Noah: I have a pset due tomorrow. Plus I have to work on this fucking arc.

Peter: Please, I can’t be in my room.

Noah: This is really unfair of you to ask me. You know I have a lot of work. Gnight.

Peter slept with the lights on, hoping the silence wouldn’t get to him.

Theirs

“But where are you going?” Peter demanded. Samson and Delilah had their hands in the other’s pockets.

“We built a shelter where the angels’ quiet can’t get at us,” one said.

“Yes, but there’s only room for you two.”

“It’s okay, Peter. We don’t need protection anymore. We built this ourselves,” the other assured.

“What about me?” But they’d already retreated into their shelter. Delilah was fussing over Samson’s new haircut.

Abnormal

Abnormal was every Tuesday and Thursday like clockwork. The prof was predictably 40 minutes late. Noah sent Peter doves across lecture over the Cloud—little electronic olive branches. He could come over tonight if he wanted.

Abnormal meant studying certain subjects from which Peter continuously distanced himself. The theory had been gently suggested, and he admitted to a slight suspicion but never allowed those thoughts to become fully formed in his mind. To permit them space within his brain meant partially admitting to their truth. Over all else, he was most terrified of being unoriginal. A right-brain bisexual with mild to severe depression: It’s been done. Truth was so easily twisted and tucked away, like history and statistics.