I was standing in front of the closet with the two cardboard boxes containing the entirety of my wardrobe. Maybe if I bought one of those closet organizers or something.

He grabbed me from behind, snaking his hand up underneath my shirt. "Clothes are overrated," he said as he pulled me backwards onto the bed with him.

"Not words I ever expected to hear from you."

He stuck out his tongue. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're not the least bit helpful, you know?"

"Mmm. I wasn't trying to be."

We had been back from lunch for several hours. Gabrielle was resting and reading in the front room, recovering from jet lag, and I had decided to make myself useful by trying to reorganize the flat so that there was some room for my stuff.

I hadn't brought all that much with me as Lestat had plenty of furniture and the place really was small - just kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and living room. So my furniture had gone into storage for the most part. I did keep my computer desk, which I was pretty sure could fit into a corner in the living room if I rearranged the couch and TV. For now, though, it was taking up space by the front door.

The rest of what I had was mainly clothes and books and CDs and that sort of thing. My computer, of course, and an extra TV and DVD player which we'd already installed in the bedroom.

The problem was that Lestat also had clothes and books and games and videos and all sorts of shit. Lots of it. And it was just strewn around the house. So I couldn't really put anything of mine away unless he straightened up his stuff first. I tried to impress this upon him, but he just laid on the bed, reveling in the fact that he could now play Grand Theft Auto without ever having to actually get up.

In the end I decided to do it myself, since I had nothing else to do today. I had managed to get various shelves and CD racks into some semblance of order but had left the clothes for last, knowing it to be a lost cause from the start.

But now Lestat's hand was hot on my stomach, his tongue trailing across my collarbone and up my neck, and I was beginning to think that, yeah, clothes were pretty overrated.

A vague sort of 'Isn't this what I was trying to avoid?' flitted through the haze in my brain, but what I said was, "Shut the door."

He did and then he was kissing me again and I ceased thinking altogether.

I looked at the clock and watched the bright red numbers change from 3.48 to 3.49.

Louis had fallen asleep sometime around midnight while I was still playing Grand Theft Auto. I couldn't sleep and so I stayed up, playing with the sound off and the lights out and the door shut so I didn't wake my mother, who'd gone to bed hours before, jet lagged from her flight.

Around two my head had started feeling too heavy to hold up, and it was an effort to keep my eyes focused, but when I laid down and closed my eyes, my mind wouldn't shut off.

And so now it was getting on towards four and I was still awake. I'd drifted off a few times, but it was never for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. Then I'd be awake again and thinking.

I looked over at Louis. He lay on his side facing away from me, but if I reached out I could touch him; the bed wasn't that big. I could have reached out and felt the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. I could have pulled him close and folded my legs behind his knees, molded my body to his, buried my face in his neck and wrapped my arms around his waist and he would have been solid and there and real.

Right now in the darkness everything felt thin and fragile and easily broken. Like if I breathed too hard it would shatter. I wanted to touch him, but I didn't.

Instead, I let my mind wander. I thought about how he looked this afternoon, straightening up and trying to find room for his stuff here in my house. I had to think of it that way; it made things seem a little more even, made me feel a little less vulnerable.

From there it wasn't much of a jump to what came after: his skin hot under my fingers and lips, the blare of the TV fading to a distant buzz until all I could hear was his heartbeat, his voice low and thick as he told me to shut the door, and then kissing him as if it had been years instead of hours since the last time we did this.

I had thought to prove to myself how much he needed me and only ended up reinforcing just how much I needed him. Even when he gasped and moaned and bit his lip to keep from crying out, even when he came hot down my throat, even when he kissed me hard, his tongue sliding against mine and his fingers sliding along my cock, even when he said he loved me as I came, it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Afterwards he had kissed me again, sweaty and sticky and smelling of sex. His face was flushed and he was smiling and he looked so perfect, I wanted to cry.

I was hard now, remembering, and I could have reached out and kissed him and it could have been slow and sleepy, him holding me, and I could have talked to him maybe, my face buried in his hair, the darkness giving me courage. But I didn't.

Instead, I jerked off hard and fast, trying to keep my mind blank, just wanting to get it over with. I lay there afterwards, one arm thrown over my eyes, still unable to sleep.

I never had put my clothes away yesterday, so this morning I pulled out a pair of slacks from one of the boxes and, because I didn't feel like ironing, grabbed a shirt of Lestat's from the closet. A little looser through the shoulders than I would have liked, but it would have to do.

Lestat was still asleep and when I went to kiss him goodbye, he tried to pull me back into bed with him.

"Why're y'dressed?" he mumbled, tugging at my pants.

"It's 9.30; I've got work."

"Work?"

"Barnes and Noble, remember? I start today."

He rubbed his eyes and frowned at me, still not fully awake. "Hmm?"

He flopped over and grunted into his pillow, but when I reached the door, he said, "Which store, the one at the Promenade or the one at the Pavillion?"

"Pavillion."

He mumbled something that might have been bye or okay, but I couldn't tell. I stood in the doorway, waiting to see if he'd say anything else, but he seemed to have gone back to sleep.

"I'll be back around five," I said and closed the door behind me.

Gabrielle was awake. She had folded her blankets neatly in a stack on one end of the couch and was curled up at the other end reading a travel guide to Los Angeles. I said good morning as I left, but her only response was a barely perceptible nod.

I wasn't happy with having to leave Lestat to deal with her alone today, but there was nothing I could do about it. It wasn't like this was the best job in the world, but I couldn't very well call in sick on my first day. And I didn't think Lestat would appreciate the gesture even if I did.

The drive was short, Sunday morning traffic (or rather the lack of it) being what it was, and it was only down the road anyway. I would have rather found something in the Village, but even all the holiday-only jobs had already been snatched up by the time I decided I needed another job besides TAing. Hopefully this job would last, then at least I'd have something going after graduation while I looked for a real job.

"What're your plans for today?"

She looked up from the guide she was reading, seeming somewhat surprised by my presence. "I was thinking about the Getty Museum since it's so close."

"I can't go with you," I said quickly. Always better to reject than be rejected. I scrutinized her face, trying to find some sign of disappointment, but as always, she was unreadable.

"I'll call a cab."

I stood there in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do next. How had I ever lived in the same house with her all those years?

I realized then how much I had relied on Louis yesterday, even when he'd been in the other room, it was just knowing that he was there. I wanted to call him up and plead with him to come home now, please, don't leave me alone again, and at the same time I wanted to tell him not to come home at all.

I heard her ask if she could use the bathroom and I heard myself answer, but it all seemed far away. When she was gone into the other room, I collapsed on the couch.

This is not working.

The phone was there on the table next to me, and I picked it up and scrolled through the numbers, pausing on Louis' for what seemed like ages.

I flipped past it and called Bastien instead.

To be continued...