"God, you're not on drugs."

He actually cracks a tiny smile. "They have clinics for suicidal people, too."

"Oh."

"I told her I would go to therapy but that I didn't want to live there anymore regardless. I got on my bike and left." The intensity with which he's studying his hands tells me how nervous he is. How embarrassed. "I probably should've made sure I had somewhere to go first."

I want to hug him again.

I inch forward and fold my arms across his knees. I don't want to know how long it took him to ride his bike from his place to mine, because it would probably make me cry. "You already knew. Somewhere in the back of your head, you knew you could come here."

Adam closes his eyes. He bows down until his forehead rests against mine, and his fingers lace together behind my neck. Every spot where our skin is touching, every centimeter where we come together is warmth and understanding and home in a way I've never known it. Because I understand Adam's loneliness just as he understands mine, and he knew, without me ever having to say a word, that he could find sanctuary here.

"Thank you," he murmurs. I wonder if he'd let me kiss him. Because I really, really want to. But what we're doing right now seems more intimate than that, and I don't want to ruin it, so I close my eyes and enjoy the fact that it's no longer cold and we're sharing breath.

Eventually I say, brightly, "We have a Halloween party to get to."

#

We arrive at Casper's house in full costume. Or, well, as full costume as we could get at the last minute.

Adam's hair is gelled and spiked, and he's sporting black leather fingerless gloves, his hoodie, which has silver studs for decoration on the shoulders, and a pair of mid-calf leather boots that I think are sexy on him but I would never admit to thinking. His guitar is slung across his back for added effect.

He's thinner than I am, but his shirts fit me so I'm in black jeans and one of his well-worn tees with my own black jacket. We did well enough that when Amanda and Robert let us in and we pause in Casper's doorway to say, "Trick-or-treat," she takes one look at us and bursts out laughing.

"Oh my God. What're you supposed to be?"

Adam frowns. "Rockers."

"What, like the Beatles or something?"

My expression deadpans. "No. Nothing at all like the Beatles, actually."

Adam adds, "In our defense, it was really last-minute."

Casper shakes her head. "What about makeup?"

"Why would Adam or I have makeup?"

"Oh, nevermind. Come on."

We follow her to the bathroom where she digs out a makeup box from under the sink. I'd guess with how buried it is, she hasn't used it in awhile. She brandishes an eyeliner pencil, nudges Adam to sit on the lid of the toilet, and gets to work. To Adam's credit, he sits very still. When she's done with him, she turns on me and does the same. "We need to paint your nails. For added effect."