Page 7 of No Rhyme or Riesling

Adam gave him a nod of thanks as he handed it back, then shot to his feet, tugging on the hem of his shirt in a futile attempt to cover his nudity. “Be right back.” He darted off to his bedroom, returning a moment later with his jeans back on. The boy sank onto the couch, all traces of humor erased as he looked up at John from under his eyelashes. “You're not gonna be able to stay the night, are you?”

John winced. He glanced past Adam, picturing the urn that rested just beyond that wall, and shuddered. “I'm sorry, baby.” He shook his head. “I don't think I can.” He paused. “It felt like he was watching us. Watchingme. Judging me for being with you. For touching you.”

Adam's face scrunched up. “Aaaaandif the mood hadn't already been dead, it is now. Thanks for that image. Dad watching us fuck? Shit.” He barked a laugh, but the humor quickly vanished again. Adam squirmed where he sat. “I could…you know…maybe put it in the other room?”

John opened his mouth to sayyes, but stopped himself. For one thing, it wouldn't be enough. Having the urn out of sight wasn't going to make him forget it was there. But more importantly, Adam's body language spoke volumes. The hunch of his shoulders was like an audible scream. Putting that urn somewhere else would crush him.

And John wouldn't do that to his boy.

“No, don't,” John finally replied. He watched Adam's shoulders drop with relief even as an apologetic grimace crossed the boy's face. “It's okay,” John murmured.

“Is it?” Adam asked. “It's been almost nineyears. Nine years! And I'm gonna be twenty-seven soon, which means he's been gone a whole third of my life. Fuck! Shouldn't I be over this by now?”

John reached out and gave Adam's hand a squeeze. “Like I've told you before, everyone grieves differently. If you're not ready, you're not ready.”

Adam looked down and slowly nodded. Before John could say anything more, the boy stood up and said, “So. Your place? I'll pack a bag.” With that, Adam whirled around and started off for his bedroom again, only to stop and turn back. “Or would you rather be alone?” he asked quietly.

John considered it. He'd had a hell of a week, and a quiet night at home was exactly what he needed. But his boy also needed him. John wasn't going to abandon Adam. Not again.

“I could…sleep on the couch?” he suggested, checking the corners again as he said the words.

Adam barked a laugh. “Okay, one, that couch is too small, even for me, and you get grouchy when you don't sleep well. I still don't know how Theo managed it when he stayed here with Haven over Christmas. Two, we both won't fit, and I really want to sleep beside you. And three, momentary mood killer aside, I'm really gonna need you to fuck my brains out at some point tonight, so if we can't do that here…”

John slowly nodded. Could he get the specter of Frank Barnes out of his head, even at his own house? He wasn't sure now, but at least he wouldn't have an urn staring him in the face. Maybe, once he was back within the safety and familiarity of his own four walls, it would be easier to ignore the past hanging over their heads. “Go pack a bag.”

Adam grinned and whirled away.

John slowly got up and made his way to the front door. He paused at the kitchen, his stomach growling when he spotted thelasagna resting on top of the stove. John wrapped up the dish and set it on a table by the entryway, then checked to make sure he had everything while he waited for Adam.

Several minutes passed. John chuckled to himself, picturing Adam scrambling about his room, tossing clothes haphazardly all over the place. When he didn't hear anything, John slowly made his way down the hall, coming to a stop before he inched towards Adam's bedroom door.

He peeked in and found the room empty. Clothing was strewn all over the floor and furniture, just as he'd suspected, but no sign of Adam.

John frowned as he continued down the hallway, checking each room as he went. He passed the main bathroom, then Adam's roommate's bedroom. Both were empty. At the end of the hall, another door stood open. John approached it, then lurched to a stop.

“Christ,” he gasped, taking in the space. “I thought this was a closet.” The few times John had been over, this door had always been shut, and he'd never suspected it could be a third bedroom.

Adam twisted back to look at him over his shoulder, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry it's a mess. You don't have to look.”

John took a step inside the room. Which was just about all he could do, considering the clutter. “What is all this?” he asked, waving at the endless sea of boxes stuffed into every available space in and around all the furniture crammed into the room.

But he knew the answer even before Adam voiced it. “This is all the stuff from the Idaho house,” Adam said. “I used some of the furniture for the apartment,” he went on, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder, making John suddenly realize why the couch and the dining table had always looked oddly familiar. “And some of the kitchen stuff. But I couldn't make the rest fit, so I put it all in here. Plus all of Dad's old business records and…hell.I don't even know what's in those boxes anymore. Probably old toys and school papers from my childhood. Dad did love to keep everything.”

“Christ,” John whispered. His skin crawled at the sight of all that chaos and clutter. He suddenly wanted to go home and downsize again. Do another purge of anything he could live without, just to give himself more room to breathe.

“I guess I never really realized just how big that house was until I had to pack it all up,” Adam murmured. “Not that I actually packed it up. I paid some movers to do it, but…yeah. You know what I mean.”

John barked a laugh. “I thought the same thing after my folks died and I had to clean out their place, getting it ready to sell.”

Adam shifted, like he was adjusting a weight in his arms, then reached out to touch an old rocking chair. “How–” he began, but John interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping around to see the urn tucked into the crook of Adam's arm.

Adam grimaced. “I thought I'd try. Even though you said not to. But then I got in here and I couldn't make myself set it down.”

John hesitated, eyeing the urn before he reached out and rubbed small circles between Adam's shoulder blades. “Go put it back,” he murmured.

“Okay.” Adam gave the room one last, sweeping look before he followed John out and shut the door.

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