“Now, Faustus, what would’st thou have me to do?”
The line was delivered with a silky sort of cunning. Like he was Coyote, or Loki, and he already knew how this particular tale would end. No more than two or three yards separated them, and as Simon tried to focus on the drama unfolding on the stage, his mind went to a very different place. To the memory of a similar question, a similar smile, but a different tone. What do you want me to do? Words spoken with complete sincerity and desire. What do you want me to do?
Simon closed his hands into tight fists, trying to fend off the ghosts now threatening him. It had been a year since Alan had looked at him with vulnerable green eyes, with a disgusted sort of helplessness. What do you want me to do? It had been a year since Simon kissed him i
