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towel.”
    “Did you look in the upstairs cupboard?”
    “Yeah, and the hamper. Can’t find it anywhere.”
    “Well, I’ll keep a lookout for it and get it back to you.”
    Adam tensed a little. “That’s fine. I’ll find it. I’m sure it’s here.”
    He should have known the dismissal wouldn’t work. Brad had sought him out. Brad had never liked the idea of Adam moving out. Brad hadn’t even really wanted them to break up, just wanted Adam to learn his place or come crawling back begging—something that part of Adam still wanted to do but that more of him knew he shouldn’t. Part of him wanted to give in, but too much of him still remembered how awful it had been at the end.
    Most of him, though, was too busy thinking, It’s his house, not yours. You don’t belong here. Get out, get out, get out!
    Adam drew a steadying breath and let it out through a slightly chattering jaw.
    Brad made a tsk ing sound. “You’re doing it, aren’t you? You’re doing that people-in-the-wrong-house thing.”
    “I’m just looking for my towel,” Adam repeated, carefully, like the lifeline it was. “I won’t be but another few moments.”
    “It doesn’t have to be another few moments.” Brad finished his descent and swanned over to Adam, lighting gracefully on the corner of the sorting table, folding one delicate leg over the other. “I told you. You’re overreacting. You never had to move out just because we broke up.”
    Adam made himself release a steady breath. “That’s not why I moved out. It was time.”
    “Look at you. You’re shaking and twitching and freaking out over a towel. How can you live on your own when you’re like this? What do you do when you have a panic attack and no one is there to help you?”
    “I don’t have them,” Adam snapped.
    “Not yet. You’ve been gone not even two weeks. You will have one, though. You have them all the time. And what then?”
    “I don’t know.” Adam bunched a wad of other people’s dirty clothes in his hands, realized what he was doing, and dropped them with a heavy shiver. “It’s not your problem, okay? Leave me alone.”
    Brad pushed off the table and came to stand in front of him. “Just come home. Please. This is ridiculous.” He took Adam’s hand, and when Adam caved and looked up, he saw all the love and empathy Brad had to give, the comforting space that had drawn him in the first place, the acceptance that had made him, at least for a while, feel normal. He wanted it again. The cost that came with being with Brad suddenly seemed irrelevant.
    Anxiety, OCD, and perhaps simple common sense sent up a flurry of butterflies. Mayday, Mayday! Get out of here, or you’re going to make another stupid mistake!
    “You know,” Adam said, his voice shaking with forced brightness, “you’re right. If you find my towel, bring it to the lab. Have a good evening.”
    Not waiting for a reply, he grabbed his box and all but ran to the stairs, hurrying up them as Brad called for him to wait, wait . As he bolted out the door, Adam tossed a nervous wave to Ollie, then headed down the walk and around the corner to his car. By the time he got there, his breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. He was a ball of sweat, and his vision was half-colored red by his impending attack. With Lamaze-like breathing and a lot of internal deal-making, Adam tossed his box on the passenger seat and drove like a nervous grandmother to his apartment, where he locked the door and crawled into his bed. Drawing the covers up over his head, he whimpered as he hyperventilated quietly in the dark.

    Dating Brad had seemed like such a good idea at the time. They’d moved into Crispin House within days of each other, and for over a year were simply friends, bonded by their orientation, their academic discipline, and their love of Thai food. Since Brad had also lived in the same house as Adam, they could stay up late on the couch and neck and it wasn’t any trouble, because by