Leroy had a particular talent for hiding. Well, not in the literal sense—it was more metaphorical. Things that would frustrate others and push them in a way that would make them implode simply triggered a shutdown response in Leroy's mind. If he didn't talk about it or acknowledge it, those feelings ceased to exist. Well, as much as they could stop existing in his subconscious mind.

     Leroy had a really hard time empathizing with himself, and, by extension, a really hard time empathizing with others. Because if he could get over it, they could as well, couldn't they? It was what made his mother so unbearable to watch.

     However, things were noticeably different with Zachary. The older man tapped into a well of compassion Leroy didn't even know he had—and clearly didn't have for himself. Hearing Zach cough even a little was enough to get Leroy to ask a series of questions out of concern. Hearing Zachary sound a little moody in a phone call would sometimes eat at him all day in a way that made him contemplate dropping whatever he was doing to visit the man at his place.

     Zachary was important, and the small issues and problems of his day-to-day life needed Leroy's immediate devotion.

     It was so apparent that Leroy even noticed the behavior in himself, and sometimes he would stop and pause, wondering what made him treat Zachary so differently. Sometimes, a small sliver of guilt would eat at him, telling him it was because Zach was disabled, and Leroy perceived him as partially vulnerable and needing help—but—that wasn't really true. As bad as it sounded, Leroy could give a rat's ass about most people, and people who came off as needy or needing accommodations often created the same annoying feeling in his stomach he felt when his mother couldn't keep it together. So, Leroy had simply settled on the fact that he did what he did because he was enamored with the older man. His humor, his smile—the awkward way he held a plastic fork.

     He didn't feel resentment.

     He felt resentment when dealing with other people who tried to lean on him. He didn't get anything, and yet he had to give constantly. It didn't matter if it was at work, or back in school when dealing with women and peers who barely acknowledged him outside of what he could do for them.

     Zachary understood him. The man wasn't just taking from Leroy without giving back or with disregard for Leroy's current problems and issues. He felt seen—heard—even when not much talking was going on. There was a shared kindness and comfort that Leroy couldn't really explain, even now that they were wrapped up in Zach's bed, doing nothing but napping and occasionally looking out the window.

     "It's too hot..." Zachary muttered, bringing Leroy out of his thoughts. The younger man's eyes flickered to Zach, watching him rub his eyes with the back of his hands as he stretched. Zachary was wearing shorts today—courtesy of the heat wave. The sight of his long legs that made up the majority of him fascinated Leroy, and now also slightly annoyed him because it made sharing his bed difficult.

     "Can you turn up the fan?" Zachary asked, looking to the side. Leroy's heart felt like it had crawled up his throat when their eyes met. He'd thought that he would grow used to looking at Zach—he thought that his heartbeat would calm down, and the awkward nervousness of just being in his presence would slow down, but it didn't. Especially when they were this close, staring into each other's eyes.

     "The fan is already at its highest setting," Leroy said, watching the sides of Zachary's eyes crinkle up as the older man frowned and let out a sigh. The younger man's eyes immediately fell on Zach's lips, gauging them with interest as Zachary sighed again, rolling on his back.

     "I hate it here," Zachary said, making Leroy laugh. "What in the world is wrong with this state?"

     "It could be worse," Leroy said, a bit sad that he didn't have a full view of Zach's face anymore. "You could be in Arizona."

     "Well, fuck that."

     Leroy laughed, reaching out to touch the man's cheek. Zachary seemed startled and turned his head, and soon they were looking at each other again, and Leroy's stomach was once again a ball of nerves. He looked away, and Zachary shifted his gaze to the ceiling and the two started talking about their week, updating each other on the things they might have missed.

     "My sister told me she's going to visit my parents. Not sure how I feel about it. I don't really talk to either of them—" Zach paused, letting out a sigh. "It's just hard. It's like the mere sound of their voice is stressful. They've never really taken my limitations seriously. It's just a lot of yelling and berating about how I'm not trying hard enough." Zach chuckled a bit, but it was clearly strained. "Not dealing with them just seems easier right now."

     The conversation reminded Leroy of his mother, and how he'd heard her sobbing to herself earlier in the morning. He grimaced but tried to shake the expression from his face before Zachary could notice, but the older man did, anyway.

     Zachary blinked, noticing the shift in Leroy's mood. "Hey, what's on your mind?"

     "I don't know what to do about my mum," Leroy said, changing the conversation. "I want to hang out with her, but she's so miserable that it radiates off her. We can't go through a conversation without her mentioning my dad."

     Leroy sighed. "She cries all the time and acts skittish. Honestly, she's mentally draining to be around...." Leroy confessed. "I've never really argued with her about it, but I'm not really receptive to the needy stuff she wants to do. I don't want to talk about my dad or reminisce about what things would be like if he were here. He's not. She should get over it. Sorry, it's definitely not anything like what's going on with your parents, but I can kind of relate to the anxiousness. I mean, we live in the same house and barely talk."

     "You should be nicer to your mum," Zachary said, looking at Leroy with a concerned look. "The way you talk about her sometimes is worrying..." he trailed, and Leroy just stared at him, unsure of what to say.

     "I'm not trying to be rude..." he muttered. "It's Just sometimes I can't handle it."

     Leroy wasn't sure where the conversation was going, but he was starting to feel guilty—self-conscious about the way he talked about his mum.

     "You lost your dad, and she lost her husband," Zachary said, sighing as he closed his eyes. "Imagine that."

     Leroy sucked in his lips. "I don't think I would be like that if I lost a partner."

     It sounded harsh, but Leroy honestly felt that way. He would just push it to the back of his mind and list it as one of the many unfortunate things that happened in his life.

     "Not everyone's like you, and I'm sure you're not like you either," Zach said, as his eyes blinked open.

     Leroy raised a brow. "What do you mean by that?"

     "I don't think shrugging things off is just how you are. I think it's a coping mechanism," Zachary said, reaching out to touch Leroy's face with the back of his hand. "Ever since I've known you I can't help but feel there's so much you're not addressing. You shrug off a lot of concerning things you tell me. Are you sure you're okay with it? You don't ruminate? You don't wish things were different."

     Leroy blinked. "I—." Of course, he ruminated. Of course, if he had things his way, things would be different, but overthinking things made him dwell on it for days—sometimes weeks. It upset him. It gave him anxiety.

     It made things worse.

     Didn't Zachary understand that with everything he'd been through?

     "Sometimes I think about some things, and I'd go into this spiral of falling behind in work or school. I wouldn't eat well. I'd hide under the covers and overthink simple reactions that make socializing and getting everyday things done difficult. Thinking about it doesn't help at all, and I don't think it's working for my mum..." Leroy said, reaching out to hold the hand Zach had on his face. "I'm sorry. I can't see how it would help. Does it help you to think about the shitty stuff?"

     "Hmm..." Zachary seemed to ponder the question a bit. "I guess I'm more resentful that I never really had anyone to share those feelings with—not even my parents. It's awkward with my sister since I'm trying not to make her feel like a caretaker. I've had to process most of them on my own. I think there was a time in my life I was very depressed and writing down how I felt was really the only way I could cope. There was no one to share what I was going through with, and the internet scared—and still scared—the fuck out of me. The point is writing made me feel better. Less angry. Less anxious. There's a relief with sharing and acknowledging what happened and continues to happen to you."

     "I see." Leroy wasn't still sure if he got the full gist, but he sort of understood where Zachary was coming from.

     "I don't know if you have anyone to open up to, but I don't mind if you want to talk to me about things, even though I wouldn't fully understand them. I want to be here for you like you're here for me," the older man said, pulling his hand away before reaching out to brush the hair out of Leroy's face. "I don't care how insignificant you think it is."

     Leroy wasn't sure what it was about the situation that made his heart race and breathing stop. "Ah, okay," he managed as he tried to shuffle through the confusing feeling. "Sure," he mumbled, nodding as he looked at Zach's face.

     He remembered when they'd first met, how the whole experience of speaking to Zachary had felt a bit surreal. He'd wanted to do so much with Zach—he still did—but now he realized it meant a lot more than he'd initially thought. He wanted to open up to the man and share himself in a way he didn't even acknowledge personally.

     "Zach."

     "Hmm?"

     "Let's go to the movies next week," Leroy said, letting himself curl into the older man's chest. He remembered he'd mentioned it what seemed like weeks ago, but they'd never gotten around to it. He could feel the man's chest falling and rising with his breathing, and the methanol-medicated smell that filled the room from the diffuser that doubled as a humidifier was stronger on Zach's clothes.

     "Sure, we can see a movie," Zachary said, moving to wrap his hands around the younger man. "Anything you want."

     Leroy smiled, sighing as he closed his eyes to nap.