if not you, then who else is going to love me?

Joey can feel them starting to settle into a pattern over the next day or two.

Matt wakes up before him and makes food, something quick and easy for Joey to snack on throughout the day that’ll keep him fed. Joey wakes up a while later to the smell of coffee and the sound of Matt moving around in the kitchen, and drags himself up off the couch to eat. He always makes sure Matt eats, too, even if it’s just a bite or two of whatever he made Joey. Then Matt heads upstairs to try to get his work done, and Joey settles down to catch up on all the episodes that he missed from his favorite shows (and also usually fall asleep on the couch, too). It’s…domestic. Heartbreakingly so, in fact. Joey hates himself for wanting it to be more.

Joey couldn’t help but feel bad, though, so the day after they met Jael and Ryu, after Matt had gone upstairs to take a phone call from someone or other, Joey stood at the sink and stared at the dishes from that morning’s breakfast. He hadn’t wanted to be a freeloader in Matt’s house any longer. He grabbed the dish soap and a rag and started his work.

Matt had come back down a moment later — he forgot his coffee, Joey realizes. For a second, he had just stared at Joey, seemingly taken aback.

“I thought I’d try to help out,” Joey says by way of explanation, feeling a little sheepish. Suddenly, he was worried that everything he’d ever known about doing dishes is a lie, and Matt was staring at him so weirdly because Joey was doing them wrong.

“Thanks, but…you know you don’t have to, right?” Matt had said.

Joey had shrugged and gone back to his work. “I don’t mind.”

He had almost been prepared for Matt to pick a fight with him about it. But Matt hadn’t seemed to be in the mood for that, and he had just shaken his head and walked back upstairs, coffee in hand. Joey had finished the dishes and immediately had to go sit down from the headache that had begun to throb in his skull from staying standing for so long.

Now it’s midafternoon, and Joey is examining a long bruise down one of his arms. He remembers bumping into the doorframe, but…he didn’t think he hit it that hard. Still, it seems he hit it hard enough to leave a long, swollen mark down the side of his forearm. Joey rubs at it gently and wonders if Matt has any ice packs.

He can hear a video playing from upstairs, and slowly walks up there to stop in the doorway of Matt’s office. Matt’s office is exactly the kind of place you’d expect from a person like him: cluttered and clean all at once, with more bookshelves holding textbooks and scientific papers as well as gleaming metal plaques to commemorate his channel milestones. There’s pictures in there, too, and the ice pack and bruise are both forgotten as Joey’s eyes fall on a photo of Matt with two people who he assumes are his parents. They’re standing with a younger Matt at what looks like college graduation, Matt dressed in a black robe with a diploma under one arm, squinting against the sun as he grins at the camera.

Joey misses his family.

“Hey, Matt…” Joey starts, and Matt jumps, turning around in his chair fast without pausing the video. Joey winces. “Sorry.”

Matt blinks at him for a moment, then swears under his breath and reaches out to tap the spacebar. “What is it, Joey?”

Joey immediately wants to cower in the face of what feels like Matt’s anger. “If you’re busy—”

“I’m not busy.” Matt clears his throat and motions for Joey to step inside. “You just surprised me. Do you need something? Are you okay?”

“I was, um…wondering if I could use your phone.” Joey glances at the photo of Matt and his parents again. “I want to call my dad and tell him that…I’m back.”

“Of course.” Matt actually sounds pleasantly surprised, and he hands his phone over to Joey without a trace of reticence. “Here you go. It shouldn’t lock, but if it does, just bring it back up to me.”

The dial pad is already pulled up, and Joey manages to thank Matt before heading back downstairs and sitting awkwardly on the couch. He wants to do this, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. Hey, Dad, sorry I disappeared for a year, I was off getting eaten alive by vampires. Still, Joey feels like he should. He enters his father’s number and presses the call button.

Joe Graceffa answers after exactly four rings, his voice gruff. “Who is this?”

Oh, God. Joey didn’t expect to choke up hearing his dad’s voice, but here he is, unable to find his words for a long, drawn out moment. He thought he’d never see his family again.

“Hey, Dad,” Joey manages after another few long seconds of silence. “It’s…it’s me.”

Joe’s voice changes immediately. “Joey?”

“Yeah,” Joey says, and he laughs weakly. “Yeah, Dad. It’s me. It’s Joey. I’m…I’m okay.”

“If this is some kind of trick—”

Joey races to reassure him. “It’s not a trick, I promise. Look, I’ll send you a picture if you want—”

“It’s your voice.” Joe’s voice cracks, and something about the thought of his father crying sends the tears spilling over Joey’s cheeks. “Oh, my Lord. It’s your voice.”

“It’s me. I’m— I’m staying with a friend, I’m using his phone, but it’s me, I promise.” Joey listens to his father mutter something on the other end of the line, something that sounds like Jesus H. Christ. “I’m okay. I’m a little—”

“Where were you?” Joe demands, his voice harsh, and Joey recognizes that his dad isn’t really angry, just terrified. “You were gone for a year, I thought you were dead— they told me to— to prepare for signing a death certificate, God damn it!”

Joey cringes. “Dad, I’m sorry—”

“I thought you were gone,” Joe says, his voice changing to soft and broken within an instant. “I thought my son was gone, and then I saw the headlines but I couldn’t call you and Tyler didn’t know where you were, either, and— where were you, Joey?”

“I…” Joey hesitates. “I can’t talk about it yet. I don’t— please, Dad, I can’t talk about it yet. I…I’m back now, and that’s what matters, right?”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, his voice still soft, Joe says, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what matters, I guess. But you will tell me, right?”

“If… Yeah,” Joey replies, trying not to commit. “If I can. Yes.”

“Okay.” Joe sighs, and Joey imagines his dad wiping his hand down his face. “I should— I should fly over there. Come see you, if you’re staying with a friend, or— or you could fly back here and stay with me for a while, you know I wouldn’t mind—”

Joey immediately feels prickles of discomfort at that idea. He barely managed to call his dad. Seeing him, or any of his other family, face to face? Joey couldn’t do that. “No, no, Dad, I’m fine, honestly— my friend, he’s…he’s taking care of me. I’m okay.”

Joe doesn’t seem convinced, but he does accept Joey’s protests. “Fine. But if you need anything—”

Joey thinks again of the bureaucratic shitpile he’s going to have to wade through to get his identification back. “Well…you have my SSN and, like, my license and everything, don’t you? My phone?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do. Do you want me to send it to you?”

“Yes, please.” Relief washes through Joey at the prospect of getting his things back. “As quickly as you can.”

Joey hears the click of a pen from the other end of the line. “Okay. Tell me where you’re staying.”

Joey recites Matt’s address off to him, the happiness at the thought of beginning to get his identification issues sorted out tempering some of the exhaustion and apprehension he feels at his father’s obvious urge to interrogate him about where he was.

Once Joe has Matt’s address written down, he and Joey exchange a few more words, before Joey, already feeling overwhelmed, makes an excuse that he needs to go take a nap and will talk to him later. He hangs up with a mix of relief and wistfulness. He missed his family. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to tell them, though.

Joey walks back upstairs to return Matt’s phone, finding Matt watching the same video from earlier. This time Joey steps a little heavier on the stairs and Matt turns to him when Joey knocks on the doorframe, looking expectant.

“How’d it go?” Matt asks.

“Um…okay.” Joey hands Matt his phone back. “He’s sending me my stuff. It should be here in a few days.”

Matt looks…proud, Joey thinks. “Good. See? You’re getting your life back.”

Matt’s encouragement gives Joey a dopamine rush like he hasn’t felt since he ate real food after being trapped with the vampires, and he wants more of it. He adds, “I’m gonna go see Tyler later, too.”

But Matt doesn’t look quite so encouraging at that. He smiles, obviously forced, and then says, “That’s great, Joey. He really tore himself up trying to find you.”

Yeah, Joey thinks to himself as he leaves Matt to his work. And look where that got him.

Joey pulls up in front of Tyler’s house, turns his car off, and then he just…sits there. He spent the entire ride here practically vibrating with anxiety, and though he told himself it’s because he’s driving without a license, he knows that’s a lie. He’s anxious because the last time he saw Tyler…

“No, Joey, wait—” Tyler reaches for Joey, but Joey’s already slipping away from him, carefully picking his way up the stairs past the Sorceress’s limp body. “Joey, hold on—”

Joey doesn’t want to hold on. Joey wants to go home, back to Tyler, back to his old life, and the crown is right there, so close he can practically taste it.

He reaches for it, head filled only with thoughts of Tyler’s warm, bright living room and the feeling of his boyfriend’s hands on his waist, but as soon as his fingers close around the heavy, cold metal—

The Sorceress moves too fast for him to really process, leaping up, her eyes wild and filled with a crazed, rabid light. There’s a dagger in her hands and Joey just barely manages to register the gleam of light against a razor’s edge as his mind whites out with panic — no, no, I was so close, this can’t be happening — and then pain explodes in his chest like fireworks over the Los Angeles skyline. He stumbles, hearing himself cry out as if from a great distance, and feels himself fall backwards. Someone screams as he hits the floor.

Joey swallows thickly and presses his hand to his chest as if to remind himself he’s not still bleeding out on the cold marble of the mansion’s foyer. Tyler watched him die. His face, slack with horror and panic, was the last thing Joey saw, his head falling to the side as his muscles seized and his eyes rolled back in his head, blood bubbling up into his throat and down the side of his chin. How can Joey just walk in there and pretend that everything is okay again?

He has to. He has to see Tyler. He has to reassure himself that Tyler really did make it out, that he’s still alive and safe and present, and so before Joey can overthink this any further, he pockets his keys and climbs out of his car. Tyler’s street is quiet in the mid-morning, and Joey gets such a violent punch of nostalgia as he walks across the street that it nearly makes him feel sick. He’s done this so many times, walked this same exact front path up to that same door, but now everything is different and Joey and Tyler aren’t the people they used to be and they never will be again. Joey hates that thought as much as he hates himself.

He still remembers the code to Tyler’s gate — it’s his mother’s birthday — and punches it in slowly, every pause a chance for him to stop, to turn back, to abandon this. Joey knows he can’t. The gate beeps cheerfully and the latch unlocks. Joey carefully pushes it open and walks the rest of the way up the path to reach Tyler’s white door, raising his hand to knock. He hesitates for a long moment. Then, thinking of Tyler’s blue-green eyes, waking up next to Tyler in a pile of soft white sheets, Joey knocks.

It doesn’t take long for the door to open.

Tyler’s dressed in a light wash green tie dye shirt, the color bringing out the green in his eyes, and blue jeans, his shoes on like he was just getting ready to go somewhere. For a moment, he just blinks at Joey, one hand loosely gripping the doorknob.

Joey blinks back at him.

Seeing Tyler is bringing it all back. The Sorceress, the mansion, Alex. Tyler called Hell like it was nothing, Joey remembers suddenly. He drank demon blood. He won a challenge against Liza. He came to the mansion to rescue Joey, and instead he had to rescue himself.

“Hey,” Joey says, trying for a smile, but his voice cracks, and Tyler’s face crumples.

Tyler sobs as he steps forward to drag Joey into a hug so tight Joey feels a little suffocated. For a moment, Joey wants to jerk back, unused to so much touch, but then he remembers cuddling with Tyler on sleepy winter evenings when the temperature dared to drop below balmy and he sinks into Tyler’s arms. It feels like it’s been forever since he saw Tyler. After all, there was a time when Joey would rarely go a day without seeing Tyler.

“Joey fucking Graceffa,” Tyler whispers painfully in Joey’s ear, his voice shaking. “Oh my God.”

“I’m okay,” Joey says, brought to tears by Tyler’s emotion. He’s not okay, but with Tyler holding him, he feels like he could be. “I’m okay. I'm— I’m okay.”

“I watched you die. I put you in a coffin.” Tyler pulls back, but he keeps his hands on Joey’s arms, as if letting him go will cause Joey to slip away. Tyler’s eyes are searching Joey’s face, looking for proof that it’s really Joey, or maybe for proof that this is all a dream. “And then I saw the headlines and— how long have you been back? Where are you— are you staying at a hotel? Do you need a room?”

Tyler’s rapid fire questions make Joey feel a little dizzy, and they’re still standing in Tyler’s front entryway, the door half-open behind them. Tyler seems to notice at the same time as Joey does, because he swears softly and reaches past Joey to shut the front door, locking it behind him and herding him towards the couch.

Joey grabs one of the familiar pillows and squeezes it close to his chest as Tyler sits down next to him, turning to face his…

Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? They never really broke up, but Joey doesn’t really think they’re still together, either. He winds his fingers into the tassels on the throw pillow he’s holding like it’s a life preserver and avoids Tyler’s eyes.

“I tried calling you,” Tyler says, still looking a little stunned. “I tried calling, but it just went straight to voicemail, and your parents have been calling me asking where you are but—”

“My phone is still with them,” Joey interrupts, when Tyler’s words catch up to him. “With…with my parents, I mean. I don’t have it.”

“You never answered me. How— how are you here? How long—?” Tyler cuts himself off, staring at Joey, as realization seems to hit him like a ton of bricks. “The other missing people. Safiya, and— and Rosanna Pansino— Colleen— Joey, tell me they’re not—”

Joey looks into Tyler’s wide eyes and knows that he’s not a good enough person to tell him the truth. “I don’t— I don’t know what happened. I woke up in a coffin, and when I-I got out, I was somewhere… I was in a place between here and…and whatever's next. The World Between Worlds. I couldn’t really…I didn’t remember much. Just…I remembered you, and— and dying, and then...” Joey sniffles and drops his eyes, hoping Tyler can’t see the lie in his face. “I started walking, and eventually I reached…I don’t know. A town, I guess. It was the real world, and pretty soon people started— people started showing up, saying that I invited them to a carnival, just— just like you.” Joey squeezes his eyes shut and swallows back a pitiful sob. “And now they’re all gone, too.”

Joey hates himself for the lie. But to look Tyler in the eyes and admit the truth — Joey couldn’t let himself die, he was too afraid, too neurotic about leaving his life behind, and he killed people for it — is unthinkable. Luckily for him, Tyler seems to buy it. He closes his eyes and swears under his breath, shaking his head to himself, then he blinks his eyes open and looks at Joey.

“Joey…”

“I haven’t been back that long,” Joey says, winding the tassels around his fingers just to give his hands something to do. “Just— just a few days. I’m staying with Matt. Um, MatPat.”

That seems to catch Tyler off-guard. “You’re staying with…MatPat?”

Joey cringes. “He was…there. Last time. With Ro, and Safiya, and Colleen. He…”

Joey thought he lost Matt. He stumbled up to Matt’s doorstep after Everlock not just because the thought of seeing Tyler made him want to puke, but also because Joey was half-afraid that Matt would be gone again as soon as Joey took his eyes off him. He didn’t expect Matt to answer the door, much less let Joey in, but as soon as he saw Matt’s face, all the love he thought he buried in Everlock came rushing right back and Joey just wanted to fall into his arms. Joey doesn’t meet Tyler’s gaze.

“...he almost didn’t make it out,” Joey finishes quietly, unsure if Matt wants people to know about his death. It’s true, anyways. It could have been Matt on the other end of Nikita’s gun, shot dead so close to the end.

“Was there…anyone else? That made it out?” Tyler sounds hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Nikita. Nikita Dragun.” Joey blinks as he thinks of her, her blonde wig stained red with blood, her white boots covered in streaks of dirt. “And…before that… Oli White and Eva Gutowski. The first time it happened, last summer…”

Tyler’s expression hardens. “It was that fucking house, wasn’t it?”

Joey cringes, cowed at Tyler’s righteous anger. He probably should have known a mysterious old manor house up in the hills wasn’t a good idea to make his new vacation home, but what was he supposed to think? That it was haunted? Joey might think astrological signs are fun, but he didn’t believe in cursed houses. Not before all this. Tyler took a more pragmatic approach: he warned Joey that the house was probably full of asbestos and lead, and that he was an idiot for spending any significant amount of time there. But Joey didn’t listen. It’s almost like that house had him trapped before he even stepped foot in it.

“I told the cops about it, but they said there wasn’t a house at that address. Then they couldn’t find the letter you got telling you about it,” Tyler continues, crossing his arms. “It’s like the house didn’t exist.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Joey says quickly. He wants to forget the manor, Arthur, Lele, Justine — God, Justine. “Look, I’m— I’m trying to fix this, okay? I will fix this.”

“What is there to fix?” Tyler asks, motioning around as if 23 dead bodies are sitting in the room with them. “23 people are dead, Joey! You can’t—”

“Can’t bring people back from the dead?” Joey cuts Tyler off. “Why not? It happened to me.”

For some reason, he feels a little more willingness to be harsh around Tyler than he does around Matt. Maybe it’s because he knows what his harshness did to Matt last time. Joey doesn’t know if he’s ever felt regret like he felt as soon as he handed Matt’s card over to Calliope, knowing he was sentencing Matt to death.

Tyler falls silent. Then, grudgingly, he says, “Okay, fine. How the hell are you gonna do that?”

“...I don’t know.” Joey has to admit it: he has no fucking clue. He just knows that it has to be done.

Tyler gives him a dubious look. Joey can feel his disbelief radiating from him like a force field, and a sudden wave of exhaustion hits him. He has no idea how he’s going to make what he did right. He just wants to curl up in Tyler’s arms, or in Matt’s arms, and sleep for a while.

“Well…” Tyler sighs, wiping his face. Joey sees the shine of tears on his cheeks for the first time. “Do you want to stay here while you figure it out? I know we’re not… I mean, I don’t think…” Tyler falters, trailing off as his eyes dart nervously to Joey.

Joey could tell him he’s wrong, jump back in headfirst to his relationship with Tyler, go back to having a loving boyfriend who would go through hell for him. But doing that would be abandoning Matt, who kissed him so desperately, like Joey could breathe life back into him with that one kiss. Joey gives a weak smile.

Tyler sighs softly. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? Matt?”

Joey looks over at him guiltily. “It’s… Is it that obvious?”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face when you said his name,” Tyler says drily. “Besides, I remember even before you…before… Even before all this, you thought he was cute. Every time you talked to him at a convention—”

“Okay, yeah, it was that obvious.” Joey feels himself flush as he thinks back to the before times, when he and Matt were nothing but two YouTubers that passed each other at cons and exchanged a few words or a quick discussion about video games.

Back then, getting Matt’s attention felt like stepping into a beam of sunlight. It was nice, to talk to someone so genuine — though Joey knows he’s throwing stones from a glass house here, so many of the YouTube stars he knows just aren’t…genuine. They never know how to turn off the fake persona they put on for their videos. Matt isn’t like that. MatPat of The Game Theorists and Matthew Patrick in real life might as well be the same person, without any of the fake cheerfulness that some people put on to make themselves likable. Matt’s just…likable.

Tyler’s like that, too. That’s why Joey fell so hard for him. For both of them, really.

And, of course, there’s the fact that Matt’s heartbreakingly cute in that old-fashioned way, like he came straight out of a 50s heartthrob movie, a good boy who kisses the lead girl chastely on the cheek and always has her home by 9 PM sharp. Joey smiles to himself at the thought.

Tyler just watches Joey, his expression unreadable. Does he resent Joey? Resent Matt? Tyler’s not that kind of person — at least, he wasn’t when Joey last knew him. But Joey has a feeling that the Tyler he knew and the Tyler sitting in front of him aren’t the same person, and the thought worries him. What if Tyler really does hate him for falling hopelessly in love with Matt?

“Tyler, I—” Joey tries to stammer out an explanation, hoping to head off any of Tyler’s anger before it hits him.

“No, Joey, it’s okay.” Tyler doesn’t seem to be interested in explanations or apologies. “I want you to be happy, okay? I’m— I’m just glad you’re safe, and that…that there’s someone that cares about you.”

Joey can’t take this. He can’t take Tyler looking at him like that, resigned and hopeful all at once, and he hugs the pillow together as he wipes his face.

“I still love you, you know,” Joey offers, thick with the threat of crying.

Tyler’s eyes well up with tears again, and when he blinks, they cascade down his cheeks in shining trails. “I love you too, Joey.”

Joey understands the meaning of the phrase heartsick in this moment, torn between Tyler’s familiar, gentle love and Matt’s vicious lows and achingly sweet highs. Tyler came to the mansion to find him, and in Joey’s old life, he was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. Joey would have happily spent the rest of his life with him. Part of him would still happily spend the rest of his life with Tyler. But he wants to spend his life with Matt, too. After all, Matt died for him.

Tyler sighs, pulling back from Joey. “Do you want something to eat? You look…a little thin.”

“Um…sure. Thanks.” Joey feels like maybe he should refuse Tyler’s offer of food, thinking that perhaps it’s a little impolite to break up with a guy and then take him up on the offer of a meal, but he’s been getting hungrier and hungrier over the past few days as his body becomes more used to food once again. But Joey doesn’t want to talk about that. He changes the subject. “How’s Andrea?”

“Glad to be home,” Tyler says, pulling a glass container out of the fridge filled with what looks like roasted vegetables. “I talked to her on the phone yesterday. She sounded… She’s getting by.”

Getting by like I am, Joey wonders, barely functional? Or like Matt, not knowing how to cope with what he’s feeling?

Out loud, he says, “That’s…that’s good. What about you?”

Tyler doesn’t pause as he pops the lid off the container and puts it in the microwave. “I’m fine.”

It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that as a lie, because of course it is. No one can be fine after going through what Tyler did, especially not with Liza, who came so close to making it out before her chance at life was snatched away. Joey stares at Tyler for a moment, who’s pulling out a few slices of bread and slipping them into the old, beat-up toaster that he still owns. Joey can’t help another smile. It’s good to see that some things don’t change.

“So.” Tyler walks back out and sits on the edge of one of the chairs as he waits for the food to finish in the kitchen, resting his chin on one hand. “You’re staying with MatPat, theorist extraordinaire. How is it? Does he drink as much Diet Coke as he jokes about?”

Actually, Joey hasn’t seen a Diet Coke can in Matt’s hands once in the days he’s spent with him. He shrugs. “Matt’s…fine.” Tyler and Joey are both lying bastards in this situation, because Joey doesn’t want to admit to Tyler how nerve-wracking it is spending time with the man that he got killed. Joey stares down at the plain black pants Matt bought him. “He’s…he’s just as nice as everyone says. He bought me these clothes.”

Tyler’s eyebrows raise — in surprise or appreciation, Joey isn’t sure. Then he seems to remember something. “You have cash here that you forgot about. Do you want it?”

“Oh, God, yes please,” Joey says thankfully. He did completely forget about it, but it’s not completely unthinkable. Sometimes he’d empty his pockets and end up leaving a five or a ten on Tyler’s dresser. “I feel so terrible asking Matt to pay for everything.”

Matt’s already done enough for him, Joey thinks. Asking Matt to pay Joey’s way through life is just an unnecessary addition of salt into the wounds Joey’s inflicted on him. The sooner Joey gets his money back, the better.

“Hopefully he’s not bothered by it, if he’s as good of a person as everyone says. You’re not a burden just because you need help,” Tyler says tartly, standing up and heading towards the back of the house where his bedroom is, leaving Joey on the couch.

Affection rises in Joey’s chest through the tears that choke him at Tyler’s gentle words, knowing that Tyler would probably have something else to say if he knew the truth. Still, it’s been too long since he’s heard Tyler say something like that, and so he blinks away tears and watches as Tyler returns a moment later with a small pile of folded bills in his hand.

“Here.” Tyler holds it out so Joey can take it, nodding when Joey murmurs a thank you and then returning to the kitchen to pull the container from the microwave and spread some butter on the toast that pops up. Joey’s about to protest, but then he sees the container — it’s the same butter brand he bought, before all this. As Tyler comes back with two plates with vegetable stir fry and a piece of toast on each, he says, “Oh, don’t worry about the butter, it’s—”

“—the same brand I bought,” Joey finishes for him. “I thought you didn’t like it?”

Tyler sets his plate down on the coffee table along with Joey’s and then reclaims his spot on the chair across from Joey, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Honestly, I…I don’t. But after you disappeared… Look, it’s stupid, but it reminded me of you, so I kept eating it.”

The image of Tyler eating vegan butter that he didn’t like just because the taste reminded him of his missing boyfriend is heartbreaking and absurd all at once, and for a moment, Joey just stares at him. Then he takes the plate, his hands feeling numb, and takes a bite. It’s good. Flavorful. Joey has a new appreciation for spices after spending a year trapped in Victorian times, and he takes another hungry mouthful.

Tyler watches, obviously worried, picking at his own food. “Have you called your parents yet?”

Joey nods, swallowing, and says, “Earlier today. My dad is sending me all my personal effects that the police released to him. My birth certificate, my SSN. All of that.”

“Oh.” Tyler looks a little bitter. “I tried to get them to release all of that to me, but since you were just my domestic partner,” Tyler says this with a hefty dose of sarcasm, “I wasn’t allowed to have them. And…I didn’t want to bother your family. They were already so wrecked.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Joey says between bites of his toast, which is salty and sweet all at once, modern and familiar. “It’s just kind of a pain in the ass to get them sent from Boston, but they’ll be here soon.”

At least, Joey hopes they’ll be here soon. Hopefully the mail isn’t too slow, because he needs all of those things to get his license back, and he needs his license back to get his bank account back, and he needs his bank account back to do…basically everything else. Ugh. It’s overwhelming just to think about.

“It was a big deal to me,” Tyler retorts. “The cops acted like you were just my roommate or something. Like…like we were just friends. It was stupid. They were stupid.”

Joey’s often wondered how the cops treated his disappearance. It seems like it was about how he expected. He’s a transgender, gay YouTube star, after all; easy to brush off as a crazy internet person who got too high on his own status and went MIA. It’s probably better if that’s the explanation the world hears, anyways.

Fuck. He’s gonna have to come up with something to tell the internet, now that he thinks of it, because as much as he’d like to tell them all to fuck off or pretend that nothing’s happened like he’s sure Matt and Tyler will, he’s just not that kind of person. So much for being genuine, Joey supposes.

“Joey,” Tyler says, his voice edging on exasperated, and Joey snaps back to the present. Tyler raises an eyebrow at him. “There you are.”

Joey glances down at his plate again, then around himself at the calm blue of Tyler’s living room walls, the color that Joey remembers from afternoons and mornings spent here. Then he looks back to…well, his ex-boyfriend, technically, but Joey still feels soft, gentle warmth when he thinks of Tyler, and so Joey smiles softly at him. He’d prefer to think of Tyler as a friend.

“Yeah,” Joey says. “Here I am.”

They finish the rest of their meals in silence. It’s quieter than the days they used to share, Joey thinks, but it’s not really a bad silence. It’s not the long, drawn out silences he gets with Matt sometimes. It’s just…two people who have changed sharing lunch.

Tyler takes their dishes back to the kitchen when they’re done, and Joey watches him, once again struck by a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. He’s going to miss Tyler, even if he doesn’t really have to leave him completely. Joey supposes that what he really misses is the person he was.

“I should…get back to Matt’s place.” Joey looks up at the clock, taking in the time. “I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m gonna slip on a banana peel and die whenever I leave the house.”

“Okay,” Tyler says, drying his hands and looking a little reluctant to let Joey leave. Still, he doesn’t resist. “I’ll…I’ll walk you to the door.”

Joey stands up with a bit of a struggle, dizziness overtaking him for a moment before he manages to steady himself on the back of the couch. Tyler watches, obviously still concerned.

“I’m fine,” Joey assures him before Tyler can speak. “I just… I didn’t eat for a while. I’m just a little shaky, that’s all.”

It doesn’t really seem to assuage much of Tyler’s worry. “Are you sure you should be driving?”

Honestly? Joey probably shouldn’t be. He got two dizzy spells on the way over here, and luckily both times were in the middle of quiet neighborhoods where he could pull over and breathe until it passed, but what if it happened on the freeway? Joey knew he shouldn’t have driven, but he had wanted to see Tyler so badly he hadn’t been able to convince himself not to.

“I have to get back to Matt’s place somehow,” Joey says with a half-hearted shrug.

“I’ll give you a ride.” Tyler doesn’t hesitate before saying it, and Joey gets the sense that Tyler was just waiting to offer his services. He kind of wants to resist — he doesn’t want to leave the car he’s using here — but Tyler has an answer to that, too. “And I’ll drop your car off later tonight. I don’t mind.”

Joey falters in the face of Tyler’s kindness, chewing his lip. He’s unsure about being trapped in a car with Tyler, but he can’t lie and say that he’s not tired and feeling a little dizzy from so much sitting up and talking. Reluctantly, he nods. Tyler grabs his keys and starts towards the door. Joey follows silently, glancing around Tyler’s home and getting that same nostalgic, bittersweet feeling one more time before he follows Tyler out the door and to his car, parked in the driveway.

It’s another blast of familiarity as Joey climbs into the passenger seat, watching Tyler buckle his seatbelt and then plug his phone into the console to turn on some music and type in the address that Joey recites to him. The first song that comes on is from a musical, Heathers, Joey thinks, based on his vague knowledge of musicals. It’s really a wonder that Tyler and Matt aren’t already friends, considering their mutual appreciation of theatre. Tyler mutters an apology and goes to change it, but Joey stops him with a hand on the wrist.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind it.”

Tyler doesn’t pull his arm away, and Joey can feel the warmth of Tyler’s skin underneath his fingertips, alive and real. The last time he touched someone of his own volition… God, it feels like before that night with Matt on the couch, it was Safiya, hugging her in a shower of glee as Matt stumbled back into the lounge, alive and whole. She felt real in his arms then, too.

Thirty minutes later, she was gutted on the floor.

Anxiety seeps into Joey’s brain, and the car suddenly feels too small, like the small coffin that Joey woke up in, laid with his hands on his chest and the crown on his head. He remembers gasping in his first breath, his whole body feeling numb all over, opening his eyes to darkness and scratching at the lid of the coffin before he finally managed to unstick the wood from itself and push it open to take in a breath of the cold air of the World Between Worlds.

“Do you mind if I, um, if I crack the window?” Joey asks, hoping his voice isn’t too strangled. He can feel his hands shaking at the memories of his death, suddenly leering over him threateningly, the scars on his chest burning with phantom pain.

“No, of course not,” Tyler says, good-natured as always, giving Joey a quick, curious look. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” But Joey practically claws for the little lever that controls the window, pushing it down quickly and gasping in breaths of the warm, early afternoon air, scented with gasoline and asphalt as they turn onto a main road. He’s not in the coffin, he’s not in purgatory, he’s alive in Tyler’s car.

The warmth and typical scents of a Los Angeles autumn day help to ground him a little, and Joey manages to sit back against the seat, his muscles still feeling stiff and tight as his body tries to tell him to leap out of this car and escape the confinement. I’m not trapped, Joey tells himself firmly. I’m fine. I’m in a car, not a coffin. I’m not trapped.

He’s so focused on repeating this mantra that he barely notices Tyler speaking at first.

“It feels strange leaving that up, but…I guess I can’t exactly take it down.” They’re stopped at a stoplight, and Tyler is leaning over to look at something out the passenger side of the windshield.

Joey looks too, eager for distraction, and immediately regrets it. There’s a billboard on the side of the road, and the large picture taking up half of it is Justine’s face, her blonde hair bright on the flat plastic sheeting. It feels like her too-large eyes are staring right into Joey’s soul, and—

“No, stop, we can’t— guys, we can’t do this!” Joey can’t put Justine in that coffin, tiny and dark and smelling like death and loneliness, not with the way she’s crying held in Marvin and Tim’s arms, her cheeks streaked with tears. “We can’t do this to her!”

Sierra shakes her head from next to him, trying to pull him away. “Joey, we have to!”

The group echoes the sentiment, going around like a chorus, we have to, we have to, we have to. Joey knows somewhere that they’re right — without this, they’ll never find the artifacts, but Shane and Andrea— it wasn’t like this, this— this— this close, this personal. Joey stands, his limbs feeling numb with shock, as he watches them carry Justine towards the open coffin.

“No!” Justine sobs, kicking weakly, but Tim’s got a firm grip on her stocking-clad calves and he’s carrying her towards the coffin slowly, Marvin at her head with his arms wrapped around her waist and Lele keeping her feet still. “No, please, don’t do this! Don’t do this to me, please—”

It feels like Justine died lifetimes ago, and yet Joey can still remember the way she sobbed, the way she tried to bolt as if Marvin wasn’t lurking just out of the range of the light from their small flashlights. Joey had been rooting for her, almost, never making an effort to catch her even as Lele and Tim sprinted after her, hoping she made it to the property line, even if he knew that if it wasn’t Justine, it would have been someone else.

“Joey, no!” Justine’s wailing now, her voice trailing in the cold air, rising high over the forest as she goes limp, obviously too shocked to fight while she’s lowered down into the coffin. “Joey, why, please, please, don’t do this to me—”

“This is sick!” The words are out of Joey’s mouth before he even registers saying them. He can’t do this! He’s not a killer! He can’t stand by and just watch someone die like this, screaming in panic and fear, sobbing his name as her friends betray her.

GloZell shakes her head from next to him, watching with a resigned look on her face. “We’ve got to do it.”

Justine screams as the coffin lid closes.

She was still screaming when they were shoveling the dirt onto her, covering her up, and Joey imagines her clawing at the lid of the coffin with her perfectly manicured nails, gasping for breath as her oxygen got low, listening to the dirt settle on top of her. He wonders how long it took, if it was like Matt, slow and drawn out, or if her air ran out fast and she went unconscious too quickly to start feeling hungry. Was she still alive by the time they left the mansion, Joey wonders? Could they have saved her?

Joey shudders at the thought of her suffocating, looking away from the billboard. Tyler watches him, then looks at the road again as the light blinks to green. Joey doesn’t want to think about Justine. He told her he wouldn’t let them hurt her, and look where that got her.

“Justine was…bad, huh?” Tyler says softly, over the noise of the engine.

Joey just nods silently. Justine was one of the worst, just like Colleen.

He’s tried not to think about Colleen. He can still feel phantom scratches on his arms from her nails tearing at his skin when she fought him, trying to push him away, but every time he looks he doesn’t see anything there. He curls his arms up close to his chest and stares at the buildings as they pass by. Colleen didn’t deserve what he did to her. But if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else, just like Justine. Who else would it have been? Ro or Safiya? Manny or Nikita? He couldn’t do that to them. Colleen had already wished he’d die, and there was a vicious part of him that wanted to return the favor. Knowing that her husband will never see Colleen again doesn’t make him feel vicious at all, though.

He’s glad, at least, that Tyler didn’t pry. Matt probably would have. Tyler really is a good person, Joey thinks, with tears sending fresh heat down his throat and up into his eyes. He should never have come to the mansion. The Sorceress knew what she was doing inviting him, and it makes Joey wish he had been the one to kill her.

“Ah, shit,” Tyler says, his voice resigned, and his eyes dart to the passenger side window, where a car has pulled up next to them as they sit at another stoplight. “Don’t look now, but I think someone recognizes you.”

Joey’s first reaction is, of course, to look, curiosity swallowing him whole despite the apprehension of someone seeing him and knowing who he is. The car next to him has three teenagers in it, one driving while two more lean towards the driver’s side windows to get a better look into Tyler’s car, their phones out.

The old Joey might have said hello and given them a wave and a smile. They’re already rolling down their windows, half-muffled and excited cries of, “Joey! That’s Joey Graceffa!” spilling from the car, and Joey shivers like bugs are crawling down his spine. He quickly rolls up his window and turns his face away.

“Can’t wait to see the next new top tweet,” Tyler comments drily, taking his turn and leaving the car full of fans behind. “‘Joey Graceffa ignored me on Parkside! #Canceled!’”

Joey tries to laugh, but the joke hits a bit too close to home. He’s not sure what people online are saying about him without his devices to track Twitter, but he can’t imagine all of it is good. Especially now that he’s the only person to come back. He can just picture the endless @s asking him to explain where he was. Matt said that people were excited he’s back, but Joey’s sure that won’t last forever.

The rest of the drive is silent except for the shuffled playlist from Tyler’s phone, a cycle of songs that Joey remembers and a few that he doesn’t. They pass another billboard — Tim, and Joey remembers Eva’s face as she came back from that challenge, her eyes defeated — and as they drive past light poles, Joey looks out the window to see missing posters stuck to them, fluttering in the dry desert breeze.

Eventually, though, they turn into Matt’s quiet neighborhood, Tyler peering around at all the houses until his map tells him to stop and he slows to a halt in front of Matt’s house. For a moment, Joey doesn’t get out.

“Well,” Tyler says, when Joey doesn’t move. “Here we are.”

“I’ll text you as soon as I have my phone back,” Joey promises quickly, turning to face Tyler over the center console. He reaches for the glovebox where he knows Tyler keeps a pad of paper and a pen for last-minute notes, scribbling Matt’s phone number down. “And this is Matt’s phone number. If you need me, call him. He’s good about answering — better than I was.”

Tyler takes the pad of paper. Then he looks up at Joey again, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, Tyler leans in, and presses a kiss to Joey’s cheek.

“I love you, Joey,” Tyler says, as he pulls away.

Joey nearly starts crying again. He wishes he could kiss back, wishes he wasn’t so infatuated with Matt, wishes he could have both of them like he wants. Maybe someday. But not today.

“I love you too, Tyler,” Joey whispers, and then he finally manages to force his hands to work, unbuckling his seatbelt numbly and swinging the door open to stand up. He steps up onto the curb, closing Tyler’s door, and watches as Tyler slowly drives off, picking up speed as he turns onto the main road.

Joey stands there and watches the empty road for what feels like a long time. Tyler just wanted to get him back. That’s why he was at the mansion in the first place. And what did he get for it? Lifelong trauma and a breakup. Jesus fucking Christ, Joey should have torn that letter up when he got it last summer, or burned it, or thrown it in the garbage where it belonged.

But he didn’t, and now he gets to live with it.

Slowly, Joey trudges up Matt’s front walkway to his door, unlocking it with the spare key Matt gave him before he left and stepping inside. It’s quiet and cool, and Joey shivers, immediately heading towards the couch and switching out the thin Walmart hoodie for the thicker Game Theory one, bundling his hands up in the sleeves. It’s warmer than the one Matt bought, thicker and higher quality, but also…it smells like Matt. Joey can’t help but find that comforting. He walks to the stairs and steps up a few levels just to listen for the sound of Matt in the house. He hears sporadic bursts of typing followed by long periods of silence from Matt’s office, and, satisfied that he’s not alone, heads back downstairs where Skip is sprawled out on the couch.

“Move, you little couch hog,” Joey says, nudging Skip aside. Skip yawns at him, unimpressed, and when Joey sits down, the cat climbs on top of him and settles down right on his lap. The warm weight of an animal on top of him lifts his spirits significantly, and Skip doesn’t seem to care to move, not even when Joey grabs the Game Theory blanket and snuggles up underneath it. Though he’s glad he saw Tyler, the visit exhausted him, and now he feels dizzy and tired, overexerted from the simple act of sitting up and talking with his…friend.

Surrounded by Matt’s scent, with Skip heavy on his lap, Joey slips into a restless, heartsick sleep.

It’s the next day that Joey, having logged in to his YouTube account on a laptop Matt loaned him, decides he needs to finally bite the bullet and do it.

He’s going to announce his reappearance.

The blow will of course be softened slightly by the fact that every major news site — including Fox News, yikes — has run stories of his miraculous comeback, but Joey still anticipates a fairly large reaction from his fanbase. Hearing someone is back is back is one thing. Getting a new video in your subscriptions feed after the person has been gone for a year is quite another.

He aimlessly scrolls through YouTube as he sits at the table, Matt’s laptop unfamiliar under his hands. At this point, there’s a few videos on his Recommended page talking about the newest group of missing creators, and Joey hides those with a bitter taste in his mouth.

The front door opens and Joey jumps, looking up from his spot at the table to stare at Matt, walking in carrying a bag stamped with the design favored by a local Indian takeout place that Joey and Tyler used to get on a regular basis. Matt left about 30 minutes ago to go pick up food, and now the scent of curry makes Joey’s mouth water as Matt closes and locks the door behind himself. Joey’s comeback video can wait. He shoves his laptop to the side and watches as Matt sets the bag down on the table and takes off his hat and sunglasses.

“I checked before I left,” Matt says, setting his items down on the counter, grabbing a couple bowls, and then taking the seat across from Joey, reaching to pick apart the knot holding the bag closed. “Everything should be in there.”

“Thanks, Matt,” Joey says, because even though he’s said ‘thank you’ about a million times already, he can always say it again. He takes the container Matt hands him, and then the box of rice. Joey doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the taste of the bland porridge the vampires fed him, tasteless and thick on his tongue, and so he ordered a bright red vegetable curry that smells spicy enough to make him regret eating it. He dumps some into his bowl along with the rice eagerly.

Matt’s gotten out his own container of rice and is picking at it with a fork, eating just enough to make it look like he’s getting enough calories. Joey stares at him over his bowl with narrowed eyes. He’s definitely noticed Matt’s aversion to food, and soda, and…well, really anything that isn’t coffee or plain water, really. Has he always been like this? Matt’s right; even though Joey talked with him a few times, he never really knew him well. Certainly not well enough to know Matt’s dietary habits. Still, this doesn’t seem like the Matt that Joey remembers.

“You should have some of the samosas,” Joey urges, trying not to push too hard lest Matt gets upset and storms off as he’s wont to do. “Tyler always said they were really good.”

“I’ll have one in a second,” Matt replies noncommittally. “Do you want something to drink? I do have things other than water. Soda?”

Oh, soda does sound good. Joey didn’t want to take any before, not wanting to upset Matt by drinking his precious Diet Coke, but if he’s offering… “Sure, I’ll take a soda.”

Matt heads to the fridge. He returns to the table a second later carrying the classic silver-and-red can and sets it down in front of Joey as he reclaims his spot.

“I see you’ve checked your YouTube,” Matt says, probably to head off any more comments about his eating habits. At Joey’s look, he nods towards the still-open laptop. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on, I suppose.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Joey looks over at the laptop. “I missed…a lot.”

Most of that was drama that isn’t actually important anyways, but Joey still feels an urge to stay up to date with even the pettiest of YouTube creator drama. The old Joey would have, after all.

“Have you checked Twitter yet?” Matt asks, his voice casual in that forced way that people get when they’re trying to tell you something without telling you something. “I bet you have a million notifications.”

“Uh…no. I’ve been…a little too scared to do that.” Joey smiles sheepishly. “Of what people are saying, I mean.”

Joey kind of expects Matt to laugh at him for that, but Matt just sighs. “I can’t blame you. I looked earlier. People aren’t so excited you’re back now that no one else has reappeared. They’re asking if…if you might have had something to do with it.”

Joey’s stomach roils with nausea. He did. He did have something to do with it. He got 23 innocent people killed, all because he was curious about a house out in the hills that promised to be an escape from the modern era — Joey wishes he could strangle whoever coined that phrase. Justine, Colleen, Lele, Alex, all of them, too many to name. Now they’ll be missing forever, their bodies abandoned in the Victorian era, or the 70s, or the 20s, and their families will never know what happened to their children, or their parents, or their spouses and partners. All because of Joey.

Food suddenly doesn’t seem so appetizing, even though he’s starving. Joey nibbles at a piece of tofu and tries not to think about the way Colleen screamed as the Iron Maiden closed on her. Joey’s glad Matt wasn’t there for that. He doesn’t need that on his conscience like Nikita and Joey have it on theirs.

“Sorry,” Matt says softly, seemingly having noticed Joey’s sudden quiet. “Let’s, um…talk about something else. You know that old empty lot on Ivory Avenue? The one that sat there for like, five years?”

Joey makes a vague noise of affirmation, wondering where Matt’s going with this.

“They just revealed plans to turn it into a little mini science park for kids.” Matt sets his fork down and leans on the table. “You know, solar system maps, water cycle charts, everything you remember from third grade.”

He’s trying to distract Joey. He’s trying to help Joey think about something else other than the missing, murdered people, and Joey tells himself that the tears in his eyes are from the spice. He blinks a few times.

“That’s…that’s nice.”

“I think it’s awesome. It’ll be a great use of the space.” Matt’s smile is small, but it still feels like staring directly at the sun.

Of course, Joey thinks, Matt would get excited at an empty lot being turned into a science playground. The man is so predictable. Joey thinks he falls in love with him a little more as Matt continues to talk about the plans for it, critiquing certain structures and lovingly describing others, and he’s such a fucking nerd that Joey nearly laughs at him. But he can’t laugh at Matt for being earnest, and so he just eats his food — slowly, trying to quell the nausea — and listens.

After the food has been put away and the dishes washed, Joey heads upstairs to the spare bedroom. The bed is exactly as Matt left it when he made it the first day that Joey arrived, and Joey sets the laptop down on the pillow and then sits down cross legged in front of it. When he turns the laptop’s camera on, it shows…

Honestly? It shows a person that Joey barely recognizes anymore.

His face is gaunt, and his stubble is patchier than it used to be, stress causing his hair to thin until it looks like it did the first few months of being on testosterone. His bleached hair falls over his forehead in messy, tangled strands, and Joey halfheartedly pushes it back, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable. The hugeness of Matt’s sweater on his body makes him look halfway to death’s door, and Joey supposes that he’s halfway from death’s door, when you really think about it.

Speaking of Matt’s sweater… Reluctantly, Joey takes it off. He doesn’t want the entirety of the internet to know he’s staying with Matt, at least not yet, and the bold Game Theory design would definitely be a giveaway. He shivers in the cool air, his short-sleeved shirt doing little to protect him, and looks at the camera again. Without the sweater to hide him, he looks even skinnier. He almost wants to go get his other one, the one Matt bought for him, but the idea of going all the way down the stairs and then all the way back up stops him. He’s not making a long video.

Joey takes a deep breath and shakes himself out as if he’s preparing for a sprint. He can do this. He can slip back into the mindset that it takes to record your face, your voice, and put it out there for the world to see. He used to love it. Now it feels like more vulnerability than he ever wants to feel again.

Still, he doesn’t have a choice. He reaches forwards and presses the record button.

For a moment, all Joey can do is stare dumbly at the camera. Wow, the video quality is shit — at least the graininess hides some of the finer, exhausted details of his face. But then he clears his throat and remembers that he’s going to have to talk.

“Um, hello, everyone.” His voice cracks, and Joey resists cringing, not wanting to show weakness. “It’s, uh…been a while, huh?”

What now? What does he say? What can he say?

“I know I’ve been— been gone,” Joey starts, trying to pick up speed, trying not to let his voice tremble, but he stares at himself in the recording and wants to cringe away from the warped reflection of his face. “And— I’m still not gonna be back, officially, for a while. I’m…recovering.”

From what? He’s going to have to throw the internet some kind of bone.

“I got— sick, while I was gone, and, um… It kind of screwed me up.” Joey’s gotten seriously ill before, so it’s not completely out of nowhere. “And…I’m still recovering. But as soon as I feel better again, um, stronger, I’ll be back to making videos.”

Joey wishes he could find more words. He can’t. He just stares at the video, then hangs his head and swears. He can’t post this. He ends the recording, takes another few deep breaths, and starts another one.

“Hello, everyone,” Joey tries again, and this time, he manages a weak smile. “It’s been a while, huh?” He fights not to fidget too hard, rubbing his hands together awkwardly as he searches for words. “I’ve been gone for…forever, it feels like, and, uh, well…things are crazy, right? Um…I just wanted to say that I’m not going to be back, officially, for…a while. I got sick while I was gone, and…I’m still recovering.” He swallows thickly. “But…I’m here. I’m…okay.”

He’s not okay in the slightest, but he can’t tell his community that. He ends the recording and clicks into the laptop’s files to find it again, watching it over to see if it’s acceptable. The sound of his own voice makes him cringe like it never has before, but…the worst thing about the video is the defeat in every word.

“But…I’m here. I’m…okay,” the recording says, and Joey hates how weak and flimsy it sounds. It sounds like he doesn’t believe it, and that’s because he doesn’t. He’s not okay. It feels like he never will be again.

Joey’s tempted to record another try, but without the sweater on he’s freezing cold and he doesn’t think he can watch another recording of himself. He takes a picture for the thumbnail, trying to smile and failing miserably, and switches back to the YouTube tab to upload the video. He wishes he could have some time just to exist, to not worry about YouTube or Twitter, just to…be himself. But Joey gave up that life when he let himself get popular, and so he uploads the video without any editing and then hurriedly pulls the sweater back on over his head like it’s a security blanket. Fuck, he’s cold. He wishes Matt would hold him again…

Joey flushes pink at the thought. He still feels warm all over when he thinks of Matt’s arm around him, that night in front of the TV, when Joey couldn’t make himself stop shivering every time his hair dripped water down the back of his neck. Matt seemed to accept him so readily, like…like he wanted Joey to be in his arms.

Joey shouldn’t be thinking like this. There’s no reason for Matt to hold him. Matt fucking hates his guts. Matt probably wants him dead, and for good reason, too. Joey hugs his arms around himself and watches as the view counter starts to tick up. The first few comments are bots, as always, but then, slowly, actual people start to watch his video.

Joey watches the screen for a while. No matter how much he wishes he could leave it behind at times like these, there’s still a part of him that likes the knowledge that there’s an entire community of fans out there who care about him. He’s sure they wouldn’t care about him if they knew the truth, though.

Joey closes the laptop and slowly walks back downstairs. Matt’s in the shower, and though Joey knows it would probably be more comfortable to sleep in the bed…

The bed doesn’t have Matt’s presence hanging around it.

Joey’s been sleeping on the couch because all he has to do to remind himself that he’s not trapped in a coffin is open his eyes and look at Matt’s bookshelves, the TV, the posters on the wall. If he wakes up in a panic, he can just huddle a little tighter under the soft Game Theory blanket, or look over to find Skip’s cat tower, or sit up and stare at Matt’s red jacket hanging by the door where he last left it. Compared to the living room, the spare bedroom feels like a tomb. Joey tried to sleep there, the first night, after Matt practically flayed him alive, but he kept waking up in a daze trying to gasp for breaths that wouldn’t come, so he stumbled out of the bed and ended up curled on the couch where Matt found him.

It’s not as nice as Joey knows cuddling with Matt is, but it’s all he gets, and he’ll make himself be satisfied with it.