The hardest part about adjusting to Silvio’s house was how quiet it was. Well, maybe not that exactly. It was how different the ambient sounds were. Simon’s always live in urban areas so the sudden change to a much more rural area was jarring, to say the least. He never realized he’d miss traffic noise until there was nothing but bugs and birds screaming into the night.

In spite of the change of scenery and a friend to look after him, Simon still wasn’t doing well. He was getting out of bed once, maybe twice a day – for a meal and a shower, usually. For the most part, Simon stayed holed up in whatever room Silvio plopped him down in after absconding with him.

The worst part? He felt like he owed Silvio an explanation. But how to do that without opening about some things he’d rather not think about? What had not thinking about those tings gotten him? Wasted in some bar and fucking a stranger in some back alley. Not his finest moment, for sure. And then the guilt and self-loathing set in. Wasn’t he better than that? Wasn’t he stronger?

Finally, he shuffled out for breakfast – up and active before 10am? Amazing! Simon’s barefoot in a pair of baggy grey sweatpants and a tank top that doesn’t leave much to the imagination when he padded into the kitchen.

“Silvio, can we talk?”