When Fizz had stopped taking his pills altogether, and wanted to come out of his room once in a

while, that’s when his parents had noticed. His mother would rant at him, then cry, and ask him why

he wasn’t taking his pills. Then his father would shout at them both.

Three weeks of that, then they’d kicked him out. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that they had. Now he was

settled in, Fizz rather liked the pub. Even Rachel and Pete had warmed to him, especially when they’d

seen him help out in the bar. Fizz hadn’t taken any pills for the five weeks he’d been there, which

made it almost two months in total.

There were lots of unopened packets in his bag. His mother must have put them in his bag for him.

Fizz hadn’t thought about his pills until a few days ago. It was kind of pathetic, he thought. Barely a

few weeks off pills, and he worried he wasn’t coping. He’d had to deal with a different kind of panic,

and it was all centred around one person.

Last time Fizz had seen him, Ash mentioned off hand about going for dinner at his house. As in,

meeting his family. Fizz had almost had a panic attack on the spot. Never mind the thought of an entire

evening with people he didn’t know – Ash’s family! – but did that mean they were more than friends

now? And if that was the case, what would come next?

Would Ash want to kiss him, touch him? Fizz thought a lot about what Ash might want. Yes, he was

scared; scared of how much he wanted this. He was even more freaked out by the sudden reappearance

of his libido, like a phoenix burning inside him. He wanted this, he knew it. But he worried he might

snap, or make an idiot of himself.

What if he had a panic attack in front of Ash’s family? He’d embarrass himself and Ash. It would

be horrible. No, Fizz needed help. How did normal people deal with this stuff anyway? He hated

himself for being such a coward, but he couldn’t do this alone. The first signs of something

resembling a life, and he ran back to the meds.

Pathetic.

There were plenty of pills left. It was too much of a temptation. A familiar, bland cushion to

replace his fret and worry. Three days ago, Fizz had popped a pill. His first in two whole months. He

hadn’t told anyone, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

If he needed more, he’d go to the doctor’s and get more when he needed to. He knew how to take

the pills, he wasn’t an idiot like the doctors thought he was. Fizz just didn’t like taking them. He

didn’t like the nausea, the spaciness, or the nightmares that came with them.

His body had never taken to pills particularly well. Maybe he could stick to one a day, just to take

the edge off his anxiety. So far, he’d felt okay. Today, however, Fizz felt the first onset of spaciness

creep in around his senses. His dreams last night were lucid, and weird. He even dreamt a dark figure

was leaning over his bed, whispering in his ear. Several times he’d woken up – or thought he had – and

worried someone was in the room with him.

But it was just a dream.

Later, after getting up, he wasn’t even sure if he was awake properly. That meant the pills were

working.

Great.

Fizz felt tired, sluggish, and he sat in his room, staring at nothing. He didn’t even have his music

player on. He blinked his eyes sleepily. What time was it? Ash would be here soon; he’d said he would

come by after his lectures. Fizz dragged himself up, and walked slowly to the door. He thought he

heard someone click their tongue in disapproval, much the same way his mother always did.

Of course, there was no one else in the room with him, so he must have imagined it.

Fizz forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, and walked down the hall. Noises streamed

from the kitchen, possibly the TV. It didn’t mean anyone was in there, as the TV was often left on.

When Fizz rounded the corner, he saw Sammy at the kitchen counter. He started in surprise when he

saw Fizz, and Fizz noticed the bottle of vodka Sammy quickly shoved away into a cupboard, and the

glass he tried to hide in the sink.

“You okay?” Fizz asked, concerned.

“Huh?” Sammy glanced at him, then away. “Yeah, fine.”

Fizz looked at Sammy closely, noting his anxious, darting eyes, and the faint flush stealing over his

cheeks. There was a small pinkish mark on his neck. It took Fizz a few moments to realise what it was.

A love-bite.

“Are you...sure?” Fizz asked.

“Yes.” Sammy pushed past him, and had retreated from the kitchen by the time Fizz smiled. Well,

at least he wasn’t the only one who got flustered. He wondered who it was Sammy had been with. Fizz

stepped to the sink, and picked up Sammy’s used glass, turning on the hot tap. He held his fingers

under the water as he waited for the heat to come, and gazed out of the window, trying to see into the

beer garden below.

It had stopped raining, quite suddenly, and the sun had come out from behind the clouds. Fizz liked

to look out of the window. Lately, he’d taken to doing the washing up here. He’d noticed Ryan usually

ended up doing it, and Fizz wanted to help. As lame as it sounded, he liked standing at the window,

doing a relatively simple task.

Since collecting the glasses and plates downstairs, Fizz had become strangely attached to stacking

dishes neatly, and doing little jobs. He wanted to help out if he could, and none of the others seems to

like washing up. He washed Sammy’s glass now, and the few other bits which had accumulated on the

sideboard.

Heavy footsteps trod down the hallway. Fizz turned his head, expecting someone to walk in the

kitchen as the footsteps grew nearer. Maybe it was Ash.

But no one came in.

Frowning, Fizz went back to his washing up. Then a gruff voice said, “Finlay, what are you

doing?”

Fizz couldn’t be sure he’d heard right. He hurried to shut off the tap, hoping to hear better. He could

have sworn he heard someone say, “Shh!”

“Hello?” Fizz called softly.

No answer.

Okay, so he’d definitely misheard. The voices must have filtered in from the garden, or maybe it

was the TV.

“Hey,” said a new voice.

Fizz whirled around. “Oh,” he said, relieved. “It’s you.”

Ash laughed. “Who were you expecting?”

“Um, no one.” Fizz dried his hands on a tea towel. He noticed Ash’s jacket was a little shiny, and

his hair glistened. “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Only a bit. Sun’s out now.” Ash held a plastic bag in his hand, also covered in water droplets. “I

bring exciting things!”

“What have you brought?”

“Aha!” Ash smiled. “All shall be revealed.” He walked over to the table and laid the bag down. Fizz

saw the shapes of tuppaware boxes inside, which hopefully meant more sweets. Ash glanced at the TV,

like he was vetting what programme was currently on. Fizz noticed he did that a lot, whereas most

people didn’t even consider that something on TV might upset him. It was currently tuned into an

antiques show.

“My dad loves this,” Ash said, gesturing at the TV. “He tries to guess the price of something before

the dealer says it. He’s always wrong.”

Fizz smiled. It sounded a lot better than his own father shouting abuse at the news all the time.

“Right,” Ash said, shrugging off his jacket. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, a deep maroon colour that

complimented his skin tone. Fizz couldn’t help notice – like he usually did when Ash took his jacket

off – how nicely toned his arms looked.

Belatedly, Fizz became aware that Ash had asked him a question. “Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

Ash smiled. “I said, did you still want to try that spiced coffee I told you about?”