He couldn’t sleep. More accurately, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down in the bed, couldn’t bring himself to give up the time he would spend unconscious. It wasn’t supposed to count, but—

Suffocation gas, the thought crossed his mind. It was hard to breathe, to swallow. It had been a heck of a week, as Mr. Vaughn had said. Something practically every day, whether it was fights or showing up at an event for law enforcement. As fun as the cape stuff could be, with the banter and the team interplay, the emotional highs and lows had their cost.

And he had so very little available to spend.

He made his way to the desk he shared with Tristan. Homework.

He felt like if someone said one mean word to him, he could burst into tears. Homework felt just masochistic enough to punish himself for not going to bed. Just enough to not break down into sobs.

At least with homework, he could tell himself that the time he spent in the here and now was time that he was freeing up later.

While the questions were easy and mindless, it was a good distraction. But they weren’t all easy. There was a paper he needed to write, and he was supposed to frame a thesis.

Try as he might, he couldn’t think to put the thoughts into action.

Pen tapped.

Frustration welled.

Pen jabbed. Stabbed his thigh. The pain was a shock, like a wake up call.

There’s something wrong with my brother, like the piece that can get him to compromise and understand just isn’t there. And I’m stuck with him.

The pen jabbed again, near the same spot.

There’s something wrong with me. I felt like I was going to lose my mind from all of this months ago. Things haven’t gotten better.

In a fit, like he wasn’t in control of his own body, he brought the pen down ten times in half that many seconds.

He released his hand. The pen fell to the floor. Rather than pick it up, he kicked it.

He jumped, hearing a knock at the door. He hadn’t shut it.

It was Kay. Furcate. They wore pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, hair tousled like they’d just woken up, rather than like they were just about to go to sleep.

Byron’s hand pressed over the spot where blood was seeping into his pyjama shorts. “Something up?”

“Can I come in?”

“I’m not really up to company right now,” he said. “Is it important?”

Kay nodded.

“Okay,” Byron said. He swallowed hard, then nodded.

Kay approached, until they stood behind him. “Open.”

“Wha—” Byron started. A hard object was pressed between his teeth.

One of Kay’s old lady lemon candies, that tasted like menthol, citrus, and ass. Kay’s favorite.

Just as he was coming around to the idea that this too could be masochistic, he felt Kay’s arms around his shoulders. A hug from behind, Kay’s face smushed against the side of his head.