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“’Least two things.”

And then the giggles come.

Zane shakes his head. “You’re such a dick.”

More giggles until my side hurts a little.

We keep walking, just two regular guys too familiar with our own assholes.

The pressure really is stupid. The room wants more than it used to. Or maybe I’ve just given enough that they know there’s more they can ask for. The plug isn’t new anymore. Foot lotion now, too, because apparently there’s a whole category of men who get off on baby-soft soles.

Maybe it is skilled labor.

“Good tokens, right?”

“Good tokens,” Zane echoes.

The basketball court gets louder as the trail bends near it. A ball hits the rim. Sneakers squeak over concrete.

I keep my eyes on the ground.

Zane notices this time.

“Wanna shoot around after?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

For a second, I’m back there. My shoulder hitting concrete. Hot asphalt against my cheek. His face too close to mine, red and furious, yelling faggot loud enough to knock me down even before the first punch.

Then it’s gone. Like always.

We find my disc beside the tree.

Zane leans against the trunk, scratching at his jaw. “You ever thought about doing a collab?”

“No.”

“That was fast.”

“That’s because no.”

“Not with me, just generally.”

“I’m not doing porn with another guy.”

I rub sweat from my neck and try not to tense up over where the conversation is going.

Zane laughs. “Everybody has standards until rent’s due.”

“If he has a dick, no.”

“You jerk off for dudes already.”

“It’s too gay.”