"He thinks my face is pretty," Marcus hummed through his smirk, and I only felt defeat as he slipped off the workbench and strolled over, only to snatch a smoke right out of the pack in my hand. He didn't even ask. "... well, I think my face is pretty too," he added confidently. "Light me."

This dragged a tired exhale from my tar-covered lungs. "... say please, at the fucking least."

"Please."

"Fucks' sake."

I lit his cigarette, and we just stared at one another after that, smoking in strange silence. Finally, after a bit, I could form a decent train of thought again.

"... can I just ask why you're not bothering my son? What's the point of hitting on me when the younger, hotter model is just upstairs, hmm? I'm not your guy, Marcus, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind about ending it."

He waved me off as he smoked, staring out into nothing. "It's cute you think I haven't already had him, Gid. Or rather, him me."

My mouth sort of hung open, and for once in my life, I felt legitimate embarrassment washing over me. I wasn't sure whether to be angry or fascinated by his openness and determination to get fucked.

Marcus rolled his eyes and huffed dismissively. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like I'm two-timing you guys. It only happened once. Drew got curious a while back, and I was happy to oblige him. We fucked, it was fun, and he was able to confirm that men aren't really for him. We've been close friends ever since; no hard feelings. It was just casual sex, no different than the wicked head I gave you."

I was honestly speechless—and quite frankly—wasn't sure I liked being so informed about my son's past sexual activity. The thought alone that we'd both had a piece of Marcus Anderson made me feel incredibly jealous, but incredibly sick all the same. Sons and fathers shouldn't be sharing pussy like that.

"Spit it out," he groaned. "Quit staring at me like that. Just admit it, you're jealous he got it in. Besides, you loved fucking my throat; loved it so much you'd do it again. Don't even bother trying to lie."

I hung my head in shame; because he was right, and he'd caught me red-handed.

"... don't you realize how fucked this is?"

He exhaled a plume of smoke and watched it dance in the air. "Fucked how, cause I'm Drew's bestie?"

"Obviously, and you're nearly eighteen years my junior. Nothing about it is okay, Marcus. If you can't see that, then I'm deeply concerned about your judgement."

"... that's rich coming from a man who's got plans to put that gun in his mouth tonight."

Fair enough.

I felt my chest start to ache again; the pain of my grief beginning to uncoil and rear its ugly head. The last thing I needed to do was cry in front of Marcus Anderson. That would make my shame complete.

"You don't understand." I murmured. "You didn't see what I did. It's not like I just decided to wake up and be like this, Marcus. It isn't like I just decided to break down when I came home. It just... happened. Before I knew it, I couldn't recognize the person in the mirror. It's not like there's a manual to tell you how to come home and slip right into civilian life as if it's nothing. If I could have made the pain go away sooner I would've. If I could go back and stop myself from re-enlisting when Drew was ten, I would. But I can't. He's grown now, has his own life, his own friends, his own dreams. I'm not a part of him anymore—I spent two years trying to reconnect, and he wants nothing to do with me. I should've taken the hint earlier. It's time for me to bow out, Marcus."

He sighed. "You wanna know what's shameful, Gid? That your wife couldn't see you breaking down before the divorce; that she didn't pay attention to the truth of what was happening to her husband. Even at fourteen I could tell you weren't okay. It didn't take a genius to see something was deeply wrong; that thousand-yard-stare, the late-night drinking on the front porch, the way you jumped whenever Aaron Kraljevic started his shitty Honda accord. Shocked that thing never exploded..."

I swallowed hard, tears behind my eyes. "... was it really that obvious to everyone?"

Marcus' expression softened, and he came close, his soft, un-worked hand caressing my face. I could have cried there. "Dude, at least we thought so. My mom voiced concern after the first time you guys all got together; you'd just come home from your last tour. Dad agreed. Hard not to notice."

"... It's no wonder she left me." I wiped my eyes. "After all was said and done, why would she wanna stick around and deal with my shit?"

"She didn't care, Gid, and you know it. She might've been Drew's mom, but that doesn't make her a saint. Name one time she tried to truly reach you through your pain—name one."

I just stared... cause now that I considered the question, I had to admit I couldn't think of a single time she tried. She'd ignored it, ignored me.

"... anyway," he continued, "rehashing this over and over in your mind, all the why's and what ifs, fixes nothing. You know the part you played in your failed marriage, and you regret it every day, but at some point you need to just accept that there's nothing you can do to fix the past. You beat yourself over the head every waking moment of your life, blaming yourself for Yahaira's death, yeah? Well, she got cancer, Gid. Cancer. You didn't make that fucking happen. Drew knows that I know that, and very sadly it ended up being her time. You're alive because that's how Fate intended it, no matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise. The present is here, Gid, it's now. He's upstairs on FaceTime with Rayleigh, and he needs you, even if he doesn't show it... he still needs you. If you go now, you take away the chance of building something new with your son. You take away his chance at knowing you; knowing how much you love him. Tell me how putting a round in your head solves any of that—how it fixes what's broken."

I swallowed hard and felt hot tears spill down my cheeks; for the first time in a long time, I cried, and not on my own drunk in the late hours of the night, but in front of another human being. "... I-I don't know..."

Marcus wiped my tears away with his thumbs and gave a melancholy smile. "It's not 'I don't know', Gid, it's 'you're right, it solves nothing, Marcus.'"

"Tell me how you're the one scolding me right now," I muttered, trying to stifle any more tears from falling.

He just smirked. "Maybe I tried to hang myself two years back, didn't know that now, did ya?"

I had no comeback, no words for Marcus Anderson now. All I could do was make hesitant eye contact and look on while he finished his smoke. Well, my smoke.

"... so, um, what made you unsuccessful in your attempt, if I may ask."

He stuck his tongue out as he extinguished his smoke in the ash tray I kept on the work bench.
"Mm, it was all rather ridiculous," he sighed. "Shortly after I'd turned eighteen I went on this weekend trip with some friends. We got an air B&B. I broke inside, couldn't take it anymore. So, on the second night of our stay I decided to hang myself off the staircase with a tie. I made quite the commotion apparently, and quickly after I blacked out, two of my friends got me down."

Damn.

Marcus ran a hand through his hair and stared into nothing as he thought. "... anyway, I was pissed, really. Came to and found them all staring at me like some horrible experiment-gone-wrong. One called my parents, the other, he cussed me out and called me 'fucking idiot', told me he never wanted to speak to me again. He left me on the floor, and didn't talk to me after that for almost a year. Parents came that same night and somehow talked me into coming home, but not of course without lots of yelling and cursing on my end."

"... what happened after that."

"They put me into some intensive outpatient program for three months. I was furious; thought the whole thing was fucking stupid. I couldn't see the purpose in it, didn't want to be there, resented that I was still alive. But slowly and surely, thanks to meds and tons of therapy, plus support from my parents, I started to find clarity again. Started to forgive and be accepting of myself, started to find healing. Anyway, it's not like my depression is gone, and sometimes I get suicidal ideations in dark moments, but I know better than to listen to them. Suicide is fucking selfish, and stupid, and it robs you of a future you couldn't see while blinded by depression and the pain of past trauma. I mean, if I'd killed myself then, I would've missed out on so many amazing things in this life. Id have ended any chance I had at fixing what was broken in me, and in the process I would have only succeeded in shattering the hearts of those who cared about me."

"... you really think Drew would care if I dropped dead?" I murmured.

Marcus nodded and looked away. "Hear me when I tell you that it'd break him, Gid. I don't know what he would do, and that honestly scares me. Yeah, you guys have a strained, semi-non-existent relationship at best, but I think if you guys truly give each other a chance, you can repair what broke all those years ago."

"You can't know that—"

"He still has all your letters." Marcus interrupted, his eyes pinned me down, their expression so sincere and severe, all at once that I had only to shut up and listen. "He keeps them in that black journal—the one you got him before you left when he was ten—they're still there, and he stores it with his other valuables. With things from Yahaira. No son who hates his father would hold onto such memories. Yeah, he's bitter, closed off, angry, and holy fuck does he need therapy—shit, both of you do, but he doesn't truly hate you... that I know."

I steadied myself on the work bench and caught my breath; trying to process every word, every assurance. "... you better not be lying about this."

Marcus waved me off and scoffed. "I'm not lying, dumbass. You think I'd fess up about sucking your son's dick and taking it up the ass but not about how much he still needs you? Give me a break; I'm more honest about the situation between the pair of you than either of you idiots combined."

Ouch.

I shut my eyes and took another steadying breath, tried to focus on the way the surface of the work bench felt under my fingertips; rough, weathered. Like me. Yet there I was, falling apart in front of a young man I hardly knew. It was embarrassing, but something told me I needed to be embarrassed. I needed to be ashamed; needed to be made to look at myself and my circumstances differently.

"Seems I'm finally getting through to you, Gideon."

"It would seem so," I gritted out.

Cool fingertips traced their way down my spine, lingered, slipped underneath my shirt and explored my skin; and suddenly he was at my side, his hand disappearing beneath my waistline. It was wrong, so wrong, and I should have stopped him, but the task of even speaking felt Herculean. Marcus hummed, and gave my cock a squeeze, his lower lip rolling into his mouth when I gasped, cursing under my breath.

Of course I was fucking hard.

"Am I your pity-fuck? Is that what this is?" I grabbed his wrist and forced his hand off. "What the hell is your angle, huh? You come in here and read me like an open book—try to help me mend my relationship with your best friend, and my son, who's fucked you already might I add, and then proceed to come for my cock again like it's nothing. Explain it to me, because I dunno Marcus, it all seems pretty fucking counterintuitive. Drew would put a round in my head himself if he knew what we did that night; if he fucking knew what I wanted from you!"

The look in his eyes faded, the smirk, the confidence. It drained from his face. He wrapped the sweater around his thin frame and looked away; I thought I might have finally seen some shame behind those brown eyes.

"... does he know?" I pressed.

"About?"

"You know what." The words out of my mouth felt like venom; for I wasn't the only one with secrets here. I wasn't the only one harboring shame.

"Of course he doesn't fucking know!" Marcus snapped, lowering his voice and head in shame. "How could I possibly tell my best friend that, Gid, huh? Yeah, you fucking caught me, we're both liars. Congratulations."

I grimaced and slumped down onto the floor, all my anger evaporating as quickly as it'd come on. "... If I could be honest, with myself, with you... with him, I'd have you in a heartbeat." I admitted softly. "But if we do this, Marcus, behind closed doors, and he finds out? We'll both lose him. Forever."

Marcus let out a shaky exhale and dropped to his knees on the cold concrete. "... I know."