"I was handsome then. Had an -- an alternative charm, yeah? Like an indie rocker. Everyone said tight pants made you look like a faggot so I wore mine as tight as I could." Harry joked with a small laugh, feeling sick when he remembered what it was like once. To be healthy. Attractive. Feeling good about himself. "I guess I always liked sunglasses so it's no big loss. That the meds made me light sensitive. Or everything sensitive."

He laughed again and then he coughed and then he couldn't stop. He lurched away from Hartley, afraid of getting any blood on him, leaning the other side of the bed, coughing until he vomited.

By the time he was done, he lay back, lightly giggling. Not with joy, he was sobbing and he didn't know when he'd started. "It's just not fair that it's me, Hart. Why--What-- What did I do?"