Dinner was a quiet affair, baked chicken and boiled white rice, bland but comforting. Afterwards Vic sent Matt into the living room while he cleaned up. He drifted to the end of the couch, sat down, and stared at the blank television for a full minute before he thought maybe he should turn it on. The world around him still seemed muted, dull, lifeless almost, as if a part of him had died and they were all in mourning. He couldn’t begin to think what Vic might be feeling—his lover kept a firm grip on his own emotions, projecting nothing but love and understanding whenever Matt peeked inside his head, but what if something in Vic was now disgusted with Matt? Didn’t want to touch what Jordan had defiled or, worse, didn’t think he’d be able to arouse Matt after all that s****l perversion? What
