Jonathan didn’t know when Alphonse got in bed alongside him, or when he stopped crying. All he knew was that the latter happened second.

His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. The apartment was quiet. Alphonse’s hand was on his shoulder, holding him gently.

What was he doing? He turned in work that got torn to shreds. He should go back out there, get on his laptop, and try and fix it.

But he felt suddenly like he could barely move. His mind ...