Unfortunately, because Ben wants to die, he shoots a false grin at Milo and chirps, "Mate, your boyfriend is very, very sexy when he's being all growly and mean."
I go to reach across the bar so I can make a valiant attempt at smacking the stupid out of Ben. It seems a futile endeavour, but I'm certain it'll be the most fun I've ever had failing at something.
Milo swoops in to save his boss's balls, probably because he doesn't want to lose his job or see me get banged up for GBH. I’m not afraid of that possible outcome. Ben would never have me arrested for kicking his head in. Ben's old school. He would just get a few of his old gang mates to come round and knife me on my way home one night.
But Milo has a strange way of looking at things like this. He seems to think people like us are bound in by the same rules as those dictated by polite society. I can't blame Milo for that, though. He was born a rich kid and grew up in uptown Danger before he landed on the streets. All that fake sophistication bullshit ruined him, at least a little.
Milo grabs hold of my arm and stops me from knocking Ben on his arse. He wraps himself around it like a little limpet, making it so I'd need to hurt him to dislodge him, which is something he knows I'd never do. I scowl down at my boyfriend, silently promising him vengeance for this, even though he's right to intervene. It would be a mistake to let my frustration and anger over what happened to Tony make me do something messily violent to Ben.
Milo flashes a saccharine smile up at his boss. "My boyfriend is very, very sexy all of the time." He sounds smug. "Sucks to be everyone who's not me, I guess."
Ben laughs and I still really want to crack his jaw, but I let Milo drag me away instead. Paige rallies the others and follows after us. She comes up next to me as we leave the bar and nudges my side.
"We really gonna go after whoever sold Tony the drugs?" Paige asks. "Even if it's the Winters."
I exhale slowly, willing the irritation and my twitchy need to hit something subside.
Pushing down all thoughts of Ben, I think about Tony instead. How scared he looked as he died. How young he was. How happy he seemed only a week ago, laughing with his friends.
"Yeah," I answer gravely. "We are."
***
"He got it from the Clarke brothers," Zoe finally admits, all but hiding behind her long, dark hair. Her brown eyes are lined with black makeup, and she's dressed in an oversized hoodie that makes her look smaller than she is.
It didn't take us long to track down Tony's friends. They were all eating dinner together in the shelter cafeteria, seemingly oblivious to Tony's fate. When Milo and I sat down at their table they were immediately wary. Most of them are new to the shelter and only know me by reputation, which can be a good or bad thing depending on what version of that reputation they've heard.
At first, none of them wanted to share anything with us about where Tony had been getting the drugs, but as soon as I told them what happened to him they were more willing to open up.
Still, it took some time to get the answer I wanted, but now I have it. The Clarke brothers.
I ask Tony’s friends if they've heard of anyone else dying from taking Epic and they reluctantly admit they have.
"I told him not to take any more," Zoe murmurs to us dejectedly. All her friends make noises of support like they said the same. "Told him it was stupid dangerous and that it wasn't worth it. I thought he listened. But." She shrugs, sounding guilty, like she should have done more to stop him.
I lean forward on the cafeteria table and meet her eyes, which blink up at me behind a curtain of hair.
"Tony made his own choices," I tell her steadily. "You can't make yourself responsible for them after the fact. That's not what being a good friend means."
"What does being a good friend mean, then?" Zoe challenges, adding some acid to her tone. There's grief shining in her eyes. Greif for Tony, and maybe for other people as well. When you're a street kid, you're considered lucky if you only ever have to see one of your friends die.
"Being someone they can turn to when they need help," I tell her. "All you have to do is be a safe place."
It seems like a simple thing, and in some ways it is. But in other ways, it's the most difficult thing to grasp when you care about someone. Realising you can't help a person who doesn't want it, no matter how hard you try to convince them otherwise. We can only give up so much ground to a black hole before it starts to consume us too.
I can feel Milo watching me from my right side, but I don't look at him, keeping my attention focused on Zoe. She stares back at me for a long time, uncertain and a little pissed off. No doubt the anger is born more from frustration than anything else. It's a lot to take on as an adult, accepting the truth of our helplessness when it comes to other people's pain. Accepting it as a kid is even more confusingly difficult. We want things to make sense, to have a solid answer we can hold onto, but people aren't simple and sometimes how we feel doesn't make sense to anyone but us. We can only be responsible for our own decisions, because our own decisions are the only ones we have all the variables for.
Zoe's shoulders slump and some of the defensiveness leaks out of her. She nods at me wordlessly and gets up to leave. She seems to be the leader of her little ragtag group and proves it by motioning at the others to go with her, which they do, loyally following after her like she’s the Peter Pan to their lost boys.
Milo puts a hand on my shoulder and leans in to press a light kiss to my bicep. I wish I wasn't wearing my leather jacket, so I could feel his mouth brush the skin of my arm. There's something about the way Milo touches me that soothes the hurt and rage that boils up inside me when I dwell too much on terrible things I can't change.
"Not very good at following your own advice, you know that," Milo murmurs sadly to me. I turn my head and he's looking up at me with those lovely green eyes I can’t stop myself from gazing into every chance I see them, which is a whole hell of a lot. I should be tired of those eyes by now, I should have gotten my fill of staring at him, but I haven't. Not once in six years has looking at him felt like anything less than a gift I can't believe he gives me.
"I know." Needing to be closer and soak up more of his presence, I lean into him and brush my cheek against the side of his head. He's so small. Short and compact, too beautiful for this life. But what calls to me more than any of that, is the strong, selfless man I know him to be. There's not a person on this planet with more grit and kindness in their soul than my Milo.
"Come on," Milo says, tugging at my jacket. "Let's go fuck up Adrian Clarke's afternoon." He sounds vaguely excited by the prospect.
The Clarke brothers work for the Winters family. It's no big surprise that the drug is coming from the Winters, although it still feels like a daunting revelation.
