Adam strums the chords once, nods to himself, and begins to play.

At first, my chest tightens. In My Life—these are the lyrics Adam emailed to Casper and me when he OD'd. It used to be one of my favorites, but I haven't been able to listen to it without feeling overwhelmingly anxious since that night.

Now Adam is playing it, singing it, the tension slowly but surely begins to ebb. It's just us, sitting in the darkness while the moon gives me just enough light to see the outline of him, the shape of his mouth as it moves and the careful, sure way his fingertips glide over the strings. The song is right. 'All these places have their moments.' Like right now. Right here. Me and him.

For the first time since Adam showed up at my doorstep, things are okay, at least for the time being.

We aren't afraid of when we'll watch Casper jump.

We aren't afraid that I would go with her.

Adam knows. I didn't have to say it, but I think he knows that where I want to be, right now, in this moment, is here with him. Even after he's set his guitar aside and has lain down beside me, he murmurs the lyrics against my ear, and soothes me to sleep.

#

At noon, around the time we crawl out of bed, I have the oddest urge to take Adam to the animal shelter. I haven't been in a week, which is some kind of record for me.

"The animal shelter?" he asks. "Do you want a pet?"

"No. I just...go sometimes. To hang out."

Adam tips his head. "Why?"

"It's relaxing, I guess." Pause. "So, do you want to go?"

He looks pleased. I'm not sure if it's because he's been lonely without animals since he came home from the hospital and found his mom got rid of Crispy the cat, or if he's happy for a change of scenery.

Thirty minutes later, we're stepping into the shelter. There are butterflies in my stomach. This place has been my sanctuary for years and I'm not sure what to do having someone with me.

Adam likes cats. We wander the cat rooms, peering through the glass. He smiles as they play, and I suppose it's worth it to not be able to pet them if Adam keeps smiling like that. Especially when he says, "The sign says there are more back here; come on," and grabs my hand.

He doesn't let go.

Neither do I.

We do our rounds with the cats, and finally come full-circle and start in on the other side. The kennels.

"The dogs are more depressing," he observes. I'm instantly scanning the fences for any sign of the dogs I've visited before, only vaguely aware I'm squeezing the hell out of Adam's hand. We don't stop long at any one kennel, because I'm not sure I'm ready for Adam to think what a weirdo I am for what I do when I come here. He has a quiet smile on his face, wanting to pet every dog he comes across whether they're doomed for death or not. He is an equal-opportunity petter.