Jonathan didn't know when Alphonse got in bed alongside him, or when he stopped crying. All he knew was that the latter happened second.
His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. The apartment was quiet. Alphonse's hand was on his shoulder, holding him gently.
What was he doing? He turned in work that got torn to shreds. He should go back out there, get on his laptop, and try and fix it.
But he felt suddenly like he could barely move. His mind was working against him, knowing the whole time that he was being too hard on himself, but at the same time, convinced that this was the final proof he needed: he wasn't going to amount to anything.
And that's just what it felt like, here on the bed. Nothing. He could lay here forever, until the bed slowly absorbed him. Eventually, Kelly woul
