"It's still hot." He places the bag on the floor and sits beside me. I should probably invest in a dining table at some point. Not that there's a lot of room for one, but I could manage something small, pushed into the corner by the kitchen.

I pause my game mid-zombie slaughter session, hungry enough to grab a pair of chopsticks and dig in without questioning him. He looks happy. His hair is brushed back from his eyes, and he does more eating than picking at his food like he normally does. We went to Casper's funeral today. You'd think he'd be less...I don't know.

When he's polished off the last piece of sweet-and-sour chicken: "I got a job."

I almost choke on my chow mein. "What?"

"A job." He swipes at his hair out of habit, used to it being in his face. "At the record shop. The one you told me about?"

The same one I got my records and turntable from, yeah. It's a couple miles away. A long walk, but I guess not too bad biking it. Still—"You got a... Why?"

Adam's brows knit together. Obviously, this isn't the reaction he'd expected. (What did he expect?) "Money."

"Why would you need money? I—"

"—Have been taking care of me, yeah. I don't like that. It isn't fair to you. How much longer is Maggie's money going to last, Vince?"

It's my turn to frown. I've sort of been avoiding looking at my bank account because there is significantly less in there than I want there to be. I could've stretched it out to a year if I'd watched my savings, but I've been buying stuff pretty freely. Paying for food and gas and movies for Casper and Adam. I'll be lucky if that money gets me through March.

Adam shakes his head and sets his empty box and chopsticks aside. "I appreciate it. I really, really do. Which is why I wanted to help out, you know? I don't have my mom around to tell me what my plans are for college or whatever, so I need to start thinking ahead on my own."

Does he realize what he's saying and what it really, honestly means? Thinking ahead means he's not planning on overdosing again. No jumping. No anything. In terms of Adam, it's a beautiful thing, because I couldn’t handle losing him, too.

But when it pertains to me—the idea of looking that far ahead to college and careers and anything beyond tomorrow is so big and vast and frightening.

"That's good. That's...you know. Great." I pick myself up off the floor and make for the bathroom. For my medicine. He doesn't need to see my panic-attack.

"Vince?" Adam follows. He sighs when he sees the pill bottle, and plucks it out of my hands before I have a chance to get the lid off.

"Hey!"

"Stop it. Talk to me before you go doping yourself up."

"I'm not—" My eyes are tearing over. I'm so, so tired of crying at everything I shouldn't cry at. Any Man-Card I've ever had has surely been revoked these last few months. "What do you want me to say?"