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The four days following the movie with Michael were packed non-stop with studying. Granted we did make time to hang out a few times but for the most time it was just study study study. Both of us wanted to get good grades, not wanting to be that statistic that most freshmen fail their first semester.

It was interesting to see the sudden influx of students into the library, especially after my incident with Skyler. Now there was no place that was quiet, all study rooms having been booked out hours in advance. If you had a study group, well that could be at least a day in advance... it was stupid but funny in a way.

My normal spot down stairs was cramped, a few of the other students looking like they had never opened a book their entire semester. Most of them looked to be the party type, their hair unkempt, their clothes wrinkled. Even on Saturday, when it was clear that they were starting to go through their withdrawal from alcohol, their eyes were still bloodshot.

Me on the other hand, I was fine. I actually was having trouble finding things that I didn't know. Yea Biology was still annoying but I was at least able to get the gist of it down. Things grow from things; oxygen is good for the planet, shit like that.

When it comes to finals there are two types of people, those who love them and those who hate them. The ones that love them are either insane, happy that this is redemption for missing their entire semester, or just enjoy tests over coursework.

Those that hate tests however, my group, well we hate them for a whole variety of reasons. The most common is that this final exam can make or break a grade. If it breaks you then you don't get that perfect 4.0 GPA that the obsessive students freak out over. These are most commonly the medical students, thinking long term of their degrees and such. Another group that hates final exams are the ones that freeze up on tests, preferring coursework over questions in a times class.

My group however, we hate exams because they are a waste of time. It's not that they are easy or anything but we are the students that have calculated our scores already and know that pass or fail, we will still pass the stupid class. This was true for all my classes, but for my teachers if you didn't show up then it was an automatic fail. I don't know why they chose to put themselves though this but eh whatever.

So here I am, its 2 in the afternoon, studying mindlessly at the library. Shushes are passing around me to other students, pages flipping back and forth, last minute cramming going on. Completely bored about having to study any further, I pull out my phone and shoot Michael a text, "Hey need a study break, what u doing?"

While I wait for Michael to text back, I think back to this morning's run with Peter. It was a simple course, one that we had done before, just around the school. Apparently there was trouble brewing between him and Monica, though he was unable to put his finger on it. After the run he let me know that Sunday there was not going to be a run, mostly due to him having to study for a test on Monday.

Moving to pack my things together, my phone vibrates in my pocket, causing a dozen students to look over at me, glaring eyes eyeing me then my phone. Brushing off their angry stares, I glance down at the screen. "My place, 15 minutes?"

Finally relieved to get out of this place, I shoot Michael an "Ok" text then weave my way through the endless stacks of students, all of them hunching over their books and laptops. There is a reason they call it Dead Days, because you feel dead after studying for so long; your body aches, your eyes hurt, fingers have arthritis from the typing, it's all bad shit. As it was, the walk to the doors of the library was strenuous, the blood fighting its way back through my veins, working out the muscles with every step.

Reaching Michael's door, I was hesitant to knock at first, slightly remembering how testy Bryson was for me interrupting his studies. Granted that was at midnight but this was even worse now, being the middle of the day. Taking the leap of faith, I knocked on the door, silently at first then ending on a higher note. I only put on four blows, and by the last one, I heard movement increasing towards the door.

Moving back away, I expect a ripping to occur, maybe Bryson opening up on some anti-gay rant. Instead I was relieved to see Michael's calm face opening up the door. As the door opened wider, so did the smile on his face. Moving my arm off the strap of my backpack, I move towards him, wrapping my arm around his neck, pulling him in close for a kiss. It didn't take him long to catch the drift, his chiseled body pulling me inside his dorm, his lips sparking a connection to mine.

While we didn't have sex, suffice to say, the make out session was hot enough. I immediately dropped my backpack; the sack hitting the floor the same instant Michael hit the bed. He was wearing his typical Hollister attire, the plaid red and white long sleeve shirt making him come across as a mountain guy, matching his growing scruff of facial hair. The shirt didn't stay on long though, me unbuttoning it to reveal his rugby body.

"Whoa there, I don't know when Bryson is coming back. The clothes can't come all the way off." Michael says cautiously, his head moving back to look up at the door.

I respect the command but his shirt was still coming off. "Well then, what about a quick nap together?" His shirt is completely undone at this point and I am working to get it off his arms, allowing me to enjoy the full beauty of his body.

Michael purses his lips up at me, connecting them to my forehead before agreeing. Pulling my jacket off, he moved towards the shirt, pulling it over my head, allowing our bare chests to spread the warmth to each other. While I was on 'top' this time, Michael was the one rubbing my hair, caressing my back, relaxing. It was nice to fall asleep to the beat of his heart, the strong muscle pounding away against my body.

*****

The English Final was the first to come that week, and as to be expected, it was super easy. The 20 questions that we had were all based right out of the main text and the essay question was us choosing one of the topics we covered and writing a bit about it. I chose the love section and put a sappy touch on it. Maybe it was because of me being with Michael but it felt different from when I originally talked about the love stories.

My only other final for that day was the history final, the 100 questions working well but a few were trick questions. I did well, knowing that I walked out with a solid 90 or higher on the test but it was the few tricks that might have impacted whether I got a B or A.

Practice that afternoon was short and simple, most everyone focusing on the finals, which was the talk of the day. Who had what, how hard each others were, etc. As it was only about 6 showed up, making it a little small for an actual practice. In the end, Pike just called it for what it was and just turned it into a chuck-about, practicing any throws that we want to work on. There were no drills to work on, especially since our next tournament won't be till February at the soonest.

Pike was a little out of it, his studies clearly showing in his throws. Like the other upperclassmen, he was worn out from having to study for his actual major. I envied him in a way though because he knew what he wanted to go for in his life, the calling of physical therapy being strong for him. Me, I was still stuck figuring out what I wanted, though I was thinking of drifting towards English; Mrs. Steiner having a large influence on that.

My next two finals, the communications and statistics final on Tuesday and Wednesday were very easy. Communication was just us giving small speeches, a debate and a small 20 question exam. Statistics was a bit more, us having to examine charts and read what they meant. After both I was rewarded hang time with Michael, helping him study for his finals as well as him helping me study for Biology.

Thursday came around faster than I had realized, Biology taking the early slot in the morning. I was able to get Zach to help me a little on that front, him having returned Sunday to study last minute for his own finals. I knew I had it under wraps but it was still good to have someone with greater knowledge quiz me, and Zach was the man to go to. The test, while being only 50 questions in total, was harder than I had expected, me being able to only able to answer about 40 of them, the other ten getting bullshit answers. I have heard somewhere that going with "C" is always the best answer but I varied it up hoping to get at least one or two out of the ten correct.

Practice that day was small, the semester clearly wrapping up. Very few showed up and those that did didn't really stay around for too long. Bryan and Zach came with me and said their goodbyes to the team, making this their last practice before winter break. Andrew and Sarah came a little later, results of their finals getting them out late. Pike was a bit late to show up as well but we cut him some slack when we heard of his final; talk of human anatomy and how to cure certain injuries.

Like the previous practice, not much was done, just a simple toss back and forth. We all rehashed the semester, thinking over how we all grew as a team and who did what. We all enjoyed the beach party that happened, and I seemed to be a common topic, my dealings with Kyle coming up a lot.

After our "practice" ended, the three of us walked our last walk back to the dorm, the chill creeping into our skins at this moment. Right before we entered though, I was caught by the sound of my name. Looking around, I see Peter running up to me, his jacket soaked with sweat. Looking back at the guys, I let them know I will be up in a few minutes. "Hey Peter what's up? Hope the run was fun." I was joking with him about running without me.

Peter rests for a few seconds, catching his breath, he heaves out, "Hey," pausing for a second, "what are you doing tonight?"

Racking over my brain, I shrugged my shoulders, "To be honest, nothing. I was probably going to take Michael out for dinner or something. Celebrate ending our first semester with a dinner, maybe a movie afterwards. Why?" I opened up the door and ushered us inside the hall, the chill getting a bit too much for both of us.

Working our way to the front entrance, Peter explained his question. "Well it is my typical date night with Monica and I was hoping see if you and Michael wanted to double date. I know it is last minute but I could really use the favor. Monica and I have been on the rocks and having someone else there would be a little less stressful."

Warming up inside the lobby, I think it over, agreeing cautiously. "You know she isn't the biggest fan of me. I mean I will talk with Michael about it, and I am sure he will be fine with it, I am just warning you about her issues with me."

Peter, having finally caught his breath, stands tall, his frame showing why he is good for basketball. "I know but you were the first guy I thought of when it came to double dating. I wasn't sure if you were still here and am actually happy you are. Is 7 ok with you?"

Warily, I nodded, "Yea, 7 works for me. I'll see if Michael is able to make it. Let you know in a little bit ok?"

Peter moved forward and hugged me, catching me off guard. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Thanks bro." With that, he turned and headed across the quad to his own hall, allowing me to soak up the information that had just been presented to me. Dinner-7, need to let Michael know, need to shower and play nice with Monica. Great, it will be a fun night...

*****

As Peter had said, 7 o'clock was the time to go, him calling to let me know he was outside waiting. I was with Michael in his room changing and getting dressed. Bryson thankfully was not there, as we had kind of stripped down to our briefs and made out for a good 10 minutes, taking time to enjoy each other's company. Given that we were leaving soon, we knew we couldn't have sex. Still it didn't stop us from having fun, edging each other on to the breaking point.

Michael was looking slick, a nice black blazer matching the dark designer clothing underneath. I was just as nice, a blue button up shirt working together with same colored Dickeys. We both wanted to look nice, him for Monica and me for him. This was his first time meeting the bitch and I warned him about how she might be testy, doing my best to ease any troubles that might start to occur the moment we get to the restaurant.

Heading down to the lot we saw that Peter was in Monica's car, a little two seater Miata, an obvious sign that she didn't want us in the same car. Michael had a car big enough to drive all of us over but Monica was insistent that she drive over so we dropped it at that. After hearing that we were eating at The Spaghetti Factory, it was a simple drive over.

Following Monica through the freeways (she tried to lose us a few times) it became clear that the closest one was in Fullerton, the restaurant only 3 miles away from CSU Fullerton. A lump grew in my stomach about the chance of running into Kyle. I had still not apologized to him about the punch, something I was still debating on whether I needed to do or not.

Thankfully when we walked in he was nowhere to be seen. Monica however, she was right in my face. "Hey Chris, how are you doing? We didn't really get to talk much in the parking lot." The tone in her voice was very mysterious. I didn't know if she was trying to be nice or just putting on a show and waiting to attack.

Doing my best to play nice with the kitty, I smiled back, baring my full teeth at her. "I'm doing great. Thank you for asking. Peter was telling me things are going well between you two. Congratulations."

Peter and Michael are not too far away, Peter listening in as much as he can; the two of them watching the quarrel go on. They both know that if they enter, they might not like what they hear. Before we can continue our match of wits, the waiter called over to us, escorting us to our table. Prompting Monica to go first, I spitefully say, "Women first, I am a firm believer that chivalry isn't dead." This however is one of those moments I would love to lead first.

Monica takes the lead, grabbing Peter by his arm and walking arm in arm to the table. Michael and I hang back a little bit, Michael commenting in as much of a hushed voice as he can, "She really does hate your guts. This is kind of amusing."

"Yea it can be but it's getting old." I mutter over to him as we approach our table. Peter and Monica sit at one corner, Michael and I the other. I was fortunate enough to get the side opposite Monica, doing my best to stay as far away from the bitch as possible. "Man it has been a while since I have been here."

Pulling up the menu, I scan over the entries, then over the rim of the paper, seeing Peter and Monica choosing their food together. Well it is more like Monica choosing the food for the two of them. Looking over to Michael, and saying in the most obvious of voice as possible, "So Michael, what are YOU going to be having for dinner? See anything YOU like?" As much as I think it is cute when couples share dinners, watching Peter and Monica "choose" their dinner is sad. Peter really needs to grow a backbone.

Michael, not catching the mention at all, replies normally, "Umm, I really don't know. I was thinking of the Chicken Carbonara. What about you?"

While I am talking to him, my attention remains focused on the opposite two, "The spaghetti with spinach looks pretty good, especially with the chicken and Alfredo sauce. What about you Monica, see anything you like?"

Monica drops the menu, glaring at me for a split second then comments, "Peter and I were still deciding. We can't seem to decide between the Fettuccini Alfredo and the Chicken Parmigiana. Peter wants chicken but I am on a diet and not eating poultry"

_ _

Twitching my eyebrow, I coolly respond, "Well, you could get both. I am sure that Peter can finish off what you don't eat."

_ _

Peter is just sitting there silent, a slightly fearful look on his face. Michael, I don't know what he was thinking, comments out between Monica and me, looking directly at Peter, "Hey Peter, do you need to wash your hands? I need to and I don't feel like going alone." Moving his seat back, he starts to get up and head towards the restroom. Peter, without saying anything, quickly moves from his seat, ejecting himself from the situation in a hurried pace.

_ _

Once the two of them were out of earshot, I started counting in my head. 1, 2, 3... Once I reached 15, Monica tore into me. I knew it was coming, and now, realizing Michael's tactic, pulled out my phone to send him a quick thanks.

_ _

Monica, almost making a scene, hissed at me, "Listen you little shit; I don't know what your end game is tonight but... Are you listening to me?"

_ _

Looking up from my phone, completely aware of what she had said, but playing dumb, I look back up at her. Placing the phone next to my plate, I simply respond, "Huh what? Sorry I was busy."

"Listen, you stay away from Peter. I don't need you turning him," Monica starts to say right as Michael sends a text back to me. I can see her anger grow as I reach down to look at the phone.

Michael is stalling Peter in the bathroom, allowing for Monica and me to get out our words, doing his own part to ease the situation. His text: "Anytime, just play nice."

Sending a text back: "I'll try, she just started" I look at her, and then laugh at her, her jaw wide open at my brazenness. "I'm sorry, I had to answer that. It was important." Monica tries to continue on but I cut her off. "Shut up. Don't say a word."

I don't like speaking to women this way but for her I was making the exception. "I have no intention to 'steal' Peter from you. I already have a boyfriend. Or were you too dumb to see that? Plus you are doing a good enough job driving Peter away on your own. It's not like I need to do any pushing."

Monica's face goes white, "He has been telling you about us? What all has he told you?" There is a slight screech in her voice, as if she is having trouble accepting that men gossip too.

Taking a drink out of my water, I look over the glass, smiling in the process. "I know as much as he wants me to know, which has been quite a bit. Personally he deserves better." Placing my glass back down, I tear into her, "You're clingy. You're bitchy." At this point, the clinging of silverware to the dishes has died down a little. A few tables have started listening in. "The only reason I am here is because of Peter." Leaning in towards her, I continue, "I, unlike you, care for him. He asked for my help and I am there for him. You could give two shits about him."

Monica opens up for her rebuttal, "I DO care about him. How dare you judge me on my relationship? You think that your boyfriend, if you wanna call him that, constitutes as a relationship? You will never have a true relationship." The flames flash out, fighting my burns with equal strength.

Grinding my teeth together, I want to open up but Michael and Peter return to the table before I can say anything. Instantly putting on a smile, I look at the two of them. Standing up, I pull out Michael's chair, catching him slightly by surprise. Moving over to his ear, I kiss him on the cheek, "This just got heated, keep your head down."

Michael sits down in the chair, moving it forward. I move back to my chair and sit. Thankfully the waiter came over, barring any further conversation between the four of us. Michael and I both order our meals, then sit back as Peter and Monica sort out their meals, Peter caving into Monica and going with her Fettuccini Alfredo. I was a bit saddened that he was this whipped but I didn't want to ruin the mood of the night anymore.

_ _

Biting my tongue for the rest of the night, I did my best to avoid all conversation when dealing with Monica. We did have a few run-ins but for the most part we played nice, our nails scratching the underside of the table, each of us wishing we could speak our true minds.

_ _

I was happy to see the dinner end at around 8:30, the four of us not wanting dessert. The two couples split the bill, Monica and Peter paying for half (well more Peter paying for half) and Michael paying his share and I paying mine. We still had not sorted out how we were going to do the money issue, who pays when so it was agreed that we pay our own share tonight.

_ _

Monica took no time at all dragging Peter to the car, leaving almost in a hurry. It was amusing in a way but sad as well. I felt bad for Peter being stuck in such a situation. He knew I didn't approve of her but my respect of him made me have to respect her, but only when he was around.

_ _

Moving to the car with Michael, we wrapped our hands around our waists, conserving the heat between our bodies. Pulling into the car it was nice to get back to warmth. Michael started up his little four banger Honda Civic, a typical college car that could handle a beating, and pulled out onto Harbor Boulevard. It was not too busy tonight, the street thankfully clear tonight.

_ _

Heading south towards the freeway to get back to Long Beach, we took it at a leisurely pace. Right when we passed Denny's, ahead of us a horrible crash happens. It was trippy watching the entire event unfold.

_ _

It was a silver car that was hit, fully broadsided by a beige SUV. The silver car was coming towards us, heading northbound but after crossing the intersection the SUV slammed right into the driver's door, pushing the little car right across the street and into the turning lane. As we got closer to intersection it began to dawn on me whose car it was. I had not really seen him drive it before but seeing him lie there in the driver's seat, I freaked out.

_ _

Shouting out loud, I unbuckled my seatbelt. "STOP THE CAR!" My mind was whirling at the sight of him; blood was dripping down his face, the airbag now deflated against his chest.

_ _

Michael came to an immediate stop, pulling over close to the wreck, and then it became clear to him who he was looking at. "Isn't that, oh shit! That's Kyle!" Michael cut the engine, and attempted to chase after me.

_ _

I was out of the car before he had even pulled to a complete stop, rushing towards Kyle and the wreck. The driver of the SUV was ok, his family behind him stunned but ok as well. I didn't even check on them, instead running straight for Kyle. Moving over to his door, I screamed at him, "Kyle! Kyle can you hear me?! Fuck!" He was out of it, his head drooped forward, blood flowing down from his hair.

_ _

A crowd was growing at the corner, people stopping to take pictures. Yelling over to them, I shouted, "Someone call 911! Michael call 911!" Turning back to the car, I attempted to open the door but it was too smashed in to budge, the metal fighting me with every pull I make. With my fingers starting to wear down on their strength, I move over to the passenger's side, opening the door, and moving in to Kyle.

_ _

He is covered with glass, powder from the airbag, and blood. His arm is bent in a horrible way, not looking natural in its appearance. Pressing my fingers to his throat, I am relieved to feel a pulse, a low one but one none the less. "Chris, paramedics will be here in less than ten minutes!" I hear Michael shout through the window, seeing him move over to the car in the process. "How bad is it?"

_ _

"It looks bad. He isn't responding, it looks like his arm is broken, and his pulse is low. Help me get him out on the passenger side." It was going against conventional thinking, moving an injured person from their original position but I felt it was necessary. Joys of being an army kid, and especially since the attack, I always carried a knife now. Pulling it out, I cut the seatbelt, making it easier to get him out without having to lift his arms.

_ _

Kyle dropped over to me once the belt was cut. The back door opened up, the owner of the SUV moving in to the seat to assist. "We are taking him out?" He was an older gentleman, grey hair mixed with black. He was bleeding as well but not as much, just a slight cut on his forehead.

_ _

"Yes, the ground outside. Please help me move him." I grab the shoulders, doing my best to keep the arms on his waist. If his arm was broken, I didn't want to aggravate it any further. Not that it too much to do that anyways because once we started moving Kyle, a groan slid out his mouth, further indication that he was still alive.

_ _

_The older gentleman took the limp body, helping slide Kyle out from the car. I had the shoulders and the man had his legs. Moving him a few feet away from the wreck, we laid him flat. Moving to my phone, I did the next thing that came to my mind. The phone rang on the other end before a female's voice answered. "Ally, Kyle has been in a crash. I don't know what to do. I have gotten him out of the car and paramedics are on their way." _

That moment Ally came more vocal. "Umm, hang on." There was a slight shuffle in her phone before she came back, "Ok where are you?" Relaying my location, she continued, "Ok, I will call his parents. The paramedics will most likely take him to the Anaheim Medical Center. DON"T MOVE HIS BODY ANY MORE." She was very stern on that statement, her knowledge showing through on bodily injuries.

_ _

"Yea I know, I just wanted to get him out of the car." Looking around I see a fire engine pull up, the firefighters running towards me. "Hey the fire department is here. I will talk to you later. Thanks." I really didn't let her respond, shutting the call right as the guys came up.

_ _

While we waited for the paramedics to arrive, the fire fighters administered their braces, putting a neck brace around Kyle. The paramedics arrived like they had said, in the ten minute time frame that they had given. They moved Kyle to a stretcher while the firefighters moved to take care of the owner of the SUV.

I felt so useless at the moment, just standing there in the cold watching it all unfold. I wanted to be there to hold Kyle's hand, tell him it was going to be alright but I couldn't. Michael came up to my side and pulled me in. I started sobbing onto his chest, seeping out, "I was pissed with him but I didn't want this."

"He will be alright. He is in good hands now." Michael did his best to comfort me, rubbing my shoulder in the process.

I looked up to him, my eyes watery. "I'm sorry. I need to be with him. Follow us to the hospital please." It was a stupid move to pull but after all that I had done to Kyle, I owed him this much. I broke off from Michael, who stood there slight stunned, and worked my way over to the ambulance. The words I said next, I knew they were going to bite me later, I wasn't thinking straight when I said them. "Listen, I am his boyfriend! Please let me ride with him!"

The paramedic looked at me then to the driver. After receiving a nod from the driver, he ushered me in then slammed the door. It was hard to see Kyle in the condition he was in. He was always a strong guy. Even when I punched him, he still had that aura that he could hold his own. Seeing him now, all defenseless and weak, the bruising already setting in and slight bloating up the side of his face; it was hard for me to look at him.

The ride to the hospital, while only 3 miles if that, seemed to take forever. When we arrived however, things only slowed down more. Pulling up to the Emergency Room entrance, the nurses opened the door and pulled him out. I was the last one out of the ambulance, chasing after Kyle to the doors. When we got inside, I was shut out when they entered the Emergency Room.

The nurse manning the door, while she tried her best to look like she cared, spewed the usual bullcrap, "Sorry son, only family beyond this point."

I did my best to fight back, "I am his BOYFRIEND!" I cried out, wanting to be with him the entire way, "IF I WAS A GIRL I WOULD BE ALLOWED IN!" I shouted, starting to cry. Stumbling back, I felt weak in the legs. The nurse did nothing to help, no change of mind, nothing. I almost hit the floor, my legs giving out on me, but Michael came to my rescue, grabbing me by my arms.

Moving his arms under my armpits, he lifted me back to my feet then turned me around. "Hey lets grab a seat." Moving slowly, my mind going numb from everything going on, I follow him to the waiting area. Michael sits down first, staring blankly at the wall.

I follow suit, looking blankly at the wall, and then am woken from my state by my ringing phone. Pulling it out, I cough out dryly, "Hello?"

Ally is on the other end, a sense of urgency in her voice. "Hey where are you? Are you at the Anaheim Medical Center?"

My mind was slow to process her demand, and then it tried to figure out where we were. Looking around, I did notice the sign above the door. "Umm... yea. Kyle is here. He is in the ER at the moment."

Ally continues, "Ok, his family is on their way. They should be there in a few hours. Please stay there till they arrive."

"Um sure, yea." I was really not into talking at the moment. Kyle was injured. More than I had wanted to have happen to him. Was this karma for him hurting me? Was this karma for me hurting HIM? Make me guilty for not saying sorry? Ally didn't talk much longer, hanging up after that.

It was silent for a good 20 minutes but then Michael opened up, asking the words that I didn't want to hear that this moment, "Do you still have feelings for him?"

My eyes are bloodshot as I look over to him. I can't believe he just asked me that. How was I supposed to respond? 'Umm yea you dumbass, I still care for him. Love, I don't know.' Instead I went for the easier route, "I don't know." Michael shut up after that, not pursuing the topic any further. I knew it would come back though, when I was not sure.

About an hour later, now 10 at night, the doctor came out. Kyle was going to be alright. We were allowed to see him, Michael though choose to stay in the waiting room. It was hard walking up to the room alone but I had to do it.

Kyle was all torn up. His face was cut in multiple places, his left arm in a cast, his head wrapped up. Moving over to the chair, I pulled it close to the right side of him. "Oh god Kyle. I am so sorry. I never wanted this to happen to you." Taking his hand, I kissed it, holding it close to my face. I swore I felt it squeeze back but he was too out of it to respond. His hand was softer than I remember, smooth on the tips and gentle in the palm.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I look up to see a man standing in the doorway. The guy is wearing a leather jacket, a helmet hanging from his hands. Scanning my brain, which is still shot, I try to remember who the guy is. After a few seconds of silence between the two of us, it hits me, this was his boyfriend.

"I, umm... was checking up on him... I found him at the crash. I'm soo sorry." Moving from my seat, I stumble back.

The guy moves forward, looking down at Kyle then back at me. "Get out." A tear starts to form in his eye. Slight anger is seen in his eye as well, informing me that it would be unwise to stay.

Moving towards the door, I work my way around him, then start to head out. His boyfriend takes my seat and holds Kyle's hand, the hand that I should be holding. As I exit the room, I hear the words that make me tear up even more, the ball in my stomach that makes me want to puke.

Kyle speaks out, no, calls out. It is a hoarse call but it is a call nevertheless. I can't bear to hear it so I keep moving as the call continues. "Chris, Chris."