward Adam's shoes, still on his feet. Refraining from correcting him, she resisted the urge, instead opting to wipe her nude kitten heels on the floral entryway rug before slipping them off.

Adam felt warm - the hug he wrapped her in filled with affection, care. She returned the favor, squeezing him as if she was her own.

Adam smelled like a mix of menthol, floral cologne, and cigarettes- but clean nonetheless. The stains that wore on his shirt the first time she saw him were bleached out. He looked good.

Her chest swelled with guilt whenever she found herself lost in daydreams at work, envisioning what it might have been like to be Adam's mother. She never told him about Marie, how she stopped answering her calls when she saw her number pop up. Here she was though, with this woman’s son, as if she never existed. No, she didn’t deserve him.

Weak.

She pictured moments like rushing to drop him off at school after accidentally oversleeping, carefully packing lunches adorned with affectionate sticky notes that said "I love you." Her thoughts wandered into the realm of idealized single motherhood, envisaging the struggles but also the comfort of having him by her side. She imagined his first day of middle school, how he might come home in tears after a fight with a friend. In her daydreams, she'd wipe away his tears, patiently listen to every detail of his day, and during her toughest financial battles, he'd assure her that tears were understandable - but it’d be okay. A burden she never wanted him to bear. She visualized herself empowering him when he bravely confessed that he liked boys, offering understanding and support, confessing that she, too, got it - she liked boys as well. There was nothing wrong with it. As long as they treated him right that was all that mattered.

She envisioned his high school graduation, capturing precious pictures of just the two of them and commemorating the milestone with pizza and ice cream. Those graduation photos would find a place on their wall, the fridge, and her desk at work. She'd eagerly help him navigate through college applications, and if he faced rejection from each and every one, she'd gently remind him that other paths awaited—community college, trade school, or taking full advantage of his skills and dipping his toes into freelance photography.

In her mind's eye, she conjured up a myriad of moments she'd never shared with her son. She dwelled on the memories he'd never had the chance to create, the absence of affection and support that he unknowingly missed.

She pictured herself walking him down the aisle on his wedding day, proudly handing him over to Dr. Gordon. Yet, this daydream quickly turned into a haunting nightmare. Reality crashed in. She couldn't shake the memories of John, the knowledge of the unspeakable horrors someone she once loved had inflicted on these two men. Here she was, playing her part without an inkling of the truth, the weight of the hidden past casting a grim shadow over her thoughts. She was a liar, through and through.

No, she was protecting Adam. She had to protect Adam. He wasn't ready to know the truth.

His voice broke through her racing thoughts.

“Do you want anything? Lawrence has some wine, or I could make us some coffee. We have tea, soda, whatever you want.”

Adam suddenly felt uneasy, a rush of memories flooding in—all those occasions he'd hosted guests at his apartment, offering nothing more than tap water or the most dismal beer imaginable. Yet here he was, possibly undeserving, with top shelf alcohol at his beck and call.

"Oh, goodness," Jill exclaimed, her hand rubbing against her forehead. "I could really go for some coffee right now."

Adam grinned, heading over to the coffee maker with confidence, pouring water and expertly measuring out two tablespoons of coffee per cup into the machine.

But then, he hit a snag.

Jill tilted her head, an amused expression dancing across her face as she watched him fiddle with the appliance.

“...I just realized I have never made coffee with this thing before. Why do rich people have so many damn settings?”

Jill laughed and joined him by the coffee maker, pressing the start button with ease.

Adam dropped his shoulders.

“..oh."

“I won't tell Dr. Gordon you hate his complicated, difficult, annoying rich person coffee maker.”

–

Jill delicately sipped her coffee, her perfectly pink manicured nails gently holding the handle before placing the cup on a coaster.

"How's everything going?" she inquired, peering at Adam with curiosity.

Adam nonchalantly shrugged, setting down his coffee, slipping off his shoes, and easing into a more comfortable position on the couch.

"I'm alright. I got a job," he remarked casually.

“I heard. That’s amazing, Adam.”

“It sucks. I feel like I’m on autopilot all day. Larry visits me, and that’s my only relief.”

Jill vividly recalled the challenge of returning to work the day after the accident. Working through the aftermath of such a traumatic event was an incredibly difficult task. She hated it happening to Adam too.

“Take your time. David is a good guy. He understands.”

He leaned back against the couch, his posture slouched in an awkward angle. "What's your life like other than work and, I guess, uh..." Adam paused, chuckling softly. "...baking muffins?"

“Not a lot,” Jill laughed, suppressing the urge to flick Adam’s nose at the rude comment. “Honestly, work keeps me busy.”

“What about friends? You said you were married before, right? You still talk to that guy?”

Jill’s smile turned into a frown. She wished that for once, Adam’s didn’t have the ability to remember these details she offered so willingly.

“Sometimes."

Adam’s posture stiffened, fidgeting nervously in his seat.

“Trust me, I am dreading it. He says he’s never felt this way about anyone before, but I dunno. I feel like it’s a big deal to marry someone.”

"They do have a child together, so it's a bit different," Jill remarked, leaning in to gently pat Adam's shoulder for reassurance, crossing her legs as she spoke. "When you've shared that desire for a child with someone, or tried for one, that same bond and attachment can grow, even if things change."

Adam's discomfort was evident, manifesting in the subtle fidgeting of his fingers and the slight crease forming between his brows. His unease seemed to linger in the restless way he shifted in his seat, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape from the conversation at hand.

“ But, Lawrence loves you. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

The younger man shifted in his seat again. Jill wanted to go back in time, to take this conversation in a totally different direction. She wanted nothing but to cause him less pain, sensing his anxiety.

“I’m worried.”

“Don’t be. You two will get through it. The divorce will finalize, but there are plenty of functional divorces, and functional families that exist within divorce and 2nd marriages.”

Adam's nervousness seemed to amplify, his unease palpable in the way he shifted and squirmed in his seat. Eventually, he abandoned his previous position, opting instead for a new seating arrangement resembling the fetal position.

“He’s talked about it - second marriage. Half jokingly.”

“When you know, you know.”

“I know.”

Jill gently rested her hand on Adam's, and as their eyes locked, a shift in her demeanor became evident. Her once-relaxed expression had transformed into one of solemnity, her lips drawn together with purpose.

She looked like she could cry.

“If Lawrence ever says he wants to run away - go with him. Get away from here. Go somewhere safe.”

She wanted to strangle herself. She could feel the pins and needles in her throat, closing in with every second. She wanted to scream “Get the f*ck out of this house, get away from here, Lawrence is in danger, dear god, don’t let John twist his mind, he’s close” but she couldn’t. So, this was all she could muster.

“That’s weird. Are you ok?”

Jill forced an awkward laugh.

“I’m fine, just a badly landed joke.”

They both sipped at their coffees, slowly, not saying a word.

Deep down, Jill knew she couldn’t save anyone anymore.

–

1 MISSED CALL FROM: MARK HOFFMAN

1 MESSAGE FROM: MARK HOFFMAN

1 VOICEMAIL FROM: MARK HOFFMAN

TO: JILL TUCK

JILL, DON’T DO SOMETHING YOU’LL REGRET.

1 MISSED CALL FROM: LAWRENCE GORDON

1 VOICEMAIL FROM: LAWRENCE GORDON

TO: JOHN KRAMER

I’ll think about it.

Chapter 28: i'll trade my life for yours

Chapter Text

Lawrence walked in at 11. 11pm. Twelve hours later.

Adam sat on the edge of the couch, his restless feet tapping against the floor. Despite exchanging reassuring texts, Lawrence's absence left a palpable void. Each passing moment felt like a slow suffocation, as if he was deprived of the very air he needed to breathe. The distance between them amplified the ache in Adam's heart; it was as if a bullet wound was searing through him again with every tick of the clock. Every minute apart stung.

He wondered what it’d be like when Lawrence’s job fully resumed.

As Lawrence entered the room, hanging his coat on the hook, his face bathed in the gentle glow of the lamp,

Lawrence looked like he had been crying. Eyes red, patches of saltwater staining his cheeks.

“It was a patient. I don’t know how much longer he has. I’m exhausted.”

He had been crying - no doubt. Something had to have happened at the hospital. Adam’s thoughts raced, thinking of all the possibilities for a nearly twelve hour absence.

“I thought it was just a meeting, how the hell did they get you in to see a patient so soon?”

“You have an MD in the hospital, it doesn’t matter if you were almost killed just a few weeks ago or not, you get pulled in if they need you.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Adam tilted his head and shrugged at the blonde man, no ground to stand on.

“Makes sense.”

“I missed you all day.” Lawrence walked to Adam’s side, hand reaching out to tangle with his fingers. “How was Jill? Diana?”

“Diana was fine. She’s asleep now. Finally tuckered out after listening to music all day and 2 bowls of mac n cheese. Jill’s fine. She says hi.”

Adam's voice trembled, its fragility teetering on the edge of breaking. Lawrence felt the shift in the atmosphere, sensing the turmoil within Adam.

"You're upset with me," Lawrence assumed.

"I was just worried about you," Adam confessed.

“You’re angry. What’s wrong Adam?”

Adam drew himself into a tight curl.

“I'm not angry. I'm scared again.” he stated softly.

Lawrence's brow furrowed in confusion, reaching out to gently cup Adam's face, his thumb lightly brushing against his quivering lower lip.

“Scared?” He whispered to the younger man.

“Being apart. All day, I felt like time was running out again in the bathroom. Being apart from you is so damn hard, Larry. I feel pathetic.”

His cane leaned against the plush side of the couch. Lawrence, with a gentle lean forward, enveloped the younger man in his arms, one encircling him in a tight, protective embrace. His other hand tenderly wove circles through the soft, wavy strands of Adam's dark brown hair, a soothing gesture to calm the storm in his mind.

He didn't realize before how long it had grown since the bathroom, nearly at his shoulders now. A visual indication of the passage of time.

To be held by Lawrence wasn't a cure all for his fears. It didn't take the illness away. It just made the burning in his chest cool. He was ice against the fire he felt so deep in the crevices of the 27 years of wounds gathered in him, like cat scratches creating swollen wounds on the surface of his skin. Lawrence was balm. Lawrence was soothing aloe. The knowledge that he was this dependent on him - this inescapably reliant on his presence - horrified him. But even for a split second, the smell of that stupid Armani cologne combined with sweat and the cheap fabric of his scrubs took away some worry, the hollowness in his chest where the bullet wound scarred.

Tears streamed down Adam's face as he spoke, his voice a fragile, trembling plea. "I don't want to go back. To how things were," he cried out, the words punctuated by sobs, his voice wavering with fear and vulnerability. "I'm terrified of returning to that bathroom. I'm scared that one day I'll wake up - I don't wanna go back - to the bathroom. I'm scared one day I'll wake up and we'll be back there. I'm scared of waking up without you. I'm scared of them taking you.”

Adam cried out, muffling his wails in Lawrence's scrubs.

Lawrence began to speak, then paused for a second. With carefulness he proceeded, speaking softly.

“It'd be foolish of me to promise you something I can't keep. They're still out there.”

The anxiety welled in Adam's chest again hearing this.

“I know.”

“I can promise you though - no matter what happens, I'll always find you. I'll always come back to you. Even if I have to saw off all my limbs - I'll find my way back to you.”

Nested into Lawrence's chest, the mental image caused Adam to cry and laugh simultaneously.

“-and I'll always wait for you - just like I did in that bathroom...and while PERSONALLY I hope we can go through life without more prosthetics, I'll take care of ya, stumps and all.”

Lawrence chuckled, before hiding his dulling smile in Adam's hair.

If he only knew what happened, trying to find his way back. The things he had to do to get back to him. To save him, like he promised.

They sat there for a while.

At least, long enough for Adam to feel lighter, releasing the pain from his chest by allowing the tears to flow.

Without making a sound, Lawrence allowed himself to cry with him.

He was more afraid than Adam ever could have imagined.

–

Adam found the notion of midnight baths oddly romantic. The sensation of sinking into the steaming water, infused with Epsom salt, enveloped his body in warmth from head to toe. As customary, Lawrence slipped in behind him, offering a soft surface against which Adam could comfortably lean.

Lawrence nuzzled affectionately into Adam's shoulder, his breath releasing in a deep exhale that hinted at a shift in his demeanor. Sensing the change, Adam gently inquired, "What's on your mind, Lar?"

Pausing briefly, Lawrence drew the smaller man closer before reaching for a nearby washcloth. "Let me indulge in a little fantasizing. Will you?" he requested softly.

Adam shrugged, pursing his lips nonchalantly. “Go ahead.”

“I fully intend to commit to this union. I fully intend to be your husband one day.”

And suddenly, a train could have crashed through the house and it would have made less of an impact on Adam's heart. He felt the weight of the world crash down on him; while Lawrence had talked about these fantasies, the very proponent of sincerity was beyond what he could have imagined.

“Is that a marriage proposal Lawrence? What did they give you at the hospital? Good morphine?”

Lawrence dug his head deeper into Adam’s shoulder, his finger rubbing circles around the scar nervously.

“Shut up.”

Adam smirked.

“Is it?”

“I'd prefer to do a proper one one day, but I suppose, yes.”

“Oh, Lawrence, you know how much I love to see you down on your knees.”

He felt a push from behind as Lawrence groaned in annoyance. “Can't you take anything seriously-”

Adam cut him off.

“Yes.”

They both stopped, and Lawrence's hand went limp, dropping the exfoliating towel into the bathtub. Leaning forward, his chin rested on Adam's shoulder, allowing him to feel his breath against his skin. Adam peered over, as Lawrence spoke to ask;

“Yes? What?”

“I will marry you. I want to be with you Lawrence. f*cking– I want to be with forever. Grow old and sh*t. I want to hold hands at Diana's Christmas play. I want to bring you lunch at the hospital - I want to f*ck in your stupid car on our breaks even when we're old and wrinkly and no one wants to even think about that. I don't care if you die before me, I'll be Diana's stepdad and we'll visit your grave and bring you those ugly angel statues. I want to fight over - god, I want to fight over the color paint when Diana gets sick of pink, I want to mix our boxers together in the laundry, I want to have more movie nights and eat popcorn for dinner, I want to fall asleep in those disgusting expensive dress shirts-”

Lawrence's lower lip trembled visibly, a subtle sign of the emotions simmering beneath the surface. Sensing his distress, Adam shifted in the tub, turning to face Lawrence. Leaning in, he rested his head against the blonde man's, their closeness allowing their noses to brush lightly. In that intimate moment, both of their breaths quivered, mirroring the delicate emotions dancing between them.

“-I want that tenth date Lawrence. I want to dance to REM. At our stupid wedding in California. I want to be with you forever and ever and ever.”

The bathtub water crashed out of the sides of the tub, the extremity of the passion in Lawrence's grasp as he lunged forward to pull Adam into a kiss.

“Marry me, Adam. I can't bear to be without you.”

--

The sounds of Diana weeping were a poor alarm clock, but the rush of concern was quickly calmed when Adam heard Lawrence shushing her.

“Diana,” he cooed, running his hands through her long brown hair, “it's ok my darling. Let it out.”

Adam straightened up in bed, his deep green eyes meeting her large, doll-like brown pupils. They glistened, wet and reddened from the shed tears, a clear indication that she had been in this emotional state for hours. She was in complete despair.

“A…dam…” she sobbed. “Adam, told me, he was gone - that man,” Diana continued to hiccup as Lawrence stood up to hold her and rub her back. “I want Adam to check.”

“Oh?” Lawrence asked her, peering over to the younger man rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Well, you need to ask Adam-”

“Of course. I'll do it.” Adam stood up, stretching his whole body while resisting to look at the clock. It had to be the dead of night, seeing if it was still dark out.

Lawrence gently set the small girl down, watching as she hurriedly made her way towards the bed, almost stumbling in her eagerness to leap into Adam's arms. Adam reciprocated the gesture with a warm embrace, glancing up at Lawrence, silently seeking confirmation through a reassuring nod.

“Diana,” Adam yawned, pulling apart from her grasp. “Do you have a bat or a stick we could use? I'm gonna show you how to fight monsters - and guys like that.”

Adam felt a shiver go down his own spine, knowing that somewhere in the narrative, he was partially responsible for her pain.

Diana's sobs abruptly ceased, replaced by a few lingering sniffles that echoed softly in the room. Despite the remnants of tears, a faint improvement flickered in her mood, a subtle but noticeable shift toward a slightly brighter state.

“Barbie softball. I have a barbie softball bat.”

Adam nodded his head.

“That works.”

However, upon reaching the bedroom door, a moment of hesitation gripped her. She glanced back, her head turning to ensure that Adam was following close behind her. Laughing to himself, Lawrence pulled the covers back over his head, mumbling to Adam, “You can take it from here?”

“I got it.”

Adam walked towards the hallway behind Diana, meeting her at the entrance to her room. Suddenly, he spotted the barbie softball bat she mentioned, pointing to it as she ran to pick it up in her arms. Looking up to him for affirmation, he nodded back.

“Okay, Di, you see that figure?”

She looked terrified, looking in all directions for the person he was referring to.

“No.”

“Exactly. There’s nothing there - you have nothing to be afraid of. Let’s pretend. Okay?”

Diana tightened her grip on the softball bat.

“Okay.”

“Okay, swing the bat, you play softball at school right?”

“Yes.”

Diana swung the bat at the air, tight grip on the handle, as Adam watched her confidently whack the space.

“Diana?”

“Yes?”

“If you can survive what happened with that man, you can survive anything - don’t forget that, ok?”

Placing down the bat, Diana crawled back into the bed.

"Adam, I'm gonna try to go back to sleep.” Diana’s voice seemed calmer, less shaky. Then, the anxiety kicked in, and she asked quietly; “if I wake up again, can I come sleep with you and Daddy?"

Adam planted a tender kiss on her forehead, in an attempt to convey reassurance and warmth that was so foreign to him when he was her age. To him, Lawrence was his home, as was Diana. A reflection of the man he loved so much, but her own person at the same time.

"Absolutely. This is your home. We'll always keep you safe," he affirmed, gently tousling her hair before she nestled back into bed, drawing the covers over her head. "Don’t forget, he can’t hurt you. Goodnight, Di. Tomorrow, we'll listen to more CDs."

With a smile, Adam lingered for a moment, ensuring her comfort before quietly leaving the room.

1 MISSED CALL

1 VOICEMAIL

TO: JOHN KRAMER

FROM: LAWRENCE GORDON

1 year. That's all. No more, no less.

Chapter 29: the christmas special chapter

Chapter Text

“sh*t.”

Adam stared at the check clasped in his hands, his attention fixated while David meticulously counted bills as the gift shop prepared to close for the night. The shadow of frustration crossed Adam's features, his dark hair framing a steely glare. David remained oblivious, as the other man locked his eyes on the singular piece of paper.

David finally noticed, his awareness was gone.

“Is there a problem?”

David met eyes with the man, their gazes aligned at the same level, as Adam exhaled in defeat.

“Of course there's a problem. This is way less than I had expected.”

David shook his head, his jet-black bangs swaying gently across his forehead. Leaning slightly forward, he absentmindedly chewed on a toothpick while meticulously counting a stack of fives, sure not to miss a single beat. The way he was able to count, listen, and concentrate bewildered Adam. "Yeah, sorry, taxes are a thing y'know," he muttered, a hint of resignation lacing his words.

Adam sighed. “No, I know.”

This was the trade off of honest work. Following men in parking garages with cameras didn't exactly go into social security, but it was an easy way to make money in cash and pocket it all.

He looked over to David, who was still counting the register. “It's just, it's the 22nd. Christmas, I guess. I was hoping to get something for Lawrence.”

David scoffed, handing the first bag of bills for Adam to put in the safe in the bag. “I have some flavored condoms in my car,” he jeered, “if that's your thing.”

“As tempting of an offer as that is to take from my boss, I'm good.”

Silence enveloped the space as David meticulously closed the register. He glanced over at Adam, whose expression still bore traces of irritation. "He'll likely value whatever gesture, Adam," David said, breaking the silence with a tone of assurance.

"I hope so."

David chewed on his bottom lip, a familiar reflex he did when he was lost in thought. The weight of uncertainty lingered.

“Actually-”

The other man walked towards Adam, deftly pulled the cell phone from his pocket—a skill hinting at a past filled with dishonest endeavors transitioned to upright but less lucrative work - from orderly to giftshop manager. Swiftly flipping open the phone, he dialed Lawrence's number without hesitation.

“Hey-” Adam barked, reaching for the phone.

The man's mind raced. David was usually impulsive, so who knew what he was trying to do. David waved him off, making rounds around the store and fidgeting with his hair. Adam heard the familiar "Hello?" from the other line, Lawrence's distinct accent crackling through the line.

“Hey, Dr. Gordon.”

Adam watched closely, as David walked in circles around the gift shop, listening intently as Lawrence instantly recognized the voice.

“I'll drop Adam off at the house. I'm still expecting that guy Zep - you remember Zep right?”

Adam's stomach churned, Lawrence knew just as well as he that Zep was never coming back. Despite how much David wished he would. Or maybe, knowing David’s natural pessimism, he had given up long ago.

“-anyway, yeah of course you do. I'm hoping he just skipped town and he'll show back up eventually. I'm gonna go get him a gift just in case, I want Adam's opinion. So you don't need to come pick him up.”

God.

“Yeah. Yeah okay. I promise I'll be safe. He has your address. Thanks. Later.”

With a snap, the phone closed and the call ended. David turned to switch off the lights of the gift shop, and threw Adam the key to the store. He somehow was able to catch it, as it clinked in his palm.

David started out, but quickly turned to face Adam one more time.

“I'll go get the car warmed up. We'll find Lawrence something nice.”

–

David's car matched expectations perfectly: a weathered '92 Ford, passenger seat missing a headrest. He doubted this vehicle had passed inspection, with the check engine light blinking for god knows how long and the way the serpentine belt squeeked. The floor lay strewn with discarded cigarette cartons, a medley of McDonald's wrappers, an assortment of late 80s new wave CDs, and, of course, an array of flavored condoms scattered near the speaker.

As David flicked on the radio, he accelerated through a red light. Adam's anxiety surged, the palpable awkwardness in the car, whether he was his boss or not.

“Sorry about the mess,” David said, laughing as he turned up the radio. “It’s been a tough year. I know it has been for you too.”

Adam squirmed restlessly in his seat, the vibe gnawing at him.

He yearned for this trip to end, if not for the discomfort in the vehicle - one he didn’t ever think could be worse than his own - then the overall weirdness that emanated from the interaction.

Also, the flavored condoms at his feet didn’t help.

“I’m sorry, man. Thanks though- for driving me. I'd be so screwed without you right now.”

“No problem.”

The two sat in silence for a few blocks as Rocking Around The Christmas Tree skipped on the radio, going in and out of frequency. Mariah Carey’s All I want for Christmas Is You played, and David leaned over to turn the volume so high that Adam thought his terrible car might explode.

“I BET Doctor Gordon loves this song. You should sing it for him, maybe that could be his gift.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of wrapping himself in some silky holiday lingerie, and performing a private concert for Lawrence. Maybe next year.

“Oh f*ck, I can only imagine his reaction. Maybe.”

David laughed, he had gotten through to the other man, finally opening up. Despite how they bickered, he enjoyed his company. He saw himself in him.

“So,” David remarked as he turned down the radio to a comprehensible volume. “The Newark Christmas Market goes on until 11. My mom and I used to go. Wanna check it out? Might have something Dr. Gordon would like.”

God, Newark felt a thousand miles away, and it wasn’t like Adam had been in a crowd since one of Scott’s shows before the bathroom. Still, he was feeling brave, and he didn’t want to get Lawrence some crappy gift at Walmart. After opening up his home to him, subsequentially giving him sanctuary like he had never experienced before, this felt like a natural next step in their relationship; a "first Christmas" together.

So, he accepted David's proposal with a“Ok - Let’s do it.”

David slapped Adam’s leg, shaking it enthusiastically. “Hell yeah. Let’s find Doctor Lawrence “Dicksalot” Gordon a nice shiny Christmas gift.”

—

Adam lagged a few paces behind David, his breath forming wisps of warmth that he absentmindedly blew onto his cold hands, trying to generate some semblance of warmth in the frigid air. The huffs created cloud-like shapes in the air, humid breath against the freezing northeastern air.

“f*ck, it’s so cold, f*ck.” Adam couldn't feel his fingers, swearing as they walked on the paved sidewalk of the city streets.

“Did you know,” David chuckled to himself, waving Adam along after the 30 minute parking journey, along the packed streets. “If you put your hands in your pants, you’ll warm up faster. Might get put on a list, but your nuts are basically space heaters.”

“Oh shut up,” Adam rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than me.”

Each booth had its unique charm, vibrant signs adorning them like colorful banners in the festive art fair. One boasted a dazzling array of holiday confectionaries, tempting passersby with sugary delights and hot chocolate, while another showcased an assortment of meticulously crafted homemade crocheted ornaments.

Amidst this crowded scene, David briskly navigated through the market as Adam tried not to lose him, his eagerness evident as he urged Adam to join him at a jewelry stand, tugging him over to explore the glimmering displays.

David didn't need to know this.

“There’s someone out there for you though, I'm sure - don’t let it get ya down. I know it's hard, we don't exactly have the same options as everyone else.”

“I sure hope so.”

David shrugged, staring at the booth, trying to accept the comforting yet empty sentiment in Adam's statement. He knew he understood though. If Lawrence hadn't escaped, he'd be in the same situation - wondering where he was.

The two men meandered through the stalls, their journey feeling like it took hours until they stumbled upon a woodworking booth, their last hope for a gift. And there, amidst the array of items, held the ideal present for Lawrence.

Adam crossed his arms, looking to David for assurance. “Would it f*cked up to get him a cane?”

David shook his head assuredly. “Nah. I think he’s the type that would appreciate that.”

Adam's gaze gravitated toward a richly embossed brown cane adorned with a timeless gold handle. Each cane boasted unique engravings, one catching his eye with the elegant initial "L."

Perfect.

Adam eagerly extended his hand towards the display, gently grasping the cane to inspect its craftsmanship. He marveled at the polished wood and the intricate design of the metal handle, appreciating the artistry in every detail.

The engraved initial, perfectly tailored for Lawrence, seemed a fitting touch. Although Lawrence didn't strike him as the monogram type, Adam felt an urge for him to embrace the cane proudly despite his initial struggle.

To Adam, it wasn't just a gift; it symbolized their survival.

“f*ck, that’s perfect.”

The man with dark, wavy hair glanced up at the woman overseeing the booth, hesitating to bother her as she carved into a piece of wood; likely another custom piece.

"Ma'am," Adam placed the cane down gently, turning his attention to the artist who looked back at him. "How much is this?"

Part of him wanted to hold his tongue. He knew, being technically an artist himself that something handmade cost a pretty penny.

"Oh, that's a fine choice," she replied, offering a polite nod. "It's priced at $250, plus tax."

Adam's heart sank as the reality settled in, his mind recalling that his meager paycheck barely scraped $199. David, being Adam's boss, was well aware of this predicament and swiftly placed a $50 bill on the counter.

"He'll take it, ma'am. I'll cover the difference," David asserted confidently.

Guilt surged through Adam's veins. "David, I can't—"

"Just grab me some cigarettes and a burger next week, and we're even. I didn’t drive us all the way out here for nothing." David insisted, a firmness in his tone.

And so, they finally found it; the perfect gift for Lawrence.

—

The car ride was less awkward the way towards the house than the initial ride to the street fair. Wrapped up in the back sat Lawrence’s new cane, and to top it all off, the ever charitable David had even grabbed them some hot chocolates to sip on on the way home. What a motherf*cker. He was too good.

Adam finally spoke, breaking the silence muffled by Christmas music.

“I always wanted brothers. Kinda felt like I had one a little bit today. Hope that’s not too weird to say.”

David raised a brow in amazement at Adam’s bluntness, and took a hand from the wheel to pat Adam’s back affectionately.

“Nah, not weird at all. I got you dude.”

More silence. Then, David was the one to speak.

“You know, I almost died earlier this year,” he said, rolling down the window and handing a cigarette and lighter to Adam to help him. “I’m trying to take more risks, I guess. Not in a bad way, just stop giving as much of a f*ck. $50 ain't sh*t. If it’ll help you, I’ll gladly pay for it.”

Adam stopped, before lighting the cigarette and handing it to David. He then took another stick and lit the end, lifting it to his mouth. David fiddled with the radio, switching between Guns and Roses, the evening news, and a local Christmas Choir.

Finally he settled on Guns and Roses.

“I’m sorry dude. I know what that’s like. Sorry it happened to you too.”

David looked out the window as they drove along, recalling his own experience in the trap. They didn’t talk about it.“It’s no problem. Just, glad you’re doing okay. Its f*cked up, what you went through - but you have someone on the other side with you.”

Adam wondered what David was talking about. He had been an orderly before, maybe he got something from a patient. Maybe something darker, it wasn't like Adam hadn't tried to take his life in his early 20's. He knew how it was to go through life hoping you wouldn't wake up.

That being said, he was glad to know David.

Rolling down his window to blow smoke out onto the cold, harsh air rushing into the car, he finally spoke again.

“You too.”

—-

Lawrence greeted David with a wave as he dropped Adam off at the door, the clattering muffler making the worst sound imaginable as he navigated the gated neighborhood's pavement. Inside, Diana lay sound asleep, while the comforting aroma of brewing coffee permeated the air. It was evident that Lawrence had been biding his time waiting for him, probably 2 cups deep trying to stay awake.

Grabbing for Adam's hand, the tall golden-haired man led the way into the living room. His tousled locks cascaded like sunlight framing his face and a smile that seemed to radiate an infectious, nostalgic grin at Adam. A towering Christmas tree stood as the centerpiece, its branches adorned with a profusion of cranberries, popcorn strands intricately woven, and twinkling white lights that cast a warm and inviting glow throughout the room.

“Goddamn it Lawrence,” Adam said in complete amusem*nt as the lights cast a warm glow on his pointed face. “You're one fancy mother f*cker.” Lawrence took a seat in his chair and lifted a snowflake print ceramic coffee cup to his lips. “If you look at the top, Diana made you an ornament. I told her you liked photography.”

And there it was, a crudely drawn camera on a piece of cardstock, suspended from an ornament hook. Adam felt a lump form in his throat, the sight almost bringing tears to his eyes.

“I hated Christmas growing up,” Adam said, admiring the ornament. “My parents fought the whole way through it. This is different though. This feels so damn special.”

Lawrence watched as his partner looked at it, his eyes wide and face glowing. “You're part of her family now. She wanted you to be a part of it.”

The words repeated in his head like an echo. “You’re a part of her family now.”

Adam shifted to meet the gaze of the blonde man seated across from him.

He loved him, his stupid old man pajamas, the way his hair parted perfectly to the side, those ridiculous blue puppy dog eyes, so serious but so desperate and longing.

“Family? You told her? About us?”

Lawrence leaned forward, placing the coaster on a cork mug.

“I did. She knows she’ll be going back and forth between here and the condo. It seemed like the right time to tell her.”

Adam's expression shifted from one of guilt to a sickened look of fear, the remnants of his smile fading under the weight of his concern for the small girl. Lawrence wasn’t having any of it.

“She looked happy. She isn’t blind. She sees the way we talk. You slept where her mother once did. She put two and two together.”

The younger man looked down, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. Where her mother once slept. Voyeur. whor*. fa*ggot. The words of the past yelled into his ear.

New addition - Homewrecker.

“Don’t make that face.” Lawrence pressed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Alison and I would have separated regardless. I choose this life, with you. I want this life with you, Adam.”

He felt a bit lighter, stepping forward to reach for Lawrence. The older man returned the gesture, reaching for his fingers and pressing his lips against the top of Adam’s hand.

“Thanks Larry.”

“So…” Lawrence motioned towards the giant box that Adam had walked in the door with. “Is that a tripod?”

“Oh, god-” Adam had already spoiled any kind of surprise. This seemed like a good time though, already sentimental. “No, its a gift. For you.”

“Oh-” Lawrence looked touched, surprised. It was Christmas, but he didn’t expect Adam - he didn’t want Adam to feel like he had to do anything. He knew his financial situation wasn’t ideal, so they didn’t talk about it. The two men had been through so much in the last few months, that the fact they both remembered Christmas was a slight miracle. Either way, Lawrence persisted, sitting up in the chair. “I have something for you too.”

Adam settled onto the couch while Lawrence rose, disappearing momentarily into the kitchen. He returned with a sizable, neatly wrapped red and green box, resuming his place in the chair. Adam, holding the long box that held the cane in hand, extended it toward Lawrence.

“You go first,” Adam urged. “I can wait. This is important.”

Opening the box, Lawrence pulled the cane from it. His eyes wide, glossing over, he held the wooden cane in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. The gold curved handle leads to a glazed, black cherry stained wood, with the engraved L standing out enough to be a prominent detail, but subtle enough to appear humble. Of course, the bottom had a rubber lining for ease, blending in with the dyed wood. It was perfect.

“It's beautiful.”

Adam couldn’t help but grin, seeing Lawrence choked up over the gift.

“I hoped you'd like it. David helped. It’s really classy. You deserve something as beautiful as you.”

Lawrence’s face turned red. He was usually the one heavy on the compliments, but here, the man chained across from that terrible bathroom, the man who had followed him to hotels, parking garages - all over the city, the man he loved and who loved him back, was calling him beautiful.

The cane made his heart swell. For a moment, the phantom pain dulled.

“Thank you, Adam”

Adam looked down at the box in his lap, then back to Lawrence.

“Go on. Open it.”

Ripping back the wrapping paper and opening the box, the package contained two small electronic devices. Adam was at a loss for words, blaming his own ignorance, but picked up the two machines, one labeled “A” and the other “L.”

Clearly, initials were a theme here.

“They're- they're high end pagers. I'll explain.”

Adam, speechless and confused, handed Lawrence the two machines.

“These are high end. They're meant for trauma surgeons - military grade. Emergency services workers. If we're ever separated - we'll still be able to communicate. I thought this would help you. I’ll always have it by me. If you need a page, just use it - and I’ll buzz you back, to know I’m there.”

He couldn’t deny that this did relieve him - knowing that even if there was no cell reception, if they couldn’t reach the other, they had these machines to help.Lawrence watched his partner ponder the possibilities, the situations that they’d prove useful. If nothing else, it’d be a fun way to nod at the other while they were working.

“This - isn’t the only gift I got you. Just an important one-”

Adam cut him off.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, so much.”

The blonde man stood up, practicing walking with the new cane, and held out his hand.

“Well, I don’t have mistletoe, but I think I might die if I don’t kiss you.”

As Adam rose to greet him, the contrast in their heights became evident once more. It was an aspect of Lawrence he adored, a tangible reminder of the sense of protection and security Lawrence naturally exuded, enveloping Adam in a comforting embrace.

He didn’t just want a hallmark movie kiss. He wanted to devour him. He wanted his sweet Lawrence, his calm, collected doctor; and the man so filled with sin that he was looking at him across the bathroom floor, atoning for them.

His sin was not allowing himself to live freely. Here he was though, doing just as the man who put them there wanted.

Grateful for his life.

With passion, Adam grabbed for Lawrence’s collar, lips crashing, teeth against teeth. The other man returned the energy, collecting Adam into him, reaching to run his fingers through his hair. Biting his lip, Adam extracted a low moan from the other man, whose tongue begged for entrance. He couldn’t contain himself. He could feel the bristles of stubble on Lawrence’s chin scratching against him as he moaned into his mouth. God, he needed him.

Adam pressed against Lawrence’s torso, tangling his fingers in his hair until the younger man led him over to the couch, pushing him down against the cushions. He did so with such distinct force, any third party would have thought he pushed him.

“Sorry, Lawrence, did I hurt you-”

Lawrence pulled the fabric of Adam’s flannel, ripping it off of him to expose his undershirt. He pressed his lips against it, then his thumb against where the bulletwound sat under the white fabric.

Both their pain was gone. That touch was electrifying, all-consuming.

In this moment, they could get a break from the somatic flashbacks. The reminders. The pain. The ways that trauma had changed their lives.

“What if I wanted you to hurt me?”

With a smirk on his face, Adam lowered himself to the floor, pressing his nose against the outside of Lawrence’s pajama pants. He was instantly hard.

Then, he stopped, remembering they weren’t alone in the Gordon’s residence anymore. Adam looked up to meet his partner’s eyes.

Adam nodded, pulling Lawrence’s undergarments down to reveal his moistened, stiff co*ck. Thumbing his head, he ran his tongue against the shaft, then stuck his whole member in his mouth, deepthroating it with intensity.

“Adam- god-” Lawrence moaned, throwing his head back as the younger man thrusted him into his wet mouth, tongue swirling the tip.

The other man took him out of his mouth, spit still dribbling onto his head, and began stroking it. “Can I what?”

“Can you…me. Can I? Um..”

Lawrence looked bashful.

“Can I do what? Use your words, Lawrence.”

His face was like a cherry. Adam knew what he was going to ask, but he wanted to be certain. He wanted Lawrence to ask, even if he knew he wasn’t used to it. He wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth. He wanted him to beg for it.

“Can you f*ck me?”

He thought he’d never ask. Adam wasn’t exactly used to topping either, but he would for Lawrence. He wanted to fill him, to be a part of him, regardless of which one was in the position.

He didn’t need more than that. Adam stuck his fingers in his mouth, making sure to get a fair amount of lubrication on them. Then, sitting up, he found his position pressing Lawrence against the couch, pulling off his pants.

“If anything happens, we're out of clear view.” Adam whispered, pulling the atrocious Pottery Barn Christmas blanket over the two of them. Then, he reached down to rub his fingertip over Lawrence's pink entrance, hair already tangled with precum that had trickled down to his backside.

He was so warm. Adam wanted to devour him.

“If you want stop, it's okay Lar-”

“-no. You have no idea how long I've wanted this.”

Then, he kissed him. Deeply, before pushing two fingers into Lawrence, warm and wet to the touch. Lawrence moaned into Adam's mouth at the first sign of touch against his prostate, practically wiggling in pleasure as the other man fingered him.

“I'm not going to last,” Lawrence huffed, practically ready to explode from a few minutes of kissing Adam. He felt juvenile. “Please.”

“I got you.” Adam zipped down his pants to reveal he was just as hard, seeing Lawrence like this was killing him. If he lasted more than a few minutes too, he'd be grateful.

Positioning his head against Lawrence's lower half, he slowly entered him, feeling the warm hug of his walls and tightness against his co*ck. “M-move, Adam.” Lawrence begged.

Adam thrusted into Lawrence, practically filling him in just a few movements, the hug of his walls against the sensitive areas of his co*ck. Lawrence's member dribbled precum, and he knew he wasn't going to last.

The dark haired man then reached down, grasping Lawrence’s erection while he rammed into him harder. The other man nearly yelled out, only muffled by Adam softening his moans with a kiss. As Adam's lips met Lawrence's, their tongues danced against the light of the Christmas tree, the ugly blanket warming both of them as Adam squeezed Lawrence's hand. “Mm, can I?”

“Can you what?” Lawrence asked, with seriousness in his tone. Adam continued to jerk his hips into him, speeding up before crashing his lips into Lawrence's, his head pressing the other man's prostate every time he entered him. He was nearly bottomed out now, able to press all of himself into his partner. He felt incredible.

Adam's face was sweaty and red, his eyes flashing with nothing but love and passion for his partner. Lawrence was light. Lawrence was everything.

“Come inside you?”

“Please.”

Not needing more permission, Adam grasped Lawrence's co*ck to lead him to org*sm, releasing himself inside of the doctor, who quickly finished on stomach.

“God. You’re something else.”

“Do you know why I like it now?”

Lawrence’s face turned red again.

“I do.”

Adam hopped up quickly, scurrying into the kitchen to grab a towel for Lawrence. The taller man pulled up his pants, and sat with his back against the couch. Once Adam rejoined him, he pulled him into his arms.

“Don't worry. We have a bath with our names on it.”

With a quick peck, the corners of his mouth turned up to smile at Lawrence, before he gazed back to the tree to take one last look at the camera ornament.

“Merry Christmas, you dork.”

Chapter 30: Climbing Up The Walls

Chapter Text

The headline's gratuity, coupled with the article’s gleaming pretentiousness, isn't lost on them. The timing couldn't be more unexpected to start off the year. There it lies, flat on the table, the lead story on the front page, dated January 1st, 2004.

“Jigsaw: A love story.”

The blurry cell phone snapshot captures a tender moment between the two men - Lawrence and Adam outside a gift shop—arms entwined, lips meeting in a pixelated but affectionate blur. Lawrence feels a near skip in his heartbeat as he gazes at the image. Is it an impending heart attack or simply the shock of seeing himself embrace the man he loves from an outsider's perspective? The bold headline seems to lay bare all the fears he harbored since youth, condensed into a single article.

Pictured Above: Lawrence Gordon, 41, locks lips with his fellow Jigsaw Killer survivor, Adam-Faulkner Stanheight, 27.

–

Lawrence Gordon, an oncologist at Saint Eustace Hospital, and husband of Writer and Counselor Alison Gordon -

–

Faulkner-Stanheight has not given a statement since his release in September.

–

Psychologists have indicated that this reaction—a bond between two individuals who have experienced identical psychological trauma—is considered normal. Survivors often form close connections in such circ*mstances. Andrew Chafton, a Professor of Criminal Psychology in Newark, remarked that it wouldn't be surprising to witness numerous couples and enduring friendships emerge among the survivors of these killings, if the perpetrator remains unidentified.

–

Adam ponders whether his dad will come across the headline. The fear gnaws at him—could this be the final straw, pushing his father to an early grave? He can’t say he would be sad about it. He still allows himself to imagine it. His father and the image of his only son, whom he feels he failed to nurture, locked in a kiss with a man within the confines of a publicized tragedy. He imagines his father reading the bold print of the name he gave him, "Adam Faulkner-Stanheight," on the front page, and the potential fallout—his father's refusal to allow Marie to see the photo of their son, despite her begging, the only closeness she has grasped in years. He wonders about the flood of memories it might trigger for them both, specifically his father's shock upon discovering Adam's private photography collection, the reveal of Adam’s tendencies, and how it shattered his father's perception of masculinity he wished him to inherit. The anticipation churns within him, envisioning his father's simmering anger, a disgusting man, culminating in disappointment before crumpling the paper and tossing it into the trash, topped with the last remnants of the dog's food.

He can’t help but feel joy imagining his father’s discomfort. In a way, he has won. In a way, he came out on top.

Despite everything, a sense of calm gradually envelops Lawrence. He twists open the bottle cap, tipping two pink tablets into his mouth before swiftly downing the remnants of his coffee. Casting a glance back at the younger man, still absorbed in the newspaper, stirring his excessively sweetened coffee—an indulgence far beyond Lawrence's taste—he pauses. Their eyes meet, a silent reassurance passing between them, affirming to Adam that they will get through this together . With a sigh, Lawrence exits the room.

“It’s what we get for dodging all those reporters. Could have gotten a better picture if they hired you, though.”

—

New Year's Day meant Adam’s day off, even if it wasn’t Lawrence’s. He knew today would come. The day Lawrence’s schedule went back to normal.

Adam found himself unexpectedly dozing off on the couch by 2 PM, a consequence of readjusting to the demands of working in retail. Despite his usual inability to shut off his brain, he welcomed the break —”a power nap” as Lawrence called it, a fleeting moment of restful slumber. The luxurious scent of the high-end red cushions surrounded him, punctuated by the sporadic warmth of the memory Lawrence's touch as he gently draped a throw blanket over him. In that moment, nestled in the familiar comfort, a sense of security enveloped Adam. Here, in the Gordon house, his home - he felt safe, completely at ease. For the first time in his life.

Naps had become a familiar solace, a refuge often sought during periods of depression when work was slower. But this instance felt right. Within the confines of this home, Adam gave himself the permission to sleep without the weight of guilt. No fear. Dressed in his beloved flannel shirt and sweatpants, black socks, his unwashed hair cradled by the vintage pillow—a cherished possession of Lawrence's, an undeniable antique he allowed Adam to use whenever he liked. These naps were different from before. He found comfort in them. Genuine rest. Not an escape, despite his desires when the flashbacks were worse. Today was going to be an okay day.

Despite this, dreams, mostly nightmares, were still frequent. This dream is a nice change though. The setting was familiar — an exterior building covered in bricks, the hospital grounds framed by a blanket of pristine, white snow, each step accompanied by the satisfying crackle of the frozen ground. The recurring dream was back again.

And like clockwork, the 27 year old Lawrence meets him behind the hospital, resuming his usual position leaning against the wall. The blonde man, with exhaustion staining his expression, presses his body against the brick walls before turning to Adam. His hands, dry from labor and medical-grade chemicals, reach into his coat pocket for a lighter. A slight smile comes over his lips as he recognizes the shorter, dark haired man. He recalls Adam’s face, their encounter.

“You never called.” He jokes, retrieving a smoke from the carton of reds. “Did you smoke the cigarette with my number on it or something? Or did I put you off that much?”

Intrigued, Adam's hand ventured into his back pocket, encountering the unexpected presence of a cigarette, its surface smudged yet retaining the legible ink of a phone number. He wonders what his dream self did - if he kept it as a lucky charm, or if he was too scared to take Lawrence up on his offer.

"Must have slipped my mind," Adam responds apologetically, easing himself into a relaxed stance against the wall, inching closer to the young Lawrence. As the man's bangs cascade over his face, his hair dances in the chilly winter breeze. There's a palpable softness to his appearance, reminiscent of a rabbit's fur or the refined elegance of a pedigree dog. His shape is almost ethereal against the backdrop of snow, resembling less of a human and more akin to an angel gracing the snowy landscape.

“That’s unfortunate. I was waiting for you to call.” The young Lawrence chuckles, in disbelief at the irony. Motioning to the lighter, the man hands Adam a cigarette from his carton, lighting the end of his with his own. It doesn’t work like it looks in the movies, so Adam waves him off before asking for the lighter himself.

They stand for a bit, in silence, watching fresh snowfall from the trees. The sound of crisp winter air, the smell of frost.

“Wish you had called, seriously, man. My mother won’t stop bothering me about who I’m bringing home for Christmas,” the young Lawrence mutters, ash falling from the end of the cigarette as he exhales.

Adam looks back at him inquisitively, dark eyebrows furrowed.

He must be stressed.

“That’s tough. You’ll tell her when you’re ready.”

Young Lawrence chuckles sarcastically.

“Well, that’s the end of my break.”

With the cigarette still held between his fingers, the man pivots towards Adam, leaning in to plant a brief yet tender kiss on his lips. The taste lingers—a mixture of cigarettes intermingled with the freshness of double mint gum. A fleeting smile adorns the corners of his mouth before he gracefully turns away.

Adam swears he can hear through the harsh winter wind, “I hope we meet again someday.”

I'm not living, I'm just killing time

The young doctor waves, and his tall, blonde figure disappears back in the hospital doors.

Your tiny hands, Your crazy kitten smile

Adam wishes his dream self had called that number earlier, saved up a couple of quarters to lean over a payphone, to hear the crackled voice of the young doctor. To whisper “I love you’s,” over the phone, followed by “Mom,” as not to out themselves in public. To kiss in the corners of Lawrence’s humble studio apartment across from the hospital, to sit in the back of a movie theater and encourage him on the hardest days of work. In another Universe, their love story played out differently, but still with their souls tethered all the same.

Just don't leave, Don't leave

He hoped, in another Universe, dream-him had made that call. Maybe, then Lawrence wouldn’t be showing up back home empty handed for Christmas.

(True Love Waits, Radiohead)

—

The doctor, clad in white robe, enters the room.

Staring at him, blue eyes drowned out by dark, inflamed eye bags, bottom eyelid twitching, the bald man stares. Hands shaking from the reverberation of cancer in his veins.

His lips move, but the sound is inaudible. It is like a scream, a whisper, an unheard voice.

The doctor falls to his knees. He begs. Tears roll down his cheeks, his blonde hair disheveled over his eye as he shakes uncontrollably. There has to be another way. There has to be someone else.

The older man waves his hand. The sound is so loud. The sound rings in the doctors ears, the sound of truth; the truth that he knows he is the only one who can do this. The sound is a scream, it’s the scream of Adam that seemed to go on for hours as he pulled himself to safety. The sound is the puffing of the coffee pot, the sound is his humming while he taps his fingers on the walkman when he listens to Radiohead. The sound is the sobbing, the wetness of their first kiss. The sound is the scrape of the hacksaw against bare skin, the begging from the one he loves. The sound is the crying of his daughter, the image of what could happen to his family if he does not comply. The sound is the ringing in his ear after the gunshot, and the puncturing noise as the bullet landed in the other man’s shoulder. The sound is silence, the silence he knows he will bear when Adam is not near.

I've got the smell of a local man

The sound is a sob as the man falls to his knees, hands grasping the old man’s ankles like he is a profit that can perform miracles, begging him for forgiveness, to wipe the slate clean of his sins, to forget. A prophet who could call off his dogs, the whole game, a profit that desires to be saved by the man who understands medicine, the one he saved in turn. The man who was damaged by the cards' life dealt him, in turn dealing

the same ones to others unintentionally.

Who's got the loneliest feeling

The sound is a “you still have time, Dr. Gordon,” and the child-like cries that come from his mouth.

That either way he turns

The sound is a “one year,” an agreement, a nod from the old man’s head.

The sound is a scream. The sound is the pager going off, a special ring from Adam.

That either way he turns

The sound is the old man’s footsteps as he leaves the observation table, the papers crinkling as the doctor collapses on it, crying like a child.

I'll be there

The sound is Lawrence’s heartbeat. The one that beats for Adam.

Open up your skull

I'll be there

Climbing up the walls

(Climbing up the walls, Radiohead)

1 MESSAGE FROM: MARIE FAULKNER

TO: ST EUSTACE HOSPITAL RECEPTIONIST DESK

Hi Jill. This is Marie Faulkner - Adam’s mom, he was a patient at your hospital. If you happen to still know his contact info - tell him…I saw the paper. His dad doesn’t know, I’m keeping it hidden from him…but. Tell him I’m happy for him. Tell him his mom loves him. Call me back if you get this, thanks.

MESSAGE DELETED

Chapter 31: apprentice

Chapter Text

As the weeks passed, Lawrence's return home grew increasingly delayed. What had started as a 5-5 schedule soon dissolved into a series of sleepless nights and dinners pushed back to 11 PM. Despite this, Adam felt gratitude for two things: the reassuring comfort of late-night baths and the sensation of falling asleep intertwined. He treasured the sensation of Lawrence's soft, warm stomach against his back, enveloped by the embrace of his arms, hoping each night for dreams that would reunite them in an ideal world. A world without Jigsaw. A world without the trauma that came with the bathroom. One where Lawrence wouldn’t jolt up in the middle of the night, in a fit of tears from the shooting pain in his leg. One where Adam wouldn’t grasp at the bullet wound, cradling himself as he pondered if he was left for dead, horrified by the mental image of Lawrence bleeding out before he got help. In this one though, at least they had each other.

He pondered whether Lawrence saw him as ignorant or if he thought he couldn't detect the scent of iron on his skin. Refraining from probing further, he chalked it up to a part of working in a hospital.

"So," Jill said, perched across the table during their lunch break. She toyed with her fork, clad in red nail polish that matched the pomegranate vinaigrette in her salad. "How did it go with Diana? Is she still staying with you guys?"

The blonde smiled, trying to conjure a positive atmosphere for Adam.

Adam paused, overdoing the ranch dressing on his salad. He answered with a tired tone, the fork meeting his lips as his elbows rested on the table. "It went fine. Alison picked her on Sunday."

Jill pursed her lips.

"What about the divorce?"

The reminder almost slipped Adam's mind.

"Oh, she's aiming for shared custody. Wants things to be regular for Diana, I guess."

The blonde woman reached her arm forward to touch Adam’s hand. She could tell he was half there with her. He seemed lost in his thoughts, playing back the memory of anxiously waiting at the door like a dog for Lawrence. He remembered how he devoured him the night before, practically ripping at his carotid artery like a starved animal the moment he walked in the front entry. The recollection played in his mind, hungry for the smell of Lawrence’s cologne as he pushed him against the wall, a hand below Adam’s waistline within moments. He could have finished just getting Lawrence’s hand on him. He was starved, so desperate for the scent of Lawrence.

He missed recovery some days. If he could only get those movie marathons back; he wanted more time with him.

Adam hated the way the jealousy bubbled in his stomach around Alison too. She had been nothing but kind to him, when she should hate him - but he couldn’t stop himself from wishing he had been Lawrence’s first, like a smitten teenager. He wanted these feelings to dissipate; the codependency, the envy, the desire to be by his side 24/7. He longed for his prior hyper-independence sometimes, just so he wouldn’t be so desperate for the other man.

He persisted though, thoughts of possibilities floating in his mind. Maybe they’d get a scratch off and win the lottery; maybe some wealthy charity or organization would hear about the Jigsaw survivors and give them all millions to live off of. Then, they wouldn’t have to work. They could sit inside all day, vinyls turning on the record player, classic movies on the TV, lost in eachother.

Unfortunately though, life wasn’t that kind.

“I guess you’re right. I’m pretty lucky.”

Jill continued to play with her salad with one hand, rubbing Adam’s palm with the other.

“I know if I was her, I wouldn’t want to share my child so easily. Motherhood is selfless though, when it wants to be.”

In the back of her mind, the deleted messages from one Marie Faulkner echoed like a symphony. She wasn’t selfless - she was selfish. No, she was doing a good thing. She was protecting him.

He was all she had left; though she would never tell him. Her calls to John became begs, attempts to manipulate him into keeping him miles away from “Someone who could have been Gideon.” They couldn’t have him, she had to protect him.

In the back of Adam’s, he replayed the chorus of sounds from Lawrence’s mouth like they were gospel. The way he could devour him whole, kneeling on the floor like he was a God. He wanted him all to himself - even if he knew he could never have it.

Selflessness. Like mother, like son.

—

FROM: LAWRENCE <3
TO: ADAM
SUBJECT: LUNCH

‘Can you bring my lunch to my office? So sorry, I don’t think I’ll make it today. Please tell Jill thank you for me. Love you, darling.’

Adam's heart sank, but at least he found solace in the opportunity to see Lawrence at his workplace. As long as there weren't any opportunistic photographers lurking to capture yet another private moment for profit, he welcomed the chance to stroll around the Hospital campus before his shift.

“He’s not coming?” Jill asked, feigning a smile.

“Looks like it. Sorry M- Jill, I gotta go take the precious Princess Charming his salad.”

Rising from her seat, the woman's cream-colored cardigan cascaded around her, tracing the curves of her waist. Moving closer, she enveloped the man in a warm embrace, his arms holding her tightly while he breathed in the scent of her floral perfume. In those moments, they stood connected, offering Adam an affectionate embrace he had never received from his own mother.

“Always love seeing you, Adam. Take care, and tell him I say hi.”

With a wink and a salute, the dark-haired man swiftly gathered both salads, tucking them into his messenger bag before striding purposefully across the campus toward Lawrence's location.

Jill watched as he disappeared into the horizon, taking in every moment with him, proud of his progress.

—

To reach the Cancer ward, one had to navigate through the trauma and ICU wards, both of which housed the hospital room where Adam was admitted. The hallways retained their familiar sickly fluorescent lighting, mingling with the distinct scents of hand sanitizer, the sterile hint of dead skin, and the artificial fruity fragrance emanating from the bathroom soaps. As he absorbed the surroundings, observing the numbers on each passing room, Adam paused, deciding to briefly peek inside one of the doors along the way.

It felt as he remembered it: the stark white concrete walls illuminated by a lone floor-to-ceiling window that offered a view of the old parking garage. The single bed sat nestled in the corner, adorned with those scratchy, unwelcoming bed sheets. And there it was, the TV precariously hanging on the wall, seeming as if it could tip over at any given moment. That same TV had been their companion for hours, a cornerstone in the development of their relationship. To add to the eerie familiarity, the TV was tuned to "Poseidon Adventure," as if frozen in time.

Now, he'd let his mind wander freely, indulging in cherished memories when their bond solidified. Lost in Radiohead's melodies, he'd daydream about the taste of Lawrence's lips, reminiscing about their first embrace, the first laugh they shared, the first time they’d slept together.

–

"I wanted our first time to be in my - our home," Lawrence remarked, glancing at Adam, face painted with lust. "...but I want you to decide. Do you want this Adam?"

Adam's fingertips brushed against Lawrence's chest, pulling at the first button of his nightshirt. "More than anything in the f*cking world."

-

”Hello? Visiting hours are over. You can’t be here.”

A sharp voice pierced through his daydream, delivered by a blonde nurse whose furrowed eyebrows conveyed annoyance. The woman donned black and red polka dot scrubs, adorned with chipped black nail polish and hands marked with scratches. It was unclear whether those marks stemmed from her participation in an outside-of-work fight club - which wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities, considering her grungy, hardened appearance - or were simply the results of her demanding job. Her straight, bleached hair fell lifelessly to her shoulders, displaying roots in dire need of attention, a clear indication of her inconsistent routine bleaching sessions at home after long shifts. Adam could almost envision her arriving home, armed with rubber gloves and a manic panic bleach kit, blasting a scratched Hole album as she patted bleach onto her scalp. It was a sight he recognized all too well, reminiscent of the nights spent breathing in those pungent fumes while bleaching Scott's hair to achieve the desired "punk" look, because “groupies love this sh*t.” As a minute passed, the nurse's irritation seemed to intensify like a loading bar, as Adam’s attention shifted to the two piercings adorning her cheeks. A few strands of her bleached bangs draped over one eye, shaking as her body seemed to vibrate in aggression. Adam then thought; she might not even be a nurse, judging by the way she held sheets in her arms near a rolling cart – possibly an orderly instead.

"Hey, my bad," Adam apologized, stepping back from the door. "I was here a few months back. Just wanted to take a peek."

The woman sighed, clearly irked by the interruption, her expression souring further into a pout. Her cyber bites seemed to highlight the appearance of scars, or dimples under them. Letting out an exasperated exhale, she shot Adam a disdainful look. "Look, this place never f*cking changes. That's what's so draining about it. You gotta leave, alright?"

Adam nodded, his gaze drawn to the TV, displaying the exact scene from "Poseidon" that he and Lawrence had watched together.

"They seem to play that movie a lot here, huh?" Adam remarked, glancing at the nurse, who seemed uninterested. Shrugging, he made a gesture signaling his departure, about to leave when he caught the nurse echoing his sentiment from months back.

“Oh, I know. It’s almost like they do it to f*ck with you. Like some kind of TV movie brain manipulation. Feels like groundhog day.”

Adam straightened his shoulders, silently amused by the woman and the striking similarities between them.

“Yo - so, this may be a little weird, but if I had my camera on me, I’d ask to take a picture of you. Your hair is pretty rockstar. Since I don’t have it on me though, can I ask your name?”

The nurse rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, a smile breaking through every so slightly.

“Mandy. My name is Mandy. Not that it matters, but I’m an orderly under Dr. Denlon’s team. I dunno if she was the one who treated you, but she’s a genius.”

The petite woman anxiously glanced down the hallway, her expression becoming increasingly tense by the second. It appeared as though she expected a doctor or her supervisor to appear at any moment, her demeanor conveying a strange sense of urgency.

“Mandy, cool. I’m Adam.”

They stared at each other as Adam adjusted the hold of his messenger back across his shoulder, alleviating some of the weight.

“Cool. Now - get out of here, ok? Visiting hours are over. Can’t have my boss seeing me letting you slide by our policies, even if I think they’re f*cking stupid.”

With the lunch hour coming to a close, Adam didn't require a second prompt. He swiftly left the room and headed down the hallway toward the Oncology ward.

Once he was out of earshot, the woman muttered quietly to herself as she wheeled the cart away, "Keep the f*ck away from here, Adam. I'm fed up with constantly keeping an eye on you."

–

DR. LAWRENCE GORDON, MD.

The sign felt so official, Adam couldn’t help but feel an out of place sense of pride reading it when he reached Lawrence’s office. The smell of the corridors was not like he expected - nothing like the deathly, sick scent on Lawrence’s shirts when he came home at night. For a place that was so full of pain and sadness, the cancer ward had an uplifting environment to it, with walls freshly painted and fake flowers on each waiting table. This was likely due to the higher revenue this part of the hospital brought in, which made Adam sick to his stomach to think about.

Hearing him approach, Lawrence pulled open the wooden door to his office, letting it swing open to Adam’s surprise. “Finally,” he stated firmly, pulling the smaller man by the wrist to join him inside. Adam stood close to Lawrence as they shut the door. Neither of them moved, until Lawrence pressed his forehead to Adam’s. Pulling apart for a moment, Adam reached into his bag to retrieve the tupperware container with a homemade salad inside.

“Jill made these.”

Lawrence paused, with a slight frown and a shrug.

“I don’t have another appointment until 2, I already ate.”

Adam’s brows lifted, confusion staining his face. “I thought you said you wanted me to bring you lunch?”

“Oh,” Lawrence smirked. “I know. You did.”

Oh.

Without skipping a beat, Lawrence's hands gripped the collar of Adam's shirt, pinning him against the wall as the tupperware fell to the ground. "You're a riot, Lawrence," Adam retorted, his calloused fingers tracing the other man's face before sliding through his hair. Lawrence's tongue sought entry, and Adam welcomed it eagerly, disregarding the discomfort of being pressed against the wall as if Lawrence were trying to flatten him.

The younger man broke from the kiss, allowing Lawrence to lean forward and kiss Adam’s neck, his hands migrating to his waist before returning to his mouth again. Adam was hard in seconds, surprised at how quickly the doctor could arouse him. Not only was he playing with his exhibitionist side, Adam was starved for Lawrence’s touch. The sex was incredible, and frequent, but he found himself yearning every minute Lawrence wasn’t with him. He could have exploded right there, sinking into the dirty hospital floor.!
Adam's gaze flickered down, noting the bulge outlining Lawrence's pants, marveling at how effortlessly the man balanced the cane while pressing him against the wall. Lawrence's evident strength only heightened Adam's desire for him.

Breaking away from the kiss, Adam was already consumed by yearning. "So, what's the plan...?"

A near-evil grin curled on Lawrence's lips as he leaned the cane against the chair, then dropped to his knees. Witnessing the powerful, accomplished doctor kneel before him felt surreal, yet intensely arousing. Lawrence's fingers deftly toyed with Adam's fly, exposing his already aroused member, pink and glistening with pre-cum. Lawrence leaned in as the sensation of his lips around the tip of Adam’s shaft elicited a restrained whimper from the younger man’s throat, prompting him to quickly cover his mouth to stifle any noise.

He felt a tinge of deja vu watching Lawrence masterfully suck his co*ck, in the same hospital he had done it the first time. The way his tongue danced against Adam’s shaft, pulling his hips to get himself deeper into his throat. Lawrence hardly made a noise, as he pushed all of Adam deeper into his mouth. Lifting both hands to cup Adam’s ass, he pulled himself out, to look up at his partner.

He looked so f*cking gorgeous. Perfect, blue eyes and mature features drooling, worshiping all of Adam.

Then, it struck him—Lawrence was a mix of willing submission to Adam's desires and a streak of sad*stic dominance, a duality that Adam savored. With a simple gesture, Lawrence directed Adam to his cherry wood glazed desk in the room's center.

“Desk. Now.”

A surge of anticipation coursed through Adam's body. Hastily pulling up his pants to grant himself some mobility, he approached the desk, swiftly leaning over to expose himself fully. Lawrence joined him, unzipping his slacks to reveal his fully aroused member, slick and marked with traces of fluids.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Lawrence murmured, his hand moistened as he rubbed the outside of Adam, penetrating him and teasing at his sensitive spot. "Ah, Lawrence, damn it," Adam wriggled, conscious of potentially compromising patient files he had collapsed upon. "Just a bit more, darling, almost there," cooed Lawrence, and Adam's whole body relaxed at the pet name. There were moments when Lawrence was overwhelmingly arousing, beyond belief.

"Ready?" Lawrence inquired, slowly withdrawing his fingers, prompting a muffled exclamation from Adam. He couldn't hold back any longer. "Please, Larry, just... just f*ck me."

Lawrence leaned forward, his soft stomach aligning with Adam’s back as his head lined up to his wet, pink hole. With a slow push, Lawrence’s head entered him, twitching immediately and sending a rush through Adam’s center. “M-Move, Lawrence, please, bastard…” Lawrence loved this, when Adam allowed himself to revert temporarily to old dynamics. It lit a fire inside him. As he placed his hand over Adam’s mouth, he thrusted his whole length into the other man, muffling his moans as he pushed into him, ramming every square inch of his ass.
Adam felt the other man rubbing his prostate, Lawrence’s girthy, stiff co*ck filling him until he could hardly breath. With every inch of him inside now, he relished in the feeling of having that spot massaged, pumping more and more precum out of him.

As he continued to move, Lawrence’s hand fell short onto Adam’s waist, then wrapped each of his fingers around his own length. Muffled under his hand, Adam gasped, trying not to bite. “Gggrdd, Lrry-” To which he responded “You’re so good, Adam, keep taking it like this.”

He loved when Lawrence was in the mood to praise him. The way he f*cked him so hard, so degradingly, and so lovingly at the same time. He wanted to stay in this bubble - no appointments, responsibilities, just the moments where they were one whole being inside of each other.

“My darling, I’m almost there,” Lawrence whispered, slowing his pace to savor the sensation of Adam’s tight walls hugging his length. The way his slick precum allowed him such easy movement, Adam effortlessly opening himself up to the other man. It was meant to be.

Lawrence leaned away momentarily to shed his coat while still maintaining his position inside Adam, hoping to minimize any noise without having to cover Adam's mouth. Taking a brief moment to adjust his attire, aiming to appear presentable for his next appointment and not as if he had just finished a marathon, he returned to press against Adam again. He breathed heavily into Adam's ear as he intensified the pace of his thrusts, driving harder and faster.

Then, it happened.

Suddenly, the sound of knocking rang through the air as Lawrence jumped back. Adam felt more frustrated than he could remember in recent memory, being so close to finishing, homicidal rage directed at the person who popped the bubble.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

Pulling apart, Lawrence pushed Adam below the desk, where he slowly pulled his pants on, trying not to cry at the pause. Lawrence grabbed for the coat, muttering a “One moment please,” as the knocking continued, getting louder and more aggressive.

There was a hint of recognition in the man's eyes, a fleeting moment where familiarity flashed across his face before it hardened back into a scowl.

“Mr. Hoffman, you can’t be here.”

The other man remained resolute, gesturing emphatically toward the room's interior, indicating a haphazard pile of supplies and papers precariously perched atop Lawrence's meticulously organized briefcase. His expression conveyed a mix of urgency and frustration, plump lips curled into a frown. Then, he demanded.

“Kramer needs you. Get your stuff.”

Despite his frustration, Lawrence maintained his composure, rolling his eyes as he slowly extended his hand towards the door. Although he could have easily slammed it shut in Hoffman's face, he opted for the more civil route, affording Hoffman the courtesy of a polite refusal.

“No. Tell him I’m busy. We don’t have…an appointment for another week. If he needed me that badly, he’d be the one contacting me.”

Who the f*ck is this guy? Adam’s mind raced. He felt sick. They seemed to know each other well, even if the disdain between the two seemed so real.

Hoffman’s expression became even more irritated, clicking his pen and flashing his badge before turning to leave. “Next time, I’ll make an official arrest. I’m sure that’ll make front page news too. Tread lightly, Dr. Gordon.”

Lawrence's smile contorted into a grotesque, artificial grin that sent shivers down the other man's spine. He was never shaken to his core like Dr. Lawrence Gordon could.

“Goodbye, Mark. Hopefully next time you’ll use more…discretion.”

Slamming the door, Lawrence rushed over to Adam, who was curled up and eyes wide. Adam had tears in his eyes, confused and shocked.

“Who was that? Tell me.”

Lawrence looked like he had just had his hand in a cookie jar filled with needles.

“No one you need to know about. Don’t worry, please.”

Lawrence would never lie to him. He hadn’t before, so there was no reason to press. Somehow though, he felt like there was something Lawrence was hiding - the two seemed to be acquainted to be angry coworkers, and the man seemed too official to be an ex-patient.

The blonde man pulled Adam up from the floor, before leaving a quick kiss on his forehead. Adam smiled slightly, still not relaxed after their interruption. “Better luck next time.”

Lawrence kissed his cheek, before shoving the papers into his briefcase again, muttering under his breath;

“I swear, sometimes I could kill that man.”

–

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
If anything happens, know I love you

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
I have to go away for a while

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
Use the pager, Adam. I love you

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
It’s only going to be one year. I’m so sorry. I love you

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
If anything ever happens to you I will kill them. I have that power. Please forgive me Adam. Please wait for me

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
Marry me. Let's run away and go tomorrow. We can't be here

[DRAFT SAVED]
TO: ADAM
FROM: LAWRENCE
We’ll have that 10th date. I can’t wait. Forgive me

[ALL DRAFTS CLEARED]

Chapter 32: A chemical reaction, hysterical and useless

Chapter Text

Throughout the week, Adam found himself often ruminating about the man in Lawrence's office. He couldn't shake off the familiarity in the man's tone, noting how he seemed to exert control through his demands. What struck Adam even more was the way the man would retreat, resembling a dog with its tail between its legs, when Lawrence stood his ground at the end of the argument.

This wasn't their first meeting.

Nevertheless their routine persisted. Lawrence would return home, carrying the distinct scent of iron mingled with cologne. Their evenings followed a predictable pattern - dinner, followed by a bergamot bubble bath before drifting off to the rhythmic sounds of each other's breath. In these quiet moments, Larry would gently caress the scar, his thumb tracing soothing circles around the violet bruises, offering silent comfort. Sometimes, Adam would wince once his cold hands made contact with his warm, inflamed skin. Then, Adam would find himself navigating through the bed covers, drawn to the place where Lawrence's prosthetic connected, tenderly placing kisses on every contour of his scars. It was during these intimate moments that the phantom pain dulled, if only briefly.

In the back of his mind though, fear took hold of him.

Then, as if he was manifested from these anxiety filled ruminating thoughts, the man visited the gift shop one morning.

An unfortunate side effect from the weeks spent in solitude - the bathroom confinement heightened Adam's sensitivity to noise. As soon as the familiar voice reached his ears — the deep vocal fry and Brooklyn accent — a shiver raced down his spine. It was him. Adam turned, locking eyes with the imposing figure, hair slicked back, breath carrying the scent of menthols. The man sported a blue jacket with his badge prominently displayed in the front pocket. His eyes were a haunting abyss, empty pools of piercing blue that seemed to penetrate through Adam.

His stomach felt like it was being ripped apart. There was no doubt - this was him.

The badge read Mark Hoffman.

He spoke.

“Do you all have any Bears on sale? Need one for a kid.”

Adam remained silent, unable to formulate a response.

The brown-haired man chuckled softly and then shifted his attention to David. "Pardon me, I believe your employee might have missed what I said."

The younger man hastily removed his headphones, displacing Adam as he turned to confront the broad-shouldered police officer. "Apologies for my friend here; he's not big on sleep. We've got an odd-looking one in the back. Wanna see it?”

Hoffman let out an irritated exhale, as if resisting the urge before grudgingly conceding with a breathy "Sure, why not."

"Alright," David replied, grabbing Adam's shoulder and disappearing into the back. An uncomfortable tension lingered in the air; being alone with Hoffman felt like a torturous experience. Adam felt the urge to unleash a torrent of questions, to demand answers about the events of the other day, yet somehow, he couldn't muster the courage to do so.

The trauma took its toll. Some days, he felt normal. Other days, even speaking felt like a chore of its own. The words tried to reach his throat, only to fall back into the abyss of thought.

Today wasn’t a day for courage, apparently.

David finally returned, an ambiguous gray stuffed animal in arms. The fur looked worn, and the face had to be a factory mistake - no way would any kid want that, but the 75% off sale sticker would make any parent happy. Of course Hoffman, as frugal as he was.

The dark-haired man passed the peculiar plush toy to the other, who simply responded with a casual "I'll take it."

The transaction concluded swiftly, with Hoffman sorting through bills to hand to David. As soon as they exited the gift shop, a surge of courage propelled Adam to act. He swiftly turned to David, stating, "15. Smoke break." Before David could respond, Adam dashed after the officer.

He had to figure this out, or he’d go crazy.

For himself, but also; Lawrence.

–

Following Hoffman was easier than he had thought. The man stopped every few minutes, at one point picking up a newspaper to give it a disgruntled look before tossing it into the recycling bin. On the list of activities he completed as Adam followed him like a cat through the hospital;

** Stop at the vending machine. Dr. Pepper. Good choice.

** Open the door for every old person he stopped by. Goddamn asshole. He hated to know the man could have good traits.

**Jill Tuck's desk. Adam wanted to kill this man.

Adam observed Hoffman's interaction with her, leaning over the desk in a manner that provoked a disgusted and horrified expression on her face. The man persisted, forcefully slamming his hand on a piece of paper, only for Jill to angrily swipe it away, insisting that he leave. Adam's head spun, trying to make sense of the tense exchange unfolding before him.

First Lawrence. Now Jill.

He couldn’t think straight.

Once Hoffman was ordered to leave, Adam quietly trailed behind the brunette man, maintaining a significant distance until they arrived at their final destination — none other than the parking garage.

A sense of déjà vu washed over Adam as he found himself in the same parking garage where he had once discreetly followed Lawrence. Keeping himself inconspicuous, he observed Hoffman making his way towards a black Toyota. Just as Hoffman reached for his keys to unlock the car, he unexpectedly turned around.

“How long are you going to follow me around, you f*cking punk?”

f*ck. Caught.

Adam’s stomach sank. He knew he was in for it, rarely f*cking up this hard. This man was a police officer though, nothing he had ever dealt with with previous clients. He could run, or he could play stupid, but he may not ever see the other man again. He had to find out, for his sanity, what that conversation was about. Who was John? Why did Lawrence still have “one more week?”

Why was Lawrence able to make him back off so easily?”

Adam stood his ground, and stepped out from behind the pole to reveal himself. His eyelid twitching in fear, body tense.

Finally, he found the words to speak.

“How long have you known Lawrence Gordon?”

Hoffman didn’t respond; he just sat there, making that stupid pursed lips expression as usual. Unlike Lawrence, he had mastered lying, but he wasn’t any good at it.

“This seems like a HIPAA violation. I could have Dr. Gordon banned from practicing, you know that?”

Adam felt his stomach drop further, down to his hips now. He had to keep going.

“He doesn’t know I’m following you.”

"I'm sure. If you really insist," Hoffman said, throwing his hands into his pockets and standing with his shoulders back. "My dad's got terminal cancer. He's a patient of his.”

f*ck. Adam couldn’t argue with that.

“Listen, boy.” Hoffman lifted a hand to wave away the other man. “I know what it’s like to want to protect someone. Sometimes you can’t do it. Give up, and stop letting your f*ckin’ crazy head get to you.”

The younger man gritted his teeth, feeling a sweat break out on his palms. He felt damp, scared, upset; every feeling at once burning so deeply that the scar felt like it would explode.

“f*ck you.”

Hoffman waved again and shrugged, pulling the silver handle of the vehicle to enter the car. Just barely out of earshot, Adam could hear the man rehearse his name, one he had never told him before.

In a tone glossed with hatred, he spoke.

“Goodbye, Adam.”

—

Lawrence came home in a hurry, seeming to dash through the door with a loud crash. The large wooden door of the Gordon estate was flung open, doorknob creating an awful banging noise as it rammed against the wall.

Adam couldn’t respond, finally taking note of the iron smell as Lawrence reached the living room. He moved sluggishly, like a zombie. The sound of his cane hitting against the floor mixed with the shakiness of Lawrence’s breath, the sound getting closer as he entered the room. Adam wanted to throw his hands over his ears. He knew what was coming. The smell was stronger tonight.

Then, the site of Lawrence met his vision.

Red.

Blood.

Blood, everywhere.

A flashback seized control of his vision: the image of the initial encounter with Lawrence on the bathroom floor, drenched in a blend of his own blood and Zep's. The way Lawrence drew him in, the nauseating scent of concrete and red fluids mingling. The warmth of his hand. The sensation of his body. God, he could kiss him. He needed him.

The colors matched, the white lab coat soaked to the brim in stains, seeming to mirror the blonde man’s white undershirt. Lawrence looked like the movie Carrie, drenched from head to toe in blood.

This wasn't an operation. This wasn't a standard medical procedure.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

He would forgive him for whatever he had done. Acted in self defense, revenge killing Jigsaw, or Hoffman, anything.

And yet, Adam couldn’t respond. He couldn't speak. In a fit of shock, but also, grotesque familiarity. The blood felt like home. The same he shared with Lawrence. The time in the bathroom reflected in a picturesque view in the home they shared.

The blood was home. Lawrence was home.

Lawrence’s eyes were blank, bottom lip quivering. Scared like a child.
Adam couldn’t respond with words.
All he could do was stand.

Walking over to the taller man, almost hobbling like he was drunk, he fell against Lawrence's drenched figure, grasping his coat with one hand and dragging him to the floor.

Blood.

Blood was everywhere.

The red colors rubbed against the white couch that he served him coffee on. The white couch that he felt so much security in, huddled against Lawrence watching Poseidon. The passage of time felt unreal. The passage of time was cruel. As their bodies crashed against the floor, the plush carpet was neatly stained, crimson brown splotched of the fluids covering the original gray hue.

Something animalistic surged within them both. Perhaps, this was the culmination of it all. The trauma, the desperation. Their connection was so instinctual, love so unforgiving and selfless, that words became unnecessary. They communicated through an unspoken understanding.

"Adam," Lawrence huffed, a sob evident in his tone. "I can't lie to you anymore."

Adam slumped, resting his head against Lawrence's neck. Their breaths intertwined, his dry lips brushing against the specks of blood that adorned Lawrence's sweaty skin. "Then don't. Tell me everything. I’ll always forgive you, Larry."

Then, unexpectedly; Adam began to suck. Suck the unfamiliar blood from Lawrence’s skin, lapping him like a cat. Lawrence let out a breathy moan, as the taste of iron met Adam’s senses. He didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t sure how he had become this person. So needy, so connected, dependent on Lawrence. The desire to have all of him was all-consuming. Even if it meant eating the blood of another body from his skin. He wanted to make him clean again. Wash away his guilt. Wash away his pain. Every ounce of it.

Lawrence pulled Adam back, eyes meeting to finally speak.

“I want you to be okay. I want you to be safe. I’m going away for a bit - John. John Kramer. Jigsaw. Found me.”

Adam shot back, blood still coursing his lips.

“No.”

Then he saw it again; Lawrence was crying.

"I hate it," Lawrence remarked, his hand reaching forward to cup Adam's face, mirroring the gesture from the bathroom floor. "I hate that I feel more afraid thinking of you in danger than I did when my own family was at risk."

“I love you, Lawrence. God, we can do it, we can run away, we can take Diana and Alison too - Jill too - we can get away from here.”

Lawrence shook his head, extending his hand to draw Adam back in, holding him close. His grip felt possessive, as if Adam might suffocate if he pulled away. "They'll find me. They always do. That woman... and him are smarter than us. I've tried everything I could."

"Lawrence…" Adam clung to him, tears streaming down his face like a salty waterfall. He couldn't bring himself to ask questions or sway him. All he could do was hold him, wishing they could stay frozen together, never to be apart again.

Then, their lips touched. The passion felt like a fire, Lawrence open mouth kissing him like a teenager. This felt awful. Nothing felt okay.

He yearned for their freedom, a life of happiness finally attained. The 10th date, California, beaches, marriage – a life away from the troubles, safe and secure. Free.

Lawrence pulled Adam in even deeper, cupping his hand around his cheek. In the recesses of his mind, a parallel formed between this moment and their initial touch, the blood on Lawrence's jacket staining the white band tee. However, this time, their lips were pressed against each other – a symbiotic connection, making them feel complete at last.

Adam withdrew slowly, his hands grasping the edges of Lawrence's collar, creating a momentary pause filled with unspoken emotions. After a lingering silence, he finally found his voice.

“Take me with you.”

Chapter 33: I know you're angry / the words you know are out of ink

Chapter Text

Adam withdrew slowly, his hands grasping the edges of Lawrence's collar, creating a momentary pause filled with unspoken emotions. After a lingering silence, he finally found his voice.

“Take me with you.”

Lawrence's eyebrows furrowed, his eyes squinting in a manner that sent a shiver down Adam's spine. He resembled a beaten dog, the weight of the statement slicing through him and unraveling his insides. Each organ spilling out, red metaphorically staining him like the feelings he kept for Lawrence.

"Adam... I, I can't."

With each passing moment, the younger man tightened his grip on the taller figure's collar, Lawrence struggling to maintain his hold on the cane. The waves of anger, disappointment, and hurt from his partner surged through him, creating a sickeningly palpable tension in the air.

Adam cried out, his desperate plea echoing through the charged air. In response, he pulled Lawrence in, their lips colliding in a fierce and urgent kiss. As the blood mingled, drawn from Lawrence's skin, a potent blend of iron, menthol, nicotine, and spit enveloped their senses as their tongues touched. The blonde's hand cupped the back of Adam's head, fingers entwined in his hair, exerting a magnetic pull that seemed to consume them both in the heat of the moment. He could eat him alive, buried inside of him; at least then, no one could pull them apart.

Adam pulled back, breaking into a heaving sob. As the older man trembled in horror, the younger one looked up at him, anger etched across his face like bullets piercing Lawrence's shoulders. Adam’s bottom lip quivered, as he angrily barked, voice breaking into a harsh wheez.

“That’s f*cking bullsh*t!"

Tears cascaded down Lawrence's cheek in response, resembling a wet animal abandoned in the cold. His trembling form and quivering voice painted a picture of vulnerability, as he struggled to form words. Adam hadn’t witnessed this same intensity since the bathroom – Lawrence appearing weak and horrified, like a scared old man. His eyes bloodshot, and the image of the scared Lawrence gripping the phone as he helplessly listened to his family's screams stood in front of him. Yet, simultaneously, there was a glimpse of a confused, frightened child navigating the uncharted territory of feeling true love for the first time in his life.

“If I don’t go, they’ll hurt you. I can’t risk that.”

Adam bit his bottom lip, disgusted at Lawrence’s faux heroism.

This wasn’t him. He may not know it, but he was lying. He had to convince him. Somehow.

“I survived starving and dying of thirst, bleeding out on that f*cking bathroom floor, and you think these pig f*ckers can kill me that easily?” He couldn't bring himself to look at Adam—angry, hurt, scared, but so full of love and warmth at the same time. There was nothing he wanted as much as being inseparable, to do his duties even with Adam secretly stuffed in some storage closet for him to revisit whenever he pleased. He didn't want those limitations though. He didn't want him to hurt.

"Don't try to convince me, Adam. I can't risk it. I've only promised one year. I promise. In the grand scheme it is not a lot of time."

Adam retorted, frustration evident as he threw his hands in the air. "I feel like I've been shot by a firing squad when you're gone for more than a few hours. Work is torture; I can't survive a year. I won't let you go. I'll keep you here, and they can come fight me for you. I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them, Lar-"

The older man remained expressionless, glossy blue eyes fixed on the floor. He was unresponsive; speechless. Deep down, Adam knew his answer. He reached for his pockets, fidgeting with the fabric, attempting to hold back tears. The haunting silence filled the room.

“Larry-”

Lawrence interrupted Adam's pleas, drawing him into his arms. With one hand, he guided Adam's head to his chest, burying it in the crook of his neck. Both of them trembled, overwhelmed by the emotions tied to the inevitable, yet also entangled in the consuming love they shared.

If soulmates existed, unfortunately, they occupied a realm beyond. They were keenly aware that what Lawrence was committing to was not survivable for either of them. They had to though; this was their next test.

f*cking Jigsaw. Goddamn him for doing this to them, but thank god he brought them together.

In an embrace, Lawrence clung tightly, holding the smaller man in his arms, fingers gently stroking his hair as tears streamed down both their faces. The blood on Lawrence's coat had already started to harden, leaving a stain on Adam's face and shirt—a sickly pattern of splotchy crimson.

“I’ve made arrangements. Amanda will help me. She’ll bring you letters. We’ll meet at the motel when I can. Use the pager, Adam. It’s going to be all we have some days.”

Ignoring this, Adam’s grip on Lawrence’s back tightened, his fists scratching against the doctor’s back, dried blood making beds under his fingernails. “No- No Lawrence, please-”

In that moment, Lawrence felt the acid creeping up his throat, a sickening familiarity of Adam’s pleas.

Of course - it was the bathroom—the way he held him, the sensation of Adam's face cupped in his hand, the desperation in the way he pulled at his shoulder, begging him to stay. Lawrence had to restrain himself from pressing his lips against Adam's and letting the leg bleed out, giving up on them both. He couldn’t though - he had to find help. He had to save them. As he heard Adam beg, he recalled the excruciating sounds of Adam's screams echoed in his memory as Lawrence tried to pull his bleeding body to safety.

He sounded just like he did then.

He had to stop him.

“Adam, listen to me.”

Adam paused for a moment, a pool of sobs, his tears wetting the doctor’s bloody coat.

“Adam, are you listening to me?” The doctor softly scolded.

The younger man hiccuped, his grip loosening as he looked up, turning to face the doctor. Their noses were practically touching, reminiscent of that moment back then.

“Lawrence…”

“Tomorrow I’m calling out of work. You should too. Let’s go on those 9 dates. All tomorrow. Tomorrow, let’s be normal. Just for once - we’ll pretend that the bathroom never existed. Just that we met on that street corner, volunteering at a blood drive, and we’re okay. Adam, let’s see a movie, stay in and watch movies, let’s go to the park, let’s share an ice cream - let’s be normal tomorrow.”

Adam was speechless.

Reaching out, both hands pulled Lawrence into him, their mouths meeting in an open embrace against the doctor's face. Loosening his reliance on the cane, the older man drew Adam closer, and they collapsed onto the white couch. Much like the horrible bathroom floor from that fated day, the white undershirts they wore contrasted the stained furniture as Lawrence settled the frailer man onto his lap. He straddled him, looking down as his flannel hitched up to expose his abdomen. Just like back then.

Now, it was Adam that looked down at Lawrence, watching as the doctor gazed up to meet his eyes. In this moment there was nothing but adoration in Lawrence’s eyes. He truly was loved. He was f*cking cherished, and he couldn’t say no. He knew Lawrence was beyond convincing. So, as always, he gave in.

He trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to him. His messy, problematic, horrible, loving, kind, selfish, selfless, incredible, lovable, brilliant, calm, collected, doctor.

“Ok. Yeah - ok Lawrence, I’d like that. Let’s go.”

The blonde man leaned in, pressing his forehead against the other's. The blonde streaks of hair that fell on Lawrence's head seamlessly mingled with Adam’s disheveled, brunette black locks.

“Don’t. Don’t think about anything else, Adam. Just tomorrow.”

They sat in silence for a while. Adam heaved, his breath brushing against the older man’s face, and with each passing moment, Lawrence would lean in to kiss him every few minutes. It was a reassuring gesture, a reminder that he was there. Even if he couldn't always be physically by Adam's side, Lawrence was a constant presence, always with him.

He was grateful. Grateful to be alive. Last but not least; as much as he hated it; he knew they were both grateful for Jigsaw.

Finally, Lawrence spoke.

“When I’m back; marry me. We’ll drive out to California, and get married on the beach. I’ll wake you up with coffee. You can bring those oversized band tees, your boxers can mix with mine, bring those CD’s you showed Diana - we’ll listen to them all the way there.”

Once more, tears cascaded down Adam's cheek, each drop carrying the weight of unspoken emotions that lingered in the air. The wet trails etched his sentimentality, tracing the contours of his face.

“I love you Lawrence. I want to be your husband.”

Then, Lawrence said it - instant deja vu.

"Yes. Things may never be simple, but I do know one thing. I won’t be able to live this life without you, as challenging as the journey may be."

—

FROM: ADAM
TO: JILL TUCK
SUBJECT: HELP

Hi Jill call me when u can. I need a mom

—
Seated side by side in the bathtub, Adam and Lawrence occupied adjacent ends, a strategically open window framing a perfect view of the night sky adorned with stars and a moon casting a gentle glow over the landscaped yard.

Sharing a quiet moment, they indulged in a cigarette, passing it between their hands with each puff, a ritual that spoke of shared intimacy. After the final drag, Lawrence pulled Adam into a tender kiss. Despite the discomfort from the hard surface of the bathtub against his knees, Adam found solace in the way Lawrence's tongue danced against his lips.

As their lips met, a memory surfaced in Adam's mind—the taste of tobacco, reminiscent of Scott Tibb’s lips. The 27 year old Lawrence. It brought back echoes of that fateful night, the tobacco stained with blood from the bathroom floor, interwoven with the scent of blood. The present moment held a bittersweet resonance. The poison cigarette.

And finally, the poison he shared with Lawrence Gordon. Maybe, the poison from the blood wasn’t the concoction needed to kill Adam.

Maybe, the poison, the sickeningly sweet medicine, the second rat twisted in his tail, lily of the valley, was Lawrence Gordon.

A poison he could happily drink for the rest of his god forsaken life.

Chapter 34: 9 dates / not to me; not if it's you.

Chapter Text

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.
Orestes: It’s rotten work.
Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

-Anne Carson, Euripides

--

In the quiet stillness of the cold winter morning, the enveloping darkness of the navy sky contrasted with the red warmth emanating from Lawrence's soft hand, fingers entwined. Together, they stood side by side, gazing out at the tranquil expanse of Midland Beach. 5 AM. The sounds of waves crashing against the boardwalk, the two of them.

1) The Sea

The doctor gently roused Adam awake with a kiss, playfully tracing a path from his lips down to his chest. Shedding the oversized black T-shirt and green plaid boxers, Lawrence lifted him up in a bridal style embrace, carrying him into the bathroom. Despite the early hour mandated by the doctor at 3 AM, Lawrence's hands wandered down to Adam's pajama pants. Adam, though groaning, made no protest as their kisses paved the way from the bathroom counter to the warm water that filled the bathtub. Hastily dressing and walking hand in hand, they hurried down the stairs, paying a temporary farewell to the red walls and untraditional steampunk clock that read 3:30 AM. Lawrence, ever mindful, insisted on taking their medication first, that way they’d enjoy the day ahead more. Shaking his head after the leftover pill taste lingered on his tongue, he insisted they’d grab some coffee on the way out, ready to face whatever lay ahead together.

Struggling to stay awake during the drive to the undisclosed destination, Lawrence remained resolute, immovable. He wouldn’t say where they were headed. Adam’s hand migrated to the stereo, as Lawrence handed him an R.E.M CD from the side storage. This felt orchestrated, almost scripted. Every detail seemed perfect. Throughout the entire drive, Adam clung tightly to Lawrence's hand. He knew, though it felt like a fleet of bullets in his side; even if he wanted to deny it, to cling to the hope that Lawrence wouldn’t leave him behind again; their time together was limited. Deep down, he knew; Lawrence had made up his mind. He had given himself to the tragic responsibility of “protecting him,” and he wasn’t going to change it. He couldn’t bring Lawrence back.

Here they were, on a cold morning, staring out at the dark, roaring ocean, clouds materializing from their breath. Adam, feeling his lips drier than ever, licked the cracked, sharp, skin on his mouth. The feeling of Lawrence still there. The tips of his fingers, freezing, found solace only in Lawrence's grip. Then, Lawrence turned to look at him. Sensing the crane of his neck from the corner of his eye, Adam met his gaze.

Typically, by now, their lips would have met. The stare, the gaze, the yearning look, sharper than ever before. Tense yet adoring, affectionate yet pained, they were aware of what lay ahead. Today, though, had to be about them. Adam trembled, finally breaking the silence.

"You know, I've never actually seen the ocean in person before," Adam confessed.

Lawrence looked down at him, surprise flickering across his features. "It's quite breathtaking, isn't it?"

Adam didn't respond immediately. Lawrence continued. "You've never seen it in person? How come?"

The younger man bit his lip indifferently. “Y’know, mom was always working. Dad never wanted to spend time together. I saw it in pictures, but- sh*t. Pictures.” The younger man halted, gasping for breath in panicked surges, as tears welled in the pools of his eyelids. “f*ck. I didn’t bring my camera. I should have brought my camera.”

Maintaining a firm grip on Adam's hand, the taller man guided him back to the car. He popped the trunk and deftly retrieved the large device.

There it was; an 80’s style polaroid camera.

“When I was your age, working my way through medical school - my mother gave this to me for Christmas. I want you to have it. I-”

Then, his voice cracking, Lawrence couldn't hold back the torrent of tears that welled up. A cascade streamed down from both of his deep blue eyes, following the crevices of his tired yet soft, mature face. Memories inundated his thoughts — the dimly lit room, the man across from him on that grimy bathroom floor, a fateful crossing of paths. The sardonic, hedonistic, both terrible and beautiful, the incredible man he found himself deeply in love with. A man he yearned to protect, even though, selfishly, some nights he found himself wanting to die by his side; an unbreakable bond, never to be apart. The longing to intertwine their blood, the gallons he shed amputating his foot, and the willingness to waste liters more just to feel the touch of Adam’s face. To comfort him.

Here, again, he hated that he desired the same thing. Jigsaw could shoot him down here, and he would find beauty in passing away with Adam as his last vision. But no, the trap had worked its magic; it was too late. He was a good person now. Adam was his new beginning. His service to John was a temporary ordeal. He had to be a good man, he had to be selfless now. If he ran away with Adam, he could put them both in danger. He had to be the doctor medical school had never trained him to be, he had to soak his hands in blood one last time. For Adam. Maybe for his family. To protect them all. To keep Adam from danger. To save them both. To save their future.

He finished his sentence.

“-I want us to make some memories today. This time, I want to be in pictures - with you.”

Adam pulled Lawrence in by the collar, careful not to jostle the camera, and their lips met. As he moved his bottom lip over the other man’s, he sensed Lawrence gulp—perhaps even a sob—as the other hand found its place on Adam’s head, running through his hair. After a minute, they reluctantly pulled apart, lips warmed by the contact but cracked from the cold, a stark contrast to Lawrence’s perfectly smooth, soft mouth. God, that mouth. He’d miss it. The rough, mature taste of his tongue. Today, he had to find some mental strength. For Lawrence.

“Lawrence-” Adam frowned, the crevices of his mouth facing downward as he let out an innocent sob, desperate for a chance to run, never looking back, to protect Lawrence too. To abandon everyone, everything, including his values. He’d apologize to Jill someday. Diana too. Alison. They had to know.

No, of course not. Today, they would have to play pretend. Transforming his frown into a gentle smile, the very same one he wore the first time Lawrence embraced him in the hospital. And so, he spoke.

“You got it. You should know by the looks of my dark room, you’re my favorite subject.”

–

2) Car camping

With one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel, Lawrence's other hand found its place on Adam's lap, his attention seamlessly shifting between the road and the man beside him. Responsibility was the furthest thing from his mind today, a departure from his usual unwavering gaze fixed on the highway. The smooth vocals of R.E.M. blended with the rhythmic clicks of gravel beneath the tires. The comforting squeeze of Lawrence's hand on his leg was a touch that felt like home, a sensation that resonated with a sense of familiarity. At that moment, he yearned to savor it for as long as possible. He wanted to stay there forever.

“Is there anywhere on your bucket list that we should prioritize today?” Lawrence asked, clearing his throat as the cold air from Adam's lowered car window brushed his cheek.

The sun rose over the trees that lined the interstate, making warm cracks among the leaves. Adam paused. Pondering the question, he answered without hesitation.

“Pull over, Larry.”

Without questioning, Lawrence activated the hazards and steered the car onto a rural, shell-lined road. As soon as the engine was silenced, Adam reached over, drawing Lawrence in once more. Opening the other man’s mouth, he pulled him into a wet kiss. Adam gently bit Lawrence's bottom lip, recreating a moment etched in memory.

“Sorry, Lawrence -” Adam whispered. “This is the kind of date I'm used to, if we’re being honest here.”

A small smirk appeared on Lawrence's face, reaching to bring Adam in and deepen the kiss. “Don't worry, my sweetheart” Lawrence quietly spoke into the other man's shivering mouth, “I want to experience everything with you.”

With that, Adam crawled over the console and into the backseat, pulling Lawrence back with him onto the soft leather seats. As the two men squeezed in the back Adam hopped onto Lawrence's lap, finally freeing his boner from his pants. The blonde man pressed his lips against his pale neck and returned the favor, inching his hand forward to grip his hard member, pumping it slowly. Adam's breath hitched on contact, feeling Lawrence masterfully wrap his fingers around him and press them together.

With a kiss against his neck, Lawrence began to suck; leaving trails of purple and red marks on the other man's skin as he jerked both their co*cks, rubbing against each other.

“If we're going to be apart-” Lawrence whispered, trying not to break the mood. “I may as well leave as much of me as possible to you. I want to savor your taste.” Adam complied, leaving a hickie on Lawrence's neck, one on his collarbone.

Lawrence bit the soft skin on Adam’s neck as he moaned, shooting hot air into Lawrence's ear as his hips thrust into the man's hands, speeding up his pace. “Larry, I won't last long -”

The other man cut off his words with his mouth, taking the hint. He quickly pulled off Adam's boxers and pants, throwing them into the front seat as he continued kneading against his bare ass.

Separating from him, Lawrence opened Adam’s mouth and pushed two fingers down the other man's slick tongue and throat to lubricate the tips. Retrieving his hand and lowering it to Adam's backside, he rubbed against the outside to tease the other man. The dark haired man whimpered, huffing in frustration against the other man's mouth. “Hurry up, goddamnit Lawrence-”

The blonde chuckled, whispering back “Let me drag this out. Please.” Then, as their lips crashed, teeth against teeth, rough skin against soft, he pushed two fingers into Adam's walls. With slick movements of his fingers, the scissoring movements opened him up. Feeling the contact of Lawrence's thick fingers against his prostate had him squirming, warming himself onto Lawrence's dominant hand as precum dripped on them.

“I'm ready, let me ride you, Lar-” Adam demanded, hands pressing around the collar of his shirt. With a nod from the other man, Adam pulled himself up and lowered himself onto the older man's well endowed member. As he made contact, Lawrence’s pink head entered his ass, before he leaned back to allow his shaft to fill his whole passage. Thrusting Lawrence into him took no effort, finally backing himself onto his co*ck until he bottomed out. Lawrence’s pubic hair brushed against the soft skin on Adam’s backside with every push and pull up against the backseat, and with every movement, Lawrence jerked harder into him.

Pushing his hips to deepen the contact, Lawrence's head milked Adam’s prostate, causing a drop of precum to dribble onto the place where they both met. Speeding up his pace, Lawrence sloppily kissed the other man, feeling his facial expression soften. The kisses melted onto Adam’s skin, desperate movements of their hips matching the way Lawrence’s mouth migrated from his lips to his chin to his neck - more hickies painted his skin.

“I was lying, Lawrence,” Adam whispered as the other man pulled back. “I've never gone on a date that involved this- so I'm glad my first one is with you.” Hearing this shamefully pleased Lawrence. He wasn't surprised Adam had been with more men, hell - Lawrence would have f*cked anything with legs in his department, so convinced he could thrust the gay out of him. But still, he felt possessive, the desire to have all of Adam was all-consuming. Lawrence smiled, moving his hands to squeeze his hips to help Adam's quick movements, thrusting into him harder, faster. With every surge, Adam cried out, pushing his head back. “You're all mine,” Lawrence cooed, an antagonistic yet suggestive tone of voice. “And I'd go on a thousand dates, just to feel your skin against mine for a moment.”

With a smile, Adam leaned back to pull out the large, boxy camera in wait of a permissive glance from the other man. With a nod, he snapped a picture of the blonde's flushed face, a few buttons undone, saliva trailing down his chin, under him on the seat of the car.

As the photo develops, Lawrence’s movements take all of Adam, from the wet slick movements to the bite marks on his neck. “I love you, Larry-” he moans, lifting himself up and down onto the other man.

“My sweetheart,” Lawrence whispers, “I’m going to finish. Please, I need you cum too.”

"Don’t leave," Adam pleaded, shattering the fragile moment. Surprisingly, Lawrence remained steadfast. He pulled the other man into a firm kiss, breaking away only to murmur, "I’ll always be with you. I’m yours, forever…” Adam found the words surprisingly sentimental and cheesy, realizing Lawrence hadn't directly answered the question. Yet, deep down, he knew he was beyond the need for convincing. He couldn’t change it. He just had to enjoy this.

“Larry,” Adam cried out, hands against his face, bringing his kiss in deeper. Then, with a final movement against Lawrence’s groin, Adam finishes first, with Lawrence taking all of him as he climaxes, spreading his cheeks before finishing his load inside of the other man.

Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand words, but the moment is indescribable.

—
3) Quick Video

Adam wakes quickly from falling asleep in the backseat to glance at the dash clock. 9 am. Lawrence quickly parked in front of a nearly abandoned strip mall, littered with FOR LEASE posters and half illuminated logos. Their destination stood in front of them, bearing a sign reading “QUICK VIDEO.” Lawrence unbundled his seatbelt before turning around and slapping his hand onto Adam's knee. “I have a surprise for you. Let's get some movies.”

Pushing the door open, a young woman greeted them. With brunette roots and messy, short coral pink-dyed hair, a home-pierced (a terrible decision Adam would never condone, but understood far too well) nose ring added to her edgy appearance. A single skull barrette pulled back her greasy bangs, contributing to the DIY emo aesthetic, complemented by her safety pin-covered, weathered gray shirt. Glancing up from her red Razr flip phone, she unenthusiastically barked with a discernible smoker's cough, “Welcome to Quick Video; let me know if I can help you find anything.”

Adam shuffled his feet for a moment, wearing a curious expression and a toothy smile. "Do you have Evil Dead II?" he inquired.

Lawrence hesitated, then nervously whispered into Adam's ear, "Two? I've never seen the first one, Adam."

Lightly tapping his hand against the soft pink fabric of Lawrence's button-down, Adam gazed back; “I'll catch you up. I'm not letting you leave without indoctrinating you with the gay appeal of Bruce Campbell. He's hotter in the second one.”

The pink haired girl with the nose ring let out an annoyed sigh, before starting towards the back of the store and returning quickly with the copy of Sam Raimi's classic.

“Sure do. That'll be $2.77. You got 5 days.”

Both men looked onto the counter in amusem*nt. The cover contained the iconic skeleton with large brown eyes, and large red text, making Adam giddy with needy excitement. Meanwhile, the girl had returned to her original perch.

Adam retrieves his wallet from his back pocket, before Lawrence can throw that stupid heavy gold card on the counter. “I got this, Larry. I'm not watching the Godfather again, this is a movie.”

Lawrence squeezes the smaller man's shoulder as they finish checking out, picking up the DVD to inspect the back. “Well, if you insist. I'm ready for my indoctrination then.”

–

Back in the car, the next stop, Adam recognizes.

4) The motel.

The nauseating pink walls revolt him. The air is heavy with the mingling scents of astroglide, weed, cheap perfume, and coffee. The acrid sting of acid irritates his throat.

Glancing at Lawrence in the passenger seat, their eyes locked.

“Please don't forget this place. We might need it someday.”

Someday.

Adam's stomach tightens as he observes Lawrence stepping out of the car, circling around to open his own door. Such a gentleman, ugh. Just before the door hinge creaks open, Adam captures a snapshot of the motel sign with the polaroid camera. Extracting him from the leather seat, Adam stands and follows, witnessing as Lawrence's wooden cane guides him into the lobby.

The dirty motel feels like a five star concierge just with Lawrence's illuminating presence, and he hates that he has that effect on him. Walking up to the desk, the doctor gave the host a look before Flipping out his card. This time, the stupid gold one. He had been here before. They recognized him instantly. A possessive feeling overcomes Adam, remembering the woman Lawrence met in this same place.

Lawrence speaks as soon as the man finds his information in a binder.

“We won't be long. One night please.”

As soon as the transaction processes, Lawrence seizes Adam's hand, guiding him into the corridor—the same one he had followed him into all those months ago, before their official meeting. They ascend the stairs, pausing at every flight for Lawrence to kiss him against the white cinderblock walls. The concrete feels unforgiving against Adam's head, but the hardness is countered by the softness of Lawrence's breath and the sweet, earthy aroma of his expensive Armani cologne. Despite the dingy, unkempt hallways, Lawrence has a transformative effect—making everything feel better, like liquid gold, like a drug. God, f*ck.

Sliding the key into the door, the room reveals its dark red walls, a striking contrast to the pristine white comforter on the bed. Delving into his memories, Adam conjures up the image of the room he imagined, the first time he saw Lawrence enter with Carla. He had always wondered what it looked like, and now he found himself standing within the same space. The times he fantasized in the darkroom, flicking his hands in his pants imagining he was in her place seemed like only yesterday.

Lawrence looked back at Adam before sitting on the bed, stretching his leg out. “I don't want to have sex with you here,” the man says before looking back up to meet Adam's gaze. “Let's watch movies like we did at the hospital. I don't want this place to be about that - not now, at least.”

Not now.

It suddenly dawns on Adam again what Lawrence is talking about. They won't be here long, he won't be around long.

365 days. 365 minutes felt dreadful enough, whenever Lawrence wasn’t with him.

Opening the case and securing the DVD in his grasp, Lawrence slides the disc into the player and deftly presses a few buttons to bring the TV to life. Glancing back at Adam with an all-too-corny "huzzah," he casually leans his cane against the bed and settles back against the bed frame. "Come here," Lawrence whispers, and Adam complies, tuning into the TV's score before resting his head on the other man's soft chest, hand gently resting against his belly.

They hardly talk the entire film. Just watch, in amusem*nt, shifting positions every half hour. Occasionally, Adam looked up to Lawrence's expression during an especially gory scene, watching the hair on his neck stand up. The way the blood spews, reminding him of his hacksaw surgery, to be calmed down by Adam's soft, innocent kisses on his collar. Adam cheered during a specific scene with Ash's hand, entertaining Lawrence by mouthing each iconic quote. When the movie ends, Lawrence pulls in Adam before kissing his forehead.

“Okay, I get it now. Bruce Campbell is a good looking man. Only second to you of course.”

–

5) The Hot Dog Truck

“You hungry? I'm f*cking starved.”

Having checked out of the hotel, Adam stationed himself against the front of the grimy pink building, flicking out his bi-hourly cigarette. Almost as if by manifestation, a hot dog truck conveniently parked across the street, situated near the local construction site.

“Oh God, if he exists, he heard my prayers.” Adam laughs before pointing at the vehicle. Lawrence shakes his head in irritation before softening his expression. “Sure. I suppose I could eat.”

A pink tint colored Adam's face thinking of Lawrence ordering a hot dog. He probably was the type to get one plain with ketchup. Good lord. Boring but sexy Lawrence Gordon. He hated how hot he found the idea. Ugh. He was beyond hope.

Approaching the cart, Adam glanced back at the blonde man still leaning against the wall, smiling at the scene he was watching. Flipping a peace sign, two, the man handed over two hot dogs in return for a 5-dollar bill. The warmth of the food permeated Adam's hand as he held onto the soft buns cradling the comfort food - processed meat.

Walking towards the truck, Lawrence joined the younger man, who handed him the bun with ease. “Now, don't just get ketchup. I'll ban you from NJ if you can't dress a decent hot dog.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Lawrence responded as he watched with equal parts amusem*nt and irritation as Adam packed his dog with relish, onions, mayo, mustard and ketchup so high it spilled off the sides.

The younger, dark haired man looked back at Lawrence happily before taking a messy bite off the end of his hot dog. Lawrence laughed. “...I also put mustard on mine.”

The blonde man retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the sides of Adam's face, sighing. Adam, with a mischievous smile, chuckled under his breath and quipped, "I knew it, you old man."

–

6) Shopping

Without a map or a set destination guiding Lawrence's plans, the day unfolded like an Easter egg hunt, with random places filling the time or serving as distractions. Despite the lack of a concrete plan, today held an ethereal and uniquely special quality.

Adam's heart sank remembering the other day, Lawrence's heart spilling out on the floor, finding out what he had agreed to. He still hoped he would consider taking him. Even if he was a hated criminal framed in a mugshot besides Lawrence, with the exception of Jill, he was all he had. Lawrence was everything. An everlasting, blinding eclipse he couldn't walk away from. A wave that refused to slow down, crashing against the surface, eroding his shores. Some kind of cursed entity that had changed the course of his life. God, he loved him, falling so hard so quickly was almost embarrassing. Maybe the cruel God he didn't believe in existed after all, or maybe jigsaw was a sick matchmaker.

A small farm booth came into view over the surface of the road in front of them. "Hey," Lawrence said, pointing. Adam rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and pressed it against his lips. "Mmmf?" he responded, exhaling the smoke with a rough cough. "You wanna stop?"

“I do,” Lawrence replied, shrugging enthusiastically with a sharp turn of the car. “Unfortunately, I didn't prepare flowers for this date, so you'll have to forgive me for being so grossly under prepared.”

Adam didn't respond, continuing to let the smoke out of the car window as Lawrence softly pressed on the brakes to slow down. Then, he mumbled, pressing back into the seat, “No one's ever bought me flowers before.”

“Good thing you have me,” Lawrence smiled as he said this, reaching over to pat the other man's back. “If you haven't noticed, I'm quite the romantic.”

“Mm,” Adam nodded. “I have. I don't know many people who would risk dying of blood loss for a few minutes of playground touching.”

Lawrence kissed the crown of Adam's head before parking and motioning for him to exit the car. As they approached the booth, the shapes of shiny polished apples, squash, corn, and herbs adorned the stalls. Bushels of bouquets stood on a nearby stand—mums, deep red roses, and camellias in the first row, followed by arrangements of lilies, lavender, and baby's breath, all neatly wrapped in twine.

“These are perfect,” Lawrence exclaimed, picking up the purple flowers and handing a bushel to Adam. His face is flushed, excited by the gesture. Unbothered by allergies. With a soft smile, Lawrence's lips parted. “Lilies - they signify devotion, promise. I don't….” Lawrence's voice trails off, before he brings himself back to state confidently. “I don't think I have to say what I mean by that. I'm chained to you.”

Holding the flowers tighter, Adam crashes into Lawrence, practically smothering the plants. He wonders how many times he’ll cry today.

“I'm yours, Lawrence. I'll always wait for you. I'd have waited, held out even longer knowing you'd come back. I knew you’d come back.”

With a kiss, the promise is sealed. Parting, the two notice how badly smothered the flowers got in their arms, and Lawrence waves to a short woman manning the stand.

“Ma'am, we'll pay for these and another - I apologize.”

Adam carries the two bouquets back to the car. Before they restart the engine to continue their journey, he places the Polaroid on the dash, setting the timer for a picture. With Evil Dead II in one hand and the flowers creating the illusion of a meadow backdrop, they capture their first picture together.

As Lawrence starts the car, all Adam can think about is their future home - littered with pictures of Alison and Diana, but also - dozens and dozens of timed photos of the two of them. Lawrence will want to destroy the camera from how many pictures Adam takes of him.

—

7) The Park

As the drive continued, Adam's head rested on the window, the view of dead trees and the blue, pothole-heavy country road rushing past his vision. Counting rocks, once a novelty, he was greeted by the sight of a metal playground.

“Hey. Can we stop here?” Adam's tone was soft, almost childlike. Lawrence's face painted a light grimace before he shrugged and responded, “Oh. Sure.”

Pulling the car into a parking space adjacent to the structures, Adam swiftly operated the door opener, then turned back to the blonde man. His eyes sparked with anticipation as he finally spoke, "I know it's cliche, but will you sit on the swing sets with me?”

Although more fitting for the eight-year-old Diana than the two older men, Lawrence's desire to appease Adam triumphed over his pride.

“Yes.”

The swing feels tight around Lawrence as he backs himself to sit on it, joined by Adam besides him. One hand on the rusty chain and the other reaching for Lawrence, a squeeze of the hand is a momentary gesture before gripping the rust.

Rocking back and forth, Adam gains momentum on the structure, swinging higher and higher. Lawrence sat watching him, amusem*nt at his ability to look so damn cute while doing something like this.

“I always imagined I'd meet some guy at the park, I'd leave the house and usually just wait it out whenever my parents would start fighting-” the sound of Adam's voice whips in and out of Lawrence's ear as he swings. “-and we'd share my walkman or something, share a kiss, like a scene from some dumb movie sh*t.”

Lawrence's lips fall open in amusem*nt at the statement, rubbing the chains of the swing. Sitting, listening.

“I don't have a walkman, but I can kiss you.”

Adam's pace slows down, braking with his feet against the dirt ground. Then, pressing his forehead against Lawrence, their lips meet, soft and yearning.

“I like you, Adam Faulkner,” Lawrence chuckled as clouds formed around his breath. “Don't let sister Anita find out though. She'll make me go to confession.”

Adam released a hearty laugh, the sound warming his abdomen. Lawrence's impression of his younger self felt so natural. “Confession? For what? Liking boys?”

Of course Lawrence went to catholic school. Sister Anita - please. He was a page ripped out of the “rich doctor father like rich doctor son” playbook. He could just picture Lawrence now, suit and tie adorning his uniform, standing up in class, just begging to be the first kid called on in AP calculus. Lawrence was probably a good student, unlike him - motivated. Lonely too though. Maybe in another world, the one he dreamed about where they weren't nearly two decades apart in age, they'd have been friends. Meeting on the train tracks that divided their two neighborhoods, bonding over a shared love of music and a resentment for their fathers. He truly believed he'd have kissed Lawrence on that empty playground, soiled his uniform from swapping spit from their open mouth laps on the metal structure. On graduation day, they'd run away together. They'd live out of Adam's car, maybe Lawrence would join Americorps or something out in California. God, he had to stop daydreaming. This life was cruel.

“Oh, no,” Lawrence's face fell into his palms, joining Adam's deep, sentimental laughter. “I’ve committed the sin of…premarital sex.”

A beat fell between them, before Adam leaned forward against the gravity of the swings and kissed Lawrence's ear, feeling his warm skin in the dead of winter. Then, he grimaces. “Oh gross, Lawrence, remember what you’re pretending to be but…jesus was a fa*ggot too, I'm sure he'll forgive you.”

Lawrence deepened the kiss before standing up, pulling the man's torso to join him and pulling him in harder. It felt like a movie moving in slow motion. “Wait here,” Adam whispers as he pulls back, skipping to the vehicle and retrieving the camera. “Can you sit back down on the swing? I want to remember this.”

Lawrence complies with a shake of his head, settling onto the comically small seat.

With a snap, the picture develops swiftly, and Adam pulls it out with a sharp blow.

“Let's get back to the car,” Lawrence suggests, getting up and walking towards the smaller man. “We still have a few more things before our last stop. The next destination is special.”

With a tug of his shoulder, Lawrence's lips pressed against the top of Adam's head, taking in the smell of his hair. A little extra longer this time, imprinting the scent of Adam into his memory.

Long enough that he prays it'll linger in his nose for the rest of that year.

-

8) The brick wall outside of the Research Building, Rutgers New Jersey Medical School:

“When I was in med school, I had these recurring dreams about meeting a man here. I can hardly remember them, but we’d share a cigarette together and got on with our days. I always hoped I'd meet him in person.” Lawrence tucked a blonde strand behind his ear. “I wasn’t quite comfortable with…that, part of myself yet. Then I met Alison and I didn’t think I ever would be.”

Adam felt sick, he had never been one to believe in God or much of anything at all. There was no way their dreams were the same, it had to be a coincidence. Smoking was common in the 80s, maybe the man in the dream looked nothing like him.

Then Lawrence's lips parted again. “I'd like to believe that man was you.”

The two stood against the brick wall, just like in the dream. Lawrence tapped his lip, watching Adam. “Can I have one of those?” Lawrence's hand motioned to point to the carton of cigarettes creating a contour in Adam's jeans. Reaching into his pocket, the younger man pulled the box out and retrieved two sticks. Pulling a bic lighter out of the other pocket, he lit both of them, handing the cigarette to Lawrence. Before placing it between his lips, he kissed Adam, a certain gentleness in his grip. He couldn’t stop kissing him today.

“I feel like a teenager.” Lawrence said with a hint of shame in his voice. “I want to make today last.”

Pressing the cigarette against his tongue, Adam inhaled the smoke, feeling Lawrence's hand reach for his before they clasped their fingers together.

Two rats, tails entwined, never able to separate, two forces bleeding while held.

The air was cold, but Lawrence was warm.

“Remember when we tried to fake out my death with one of these?” Adam laughed, exhaling the smoke.

“Oh, yes,” Lawrence responded, coughing like this was his first time smoking. “Your performance was Oscar winning.”

Drawing closer, Adam leaned his head against Lawrence’s shoulder, capturing the scene as snow flurries descended from the sky and settled on them.

–
9) The high end bistro

“This is our last stop.”

The restaurant already made Adam's skin crawl. He could vividly imagine it—distinguished top-shelf wines and triple-digit entree prices. This place was not his scene, maybe Lawrence's, but certainly not his.

“I…” Adam started, anxiously shifting his feet against the car floor. “This isn't even my nicest flannel, Lawrence. I don't think I can go in there.”

“I'll give them $100 to f*ck off then. Adam, this is our day. You deserve the best. You belong here. Don't let them make you think any differently.”

Lawrence was actually lying this time - whatever he could say to make Adam feel better. Maybe he actually believed it. With a squeeze of his hand, and a reassuring look, they exited the car as a valet waved at Lawrence.

His intuition was right. This wasn't his scene. Adam could already recognize 3 men that seemed to be prior clients of his, followed into the same awful motels he followed Lawrence into. Still though, with Lawrence by his side, they all disappeared.

They ordered wine. A kind of wine that Adam couldn't pronounce. Something something something french.

Lawrence ordered for them—matching steaks. He had never experienced anything melting in his mouth quite like that: the butter, garlic, and the exquisite tenderness of the meat. Though reluctant to admit it, he couldn't deny it was worth the money. Casting a smirk at the older man, he indulged in another truffle oil potato from his plate.

And before the night ended, just like Lawrence promised, he squeezed his hand on the table, for everyone to see. Rubbing his palm, whispering glances gossiping about the two men, fading away.

Without fear, the two of them, together. The hand that kept him going, and his heart bleeding with every beat for Lawrence.

Lawrence, silent nodding at the man that lived deep inside. Lawrence, the proud, gay, in love doctor that didn't bat an eyelash at a $300 meal.
Flagging down the waiter for the bill, Lawrence paid quickly and they walked to the entrance together, Adam’s hand tucked in Lawrence’s arm. Pulling him into a kiss, Adam felt the other man's smile on his lips, pulling him out onto the sidewalk.

Even if it was pretend, it felt normal. For once, a fleeting moment, things felt normal.

–

The following morning, Adam awoke to find a lone sheet of paper adorned with hastily scrawled numbers. A surge of anticipation surged through him as he reached for the paper, the ink blurring beneath his anxious gaze. Flipping it over, he knew what was coming.

It was from Lawrence.

Adam:

Please tell Diana I am overseas. I will write. Amanda will take care of things. Please don't quit your job. It is the only way she knows how to contact you.

I love you with my whole heart. You are the love of my life and I am doing this for us. I will be the surgeon that sews our hearts together, and contributes to this evil crime to save you. I have loved you since the moment I saw you, drenched in sweat and dirty water across from the bathroom. At first I was confused. I had told myself long ago that my fascination with men was a phase. You changed me. The way you listened, the way you needed me, like I need you. You were the first person I could be Lawrence with. You accepted me; all the flaws, all my horrible mistakes. You didn't see me as an opponent, you saw me as a man. From then I promised myself I would never deceive you.

Use the pager. Use it every day. I don't care if it never stops beeping, I want to know that you are safe.

Please do not be angry.

I love you.

Once this is over, we will start our lives together. Meet me in the bathroom. I will send coordinates when it is safe.

Please burn this letter. I am so sorry.

Lawrence

–

Adam's tears cascaded down his face with unprecedented speed and weight. Every ounce of fluid in his body poured out, making him feel lightheaded. Amidst the sorrow, his eyes focused on an object; entwined with the letter was a delicate twine from the bouquet, culminating in a sterling silver ring embracing a sapphire gemstone—a token of the month they first met.

Quivering, Adam slid the gleaming metal onto his ring finger. Even as his hand shook he couldn't resist the beauty of the jewelry on his hand.

Deep within, he knew one thing was true. Lawrence's resolve was unwavering; he wouldn't deceive him. Lawrence wouldn't lie to him. Lawrence had made up his mind.

Lawrence was gone.

3 MISSED CALLS FROM JILL TUCK

Chapter 35: you and i, we're chained (part 1 finale)

Chapter Text

Deep within, he knew one thing was true. Lawrence's resolve was unwavering; he wouldn't deceive him. Lawrence wouldn't lie to him. Lawrence had made up his mind.

Lawrence was gone.

–

CLCK

CLCK

CLCK

Day 1 without Lawrence, and Adam found himself in the monotony of hour 22, lying in the same position. He pressed the buttons of the pager as if it were a wire monkey, waiting for some sign, any sign, as if he were clinging for sustenance.

Yet, there was nothing, only the insistent knock on his door after 23 missed calls from Jill. In her desperation, she forcefully smashed her fist through a window and ascended to the top floor. At the sight of Adam, she threw her purse onto the hardwood floor and rushed to his side, only to be met with the painful sobs emanating from the man's mouth. The bits of glass that cut into her fists felt like nothing—a detail she remained aware of, but couldn't be bothered to care about as long as her arms and palms could hold him tight.

On the bedside table lay the tear-stained letter and a full carton of cigarettes. Adam hadn't even gotten up to smoke. The nicotine withdrawals were almost numbed to the pain of the letter, to the knowledge that Lawrence wasn't within arm's reach.

Finally, around noon, Jill made her way downstairs to retrieve a bowl of cereal, the only thing Adam insisted he could stomach.

And as she watched him slowly eat, she felt pain.

Pain.

They both felt pain.

The memories of Gideon, the son who would now be the same age as Adam, flooded Jill's mind. Thoughts of John lingered, a complex mix of hatred for what he had done to Adam and the lingering love she couldn't entirely shake off. She was human, afterall.

Memories of Adam's own history surfaced, the call to his mother, the way Lawrence stood in front of her at the admin desk - Adam, and the void of love in his earlier years and the profound loss of Lawrence’s daily presence.

Pain.

They both felt pain.

–

The clicks of Jill's nude heels reverberated through the Gideon Meat Packing Plant, creating a stark contrast with the ominous atmosphere. It was as if a princess were gracefully navigating a dungeon, fully aware that a dragon could pounce at any moment, ready to consume her flesh, to burn her alive. The air was thick with a sense of impending danger, akin to a small animal watching a dog picking at the bone of a lifeless rabbit. She moved forward, angry stomps punctuating each step, until she finally reached the end of the hall, where her fate awaited.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t. Adam had no idea - and if he knew, he may never look at her the same way again.

John and her were divorced. He was a criminal. The very idea of her wandering through the halls like it was her second home felt immoral. Finally, reaching the observation room, with a push, she swung open the door.

And there he was.

The site felt rare, like a true novelty; the esteemed doctor, Lawrence Gordon, a contrast to his disheveled surroundings of the plant.

Lawrence appeared before her, draped in the same black robe she had seen John wear on countless occasions. The sight was nauseating, causing acid to build in her throat.

He turned, locking eyes with her. Jill's glossed lips tightened, the fresh pomade on her brows giving them a soft appearance as she furrowed them. Her pink, manicured nails dug into her palms, her fists clenched.

Jill's brown eyes met Lawrence's. His face bore traces of fresh tears, small flecks of blood staining his complexion. The toll of the last few days etched a weariness onto his features, aging him and accentuating the stress he had endured.

She knew that look. Getting involved with John seemed to have that effect. Still, she pointed a finger at him, stomping her feet.

“How f*cking dare you.”

Lawrence pivoted to confront the blonde woman, who in turn reached for the machine, tightly clutching his pager. She was acutely aware that if John discovered he had given away one of their devices, it would make him furious, paranoid, put a target on Adam’s back if Hoffman only knew. Perhaps Lawrence was under surveillance. Being watched. Nevertheless, Adam waited, eager for any sign of life, any indication that Lawrence was still present in the unfolding events - and there he was. Too weak to press a button. Jill recalled the way Adam curled up into the fetal position, holding the pager like it was his child - his only life jacket, his anchor, kicking his feet as tears of frustration and terror streamed down his face.

His love for Lawrence was all consuming.

“You know as well as I do, I had no choice.”

She knew- she knew he was in more pain than she could imagine. She shouldn’t be here, making things worse.

“Adam called me the other morning, hysterical. I’ve been spending the last few days in your guest room, he won’t get out of bed.” Lawrence looked down, the image in his head paining him to his core. “You’re lucky I know David, and he’s giving him a break for the week to “get over Dr. Gordon’s patriotic service.”

Lawrence lifted his sleeve to his eyelids, wiping a single tear. “Is he safe?”

Jill crossed her arms, annoyed, gripping her polyester sleeves. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Alison’s with him now, making sure he stays safe.”

“Alison,” Lawrence scoffed, throwing his arms up in disarray. “Well, that’s ideal. I’m sure he’s ecstatic about that.”

“You’re unforgivable,” Jill spewed, one heel grinding into the ground. “ Weak. If you really cared about Adam, you’d have gone right to the police.”

“Oh, the police,” Lawrence laughed before turning back to the unconscious body on the table. “Yes Mrs. Tuck, we all know the police are so, so reliable. Oh, and you’d be an accomplice, they’d love that. I’m sure that your recruitment of one Marcus Hoffman would agree with that statement, the police love Jigsaw.”

Jill couldn't help but roll her eyes, exasperated by Lawrence's inappropriate use of sarcasm during such a serious moment. He remained hunched over the table, perched on an old rolling chair, and wisely chose not to press the matter any further. The ensuing silence was thick with tension, a bitter and tasteless void. Amidst it all, Jill's emotions were dominated by anger, fueled by a maternal concern that seemed to drown out everything else.

The doctor, perhaps sensing the intensity of the situation, deliberately blocked her out, steadfastly avoiding any eye contact.

Then, she spoke, clicking her tongue in a disgusted manner, freshly glossed lips pursing.

“You could have done something, other than abandoning Adam.”

Something snapped in the doctor.

The clamor reverberated loudly, the sharp clash of silver tools echoing against the unforgiving concrete floor. In a fit of rage, Lawrence forcefully hurled the objects off the table, prompting Jill to instinctively retreat like a scared bird fleeing its perch at the first sign of a wildfire. His eyes teetered on the edge of tears, brows knit in a mix of hesitation and horror, his entire body trembling and convulsing. "Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam," he repeated, the name repeating on his lips in a desperate chant. It was the Adam he could have lost, the one who might have bled out on the bathroom floor, staring into the abyss of the afterlife, like he was an angel from Hell. This Adam, the one he was forced to abandon once again. "I abandoned him again," he cried, grappling with the weight of his choices, ones he never wanted to make. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope. He recalled the first escape, and he prayed fervently that Adam would summon the strength to endure, just as he had before, while he went for help. With a sigh that seemed to release the pent-up tension, Lawrence buried his face in his hands. Adam. Adam. Adam. The Adam he loved. The Adam he wanted to stay in bed with for days on end, shutting out the rest of the world along with the haunting memories of the past, and that bathroom. He wanted to forget, and with Adam, he could forget - the version of himself he pretended to be, the facade he forced himself to maintain, and his authentic self he would never have discovered without the other man. Adam was the only person he ever dared to be truly honest with—to start anew, the one who saw through the layers of pretense and falsehood. This was his salvation.

This was his punishment. He recalled the horrific emotions, packing his bags and writing that letter, tears streaming down his face as his hands shook, peering up every few minutes to take one last gaze at the man sleeping soundly in bed. He had to protect him, so, with one last kiss on his forehead, Lawrence headed for the front door, making eye contact with Amanda’s empathetic, resentful glare, hand on the steering wheel like a demented knight in shining armor. He tore himself away from Adam, a courageous act that marked his first step toward genuine change. Yet, here he was, grappling with the realization that he had once again abandoned the one person who knew him for who he truly was.

With a shaking voice, Lawrence quivered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you want Adam doing this?” Lawrence gestured to the metal plate of medical tools in front of him, specs of blood coloring the tarp.Of course she didn’t.

She couldn’t see him like this though, miserable in bed, stained with hot tears, shutting out the world, dehydrating himself with every hot cry that left his system. At this point, she believed a broken heart could be a deadly thing.

Recalling it - she despised it— loathed it with the same intensity she harbored for herself. The realization gnawed at her, acknowledging that with a single confession to the police and the harsh echo of a gunshot, she could have stopped John's test. Yet, what she truly detested was that she knew she was weak. She and Lawrence were practically the same. Completely at the whim of their love for the two men. Lawrence chained to Adam’s ankles, swimming in circles around each other, and Jill, adjacent in her own metaphorical bathroom to John.

“No. No. I don’t.” The guilty feeling in her gut churned, glass pushing into her side. I don’t know what to do, Lawrence. He won’t listen to me, he just keeps crying. He won’t eat, won’t sleep, he just keeps lying there with your clothes.”

"You know I love Adam," Lawrence declared, reaching for his cane as he scooted himself towards the observation table. "I want to marry him. I wish—I'd give anything to be with him right now. Unfortunately, because of your ex-husband, I'm here doing his dirty work. By the way..."

The corners of Lawrence’s mouth curled upwards, revealing a sinister satisfaction. In this moment, he harbored nothing but burning, ill will towards the blonde woman standing before him—her hair tucked behind her ears, her face marked by a fear akin to a dog being separated from its warm underbelly. "At least he knew where I was going. At least only one of us is a liar."

The words from the doctor’s mouth cut into her, sharp as the newly sanitized scalpel sitting on the cart besides his hunched over figure. It hadn’t even been two days, but Lawrence was exhausted. The corners of his eyes dried out like withered rose petals, still holding beauty but hanging on for dear life, sleep existing as a rare resource he could hardly access.

Before Jill exited, a dark-haired woman emerged from the shadows of the observation room, casting a forewarning glance her way. Amanda’s warm-toned skin appeared lifeless under the harsh lighting of the packing plant, with deep scars on the sides of her cheeks only partially concealed by the two silver piercings. In that moment, she seemed more like a haunting specter than a living being. A hollow shell of a woman she once was, but now, with purpose. The woman's once platinum strands had transformed into a soft yet disheveled dark reddish tone, which must have been recent. Their gazes locked, as Amanda's lips pursed, and she shot a disdainful glare at the taller figure Jill possessed.

"You dyed your hair, Amanda," Jill mused, gracefully settling into a more relaxed stance as her gaze met Amanda's vision. "It suits you. With your old look, we almost looked related. You could have been my daughter."

Jill shot a soft smile at the younger woman, which was shoved off in an instance. Amanda's deep brown eyes locked onto Jill's hazel orbs, her glare intensifying, briefly sidestepping Jill to draw near to Lawrence, who was still in the process of retrieving scattered tools. As Jill turned to leave, Amanda spoke in a barely audible tone, “ And we couldn’t have that, could we?”

–

“Lynn Denlon.”

The name left Lawrence’s lips, prompting Amanda to turn her head with an owl-like swiftness. Her hair flipped back, small strands of reddish-brown locks framing her face, and her eyes shot with fear.

Lawrence shook his head, his blonde locks falling over his sharp glare. She noticed how old he looked here, though a mere 41, aged so much in just 2 days. He appeared like he had been beaten, his heart cut out, eyes hollow and face pale. His voice shook as he spoke. "I can't do the surgery, Amanda.” Sucking in air, he continued; “Dr. Denlon can, though. I've seen her do it."

Amanda was appalled. Memories of the woman she worked under flooded her mind—her gorgeous flowing black hair, her enchanting smile, and the distinctive scent that lingered around her, a blend of vanilla, sandalwood, and a hint of almond. And yet, most of all, the way she never truly noticed her. For years, Amanda had watched her from afar, witnessing the nights when she would stop by to check in with her nurses still working late hours, practically making the hospital her second home.

In the mind, memories rushed like a torrent—Dr. Lynn Denlon, clad with her sophisticated style and MD, still stopping to compliment her “f*ck BUSH” button and Hello Kitty scrubs, waiting at the door to ask about the music playing on Amanda's walkman during administrative hours. Dr. Lynn Denlon, her fearless leader.

She wouldn’t even recognize her if she saw her now.

Amanda grit her teeth. “I know.”

"I have a point, I promise," the blonde man defeatedly assured as he slowly moved towards the next body, cane in hand, deftly using a scalpel to create a precise incision above the forehead. Placing the cane besides the next table, his hands worked with practiced precision to slip a key between the pale, bleeding flesh. The unconscious body’s lungs moved up and down, breathing slowly as Lawrence worked.

"I can't protect Adam. However," he continued, "I can protect Lynn. John will likely want you to test her, but I can ensure her survival. And you—"

Lawrence paused, biting his cheek and gnawing at the soft, wet skin inside his mouth, making pockets in his face.

"I'll make sure all three of you survive, no matter what happens," he declared, a bold promise.

Amanda choked, throwing her head back and almost laughing, only to trace her glance and bark back, "What's in it for you? I know you don't give a f*ck about me, or John, or Lynn—Dr. Denlon, so cut the sh*t."

As she met Lawrence's gaze, his eyes seemed to deepen in shade, their intensity magnified. His brows furrowed, shooting silent darts of disdain with a disgusted expression etched across his face.

“Do you think I didn’t see you when you worked at the hospital?”

Amanda froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as memories of her time as a nurse in the same corridors that both Jill and Lawrence traversed daily flooded her mind.

Lawrence sighed deeply, his warm breath leaving his lips as he attempted a softer, more direct approach.

“Okay, listen. You can leave this place. I can’t. You protect Adam - you help establish, let’s say, some communication between him and I - and I’ll make sure Lynn survives her game 100%.”

Amanda’s shoulders gave way, all of the air leaving her system. She couldn’t argue - she couldn’t ask for more than that. Adam was like her - at the least, she could bum some cigarettes and hand over the letter, at the most, she could ensure all of their survival.

She knew, at the very least, she and Lawrence were more or less equals. The remorse of these games gnawed at her, though daily, she grappled with the realization that she might truly be irredeemable. Perhaps, at the pearly gates, they would accept her, forgive her, and hold her in their arms. Most likely though, she would be cast aside, same as always.

She accepted it though, she was okay with it. It was all for John. Her father figure was worth it. Her family was worth it.

So, she accepted Lawrence’s proposal just as well.

“Okay.” With a nod, the doctor gestured toward the machine—an ominous, round, metal contraption that bore an unsettling resemblance to a dog cone and multiple firearms. The meat plant, hosting John and Amanda's workshop, was a truly grotesque place. In the room where he meticulously carved into flesh, stitching body parts open and shut like a macabre craftsman, various machines surrounded him, meticulously engineered vessels designed for testing subjects. Twist them, pull them, have them cut out their own eyes - just to grant them the delusion of gratitude.

Yet, amidst this grisly setting, one machine stood apart. So, he pointed at it—the shotgun collar.

“You never got it to work, did you?” Lawrence inquired, sewing up the man’s forehead. “By the time she's here, John will be too sick to know that - he trusts you, he won’t check. Choose that as her game, and she’ll survive.”

Tears welled in the corners of Amanda’s eyes, leaving traces of mascara staining her lower eyelids. In that poignant moment, she was reminded of Lynn's original purpose—the terminal cancer relentlessly devouring John. Each passing day marked a fading away, a gradual decline of his ability to eat, sleep, or perform even the most basic tasks that were once second nature.

He had become a mere shell of the man who had baptized her, a hauntingly hollow version of the person she had regarded as her father. The pain of witnessing this decline cut deep.

“I don’t want to lose him.”

With a nod, Lawrence skillfully finished off the stitch, completing the task of sewing up the man’s forehead, gently shifting the unconscious body aside for Amanda to attend to. She approached the cart, purposefully wheeling it into the next room for Hoffman to manage when he arrived, before resolutely returning to her designated station. Meanwhile, Lawrence immersed himself in the meticulous work of tinkering with the next figure.

Following a brief interlude of silence, Lawrence reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope, a manila folder bearing the title "ADAM."

The man absentmindedly rubbed his cheek, a telltale sign of countless sleepless nights, traces of dried blood smudging his chin. Metaphorically, he seemed to be in a position of supplication, resembling a desperate child pleading for mercy.

“Please, give this to him. I’m begging you, Amanda.”

Dr. Gordon remained oblivious to the weight of the plea. She carried the heavy burden of the things she had done, sins committed to reach this point. The haunting nights spent in a jail cell mirrored the relentless horrors of the evenings under the stairs in her childhood home.

Yet, at the end of the dark tunnel, there was a glimmer of light.

The sun had an accomplice. The sun danced with the moon. The sun shined so brightly, it hardly blinded her, while the moon wrapped her in it’s warm embrace, a small speck of reading light in the dark, cold air.

The sun was John Kramer.

The moon, Lynn Denlon.

And besides them, were two constellations, always aligned; chained, the lovers, Adam and Lawrence.

Amanda could only hope to be a star in this galaxy, but she understood the feeling of need, the feeling of belonging to, with someone.

So, deceiving John, a habit she despised, would need to occur again.

As Amanda grabbed the defunct collar, she felt the cold metal against her warm, sweaty palms, remembering all the nights she spent in the workshop to connect the heart monitor to the device, only to fail. John didn’t know.

She hated Lawrence, for having the audacity to put Lynn in danger. But, an eye for an eye - after all, it was her who helped trap the two men, and she felt sick even imagining a speck of fear in Lynn’s big, dark brown eyes. The way her long eyelashes fluttered perfectly, transfixed on her craft. Lawrence could only hope to be as brilliant as her - of course she was his choice.

So, holding out her hand for the letter, Amanda Young spoke in a soft, determined tone.

“Adam. He works at the gift shop, right?”

—

Adam sat on the silk covered sheets of their shared bed, the smell of Lawrence sifting from the soft flannel of his pajamas. Pressing the button on the pager, he let out a harsh, wet sob , waiting for a response.

Lawrence hadn’t been heard from in two days. Who knew if he was alive, or dead, back in one of Jigsaw’s traps. The thought made Adam sick, even the image of Lawrence in any kind of pain, had him feeling like he was swallowing nails. He had to keep hope. Lawrence was a doctor. He wouldn’t allow himself to die easily.

So, Adam continued. Paging and paging and paging. Pressing his thumb into the button with one hand, holding the nightshirt to his lips with the other.

His face felt so wet, but so dry. The salty tears staining his skin, the bed, once a silk haven, left to him like a coffin he was destined to rot in.

And then,

The buzz. The sign of life.

BBZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

The smaller man jolted upwards, grabbing for the pager and feeling as the device beeped in his hand. His cries turned to tears of happiness, relief as he felt Lawrence on the other side of the machine.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BBZZZZZZZZZZZ

Then - it clicked.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

10.

10 TIMES the pager buzzed. 10 times. It was Lawrence.

Adam cradled the pager against his chest, savoring the hauntingly romantic melody that seemed to lull him into a rare moment of relief, the first he had experienced in days.

As sleep gently enveloped him, memories surfaced—the sensation of Lawrence's arms encircling him in the hospital bed. The first night in their new home. The way their bodies touched on the couch, side by side, watching poseidon. The way he held him, through every nightmare and pain in his shoulder.

And now, the pager, swathed in the comforting fabric of Lawrence's sleep shirt, bearing the intimate traces of his cologne and the essence of his sweat that had become a lifeboat. Adam clung to it with a sense of yearning, a fervent grip akin to a child holding onto a cherished possession, as if this small device encapsulated his sole tether to hope in the vastness of uncertainty. He needed Lawrence, and so, he needed to have hope. He wouldn’t lie to him. In that moment, the tactile connection to Lawrence's essence, embodied in the shirt-wrapped pager, felt like an anchor grounding him amidst the turbulent sea of emotions and unanswered questions.

And as rest met his system, the pager went off all night.

Again,

And again,

And again.

And again,

And again.

The palm of his hand, the very hand that attended to his every need since their discharge, weathered with years of medical labor, its rough yet gentle touch brushing against his face, a symbol of steadiness and hope. The hand that calmed all of his self hatred, that cradled his heart, which bled like a fountain, the river of crimson red staining the bathroom floor.

BZZZZZZZ

Again, and again, and again,

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Until the final day, that they’d lock hands, a inseparable forever union, toes buried in the warm California sands, with only distant memories memories of their 10th date.

Together; the hand that feeds, and the heart that bleeds.

Two rats with their tails tied together, Chained.

Chapter 36: sequel out now <3

Chapter Text

Hi all!

I've written a sequel now, called wilted flowers in your medicine closet

please continue to read over there <3