Will’s lips were sweet, but Quinn was careful; they were still swollen from the bastard’s fist. He didn’t want to hurt Will, ever. But Will pressed forward into the kiss and made a low sound, almost like growling, and Quinn went from careful to hungry in a nanosecond.

Will raised his hand to cup Quinn’s cheek, the gauze rasping against Quinn’s jaw, and tilted his face a little to fit better. When his tongue stroked Quinn’s bottom lip, Quinn opened and greeted him gratefully. God, he’d fantasized about this for so long, practically since he’d met Will, but had figured he was straight and wouldn’t be interested. This kiss had started almost accidentally—he hadn’t planned on kissing Will, not when Will was so messed up. But somehow, instinct led him right to this moment, and he blessed his instinct.

Then Will froze, and Quinn’s heart sank. He drew back a little, brushing gently at Will’s lip with his thumb. “Sorry,” he said. “Got carried away. You okay?”

“You kissed me,” Will said in that lost voice that made Quinn want to hit someone—mainly the beefy racist homophobe that had moved Will into his dorm room last August.

“Yeah. Been wanting to do that for a while. Sorry. Now is probably not a good time.”

“No. No, nothing to be sorry for. I just . . . I didn’t expect it, is all.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was gay, too?”

“I didn’t.” Will flushed. “I guess I don’t have the radar or gaydar or whatever it is people call that. I never know when people are gay or aren’t. I just thought you were—sociable, or something. Friendly. Outgoing.”

“Which I am,” Quinn said, trying on cheerful for size. “Sociable, friendly, outgoing, and gay.” He eased back onto his heels and smiled up at Will as he rested his hands on Will’s knees. “And a bit pushy, sometimes. Don’t mind me.”

“No. I . . . I liked it.” Will tried for a smile, but winced when it pulled at his healing split.

“Shh,” Quinn said, and squeezed Will’s knees gently as he got up. “Okay. I think you probably need to take a nap, and I need to get you unpacked, and while you’re sleeping I’ll sneak down to Commons and get us some lunch. I bet you didn’t have dinner last night before your old man went off on you.”

“No. It happened as soon as I walked in the door,” Will admitted.

“Figures. Anyway, you missed breakfast at the hospital—and I’ll tell you, you didn’t miss much—and so I bet you’re hungry.”

“I can’t believe I slept all night at the hospital and didn’t even wake up,” Will muttered.

“Oh, you woke up a couple of times,” Quinn told him, “but they gave you some pain meds, so you were pretty out of it. I slept in the chair so, frankly, I could use a nap, too, but I’m more hungry than sleepy. So you crash, I’ll get food, and then I’ll crash too. I don’t have to be at rehearsals until four, so we have time.” He held out a hand to Will, who took it and got up. They stood there like that a moment, then Quinn grinned and released him. “Lie down and sleep for a while, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

Will was asleep when Quinn got back with sandwiches. On Will’s nightstand, he spied the bottle of Vicodin the doctor had given him. Quinn checked the quantity—it looked like he’d only taken one, which was okay. He thought briefly of taking them and putting them away until Will asked for them; he’d seen kids so devastated by the whole discovery thing that a bottle of painkillers looked like closure. But Will was still dazed by the whole experience and probably wasn’t thinking that far ahead yet.

Will looked so small and fragile lying there, the little pillow the hospital had sent home with him clutched against his sore ribs. They’d only been bruised, not broken, so the doctors had taped him up and told him to take it easy for a few days. They’d been the worst of his injuries. Nothing was broken, though the one ER doctor had shaken his head and said that the cheek probably should have been stitched, but since it had already stopped bleeding there wasn’t much point in doing anything except putting on a butterfly bandage in case it opened up again.

Quinn bent and kissed him lightly on the bandage.

Will stirred and looked up at him. “Back already?” he mumbled, and Quinn sat down on the side of the bed.

“Got sammiches and everything,” he said. “Your choice of turkey, roast beef, or Spam.” At Will’s wrinkled nose, he laughed. “Okay, I lied about the Spam. Turkey, roast beef, or chicken salad.”

“Walnuts in the chicken salad?”

“No, just a little celery, I think.”

“Then I think the chicken salad. It’ll probably be easier. My face hurts.”

“Yeah, it’s killin’ me,” Quinn joked.

Will gave him his shy smile. “Thanks. You need to keep a list of what I owe you, so I can pay you back when I get a job or something.”

Quinn shook his head and handed him the sandwich. “Worry about that later. When we’ve graduated and you’re making tons of money as an engineer, you can support me while I’m trying to make a living as a singer.”

I would, Will thought, then blinked. Where had that come from? He wasn’t in any position to make promises. No matter Quinn’s optimism, the facts weren’t very reassuring. He was homeless, broke, and about to lose his future. Even if he managed to find a job slinging burgers or cleaning toilets or something, and found a place where he could afford to live, tuition would still be beyond him. And even if he could afford to go part-time—and what kind of wild-eyed pipe dream was that—it would take him years to get a degree.

He looked up at Quinn’s kind, happy face and felt a little sick. Who was he kidding? He’d never be able to pay him back for the sandwich, let alone anything else.

“Right,” he said bitterly, and bit into the sandwich, tasting nothing.

Quinn took it away. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s going on in your head?”

He shook it. “I’m just . . . still tired, I guess. Groggy.” He attempted a smile. “I’ll be okay in a minute or two.”

“Okay.” Quinn gave him the sandwich back, then took out his own and sat down on the edge of his own bed. “First one done’s got dibs on the roast beef,” he said lightly.

“Thanks,” Will said again.

“Okay,” Quinn said again after they’d eaten a few bites. “It’s Saturday and we can’t really do anything about your little problem today, so what do you want to do instead? I’ve got rehearsal at four, until probably at least six. Bennigan’s going loony with this one and isn’t satisfied with anything. It’s part of his Conducting final. I’m thinking if you took it easy today, we could go out to eat after rehearsal and then maybe take in a movie or something? Lots of good Christmas releases—the new Sherlock Holmes, that suspense thing with Helen Mirren—God, I love Helen Mirren . . .”

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Will said bluntly. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m just your roommate—your ex-roommate. In a couple of days, I’ll be out of your hair and you won’t ever see me again.”

“Of course I’ll see you again.” Quinn’s voice was quiet, almost expressionless. “You’re going to pay me back for the sandwich, remember?”

“I’ll mail you a check.” Will set the sandwich down carefully on the foil. “Really, Quinn, I don’t get it. I don’t get why you stayed at the hospital with me last night, why you even took me there to begin with instead of just calling the cops and letting them handle it. Why you’re being so nice to me. We’re practically strangers. Why would you waste your energy?” He tried to keep his tone calm and merely inquisitive, as if talking in the abstract, but by the end he could hear it quivering. He hated that. He hated not being able to keep control. He’d always been able to keep control—what was wrong with him?

“Well,” Quinn said levelly, “I apparently don’t come from a screwed-up family that beats the shit out of a kid and then throws him in the street without so much as a ‘Merry Christmas.’ In my family, people give a shit. In my family, people help other people, particularly when it’s someone who matters.”

“I don’t fucking matter. Don’t you get that? I’ve got nothing. Nothing worth anything.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” Quinn put his sandwich down, too, and set it on the bed beside him. “Of course you don’t have anything, you moron. You’re goddamn eighteen. I don’t have anything either. Just a lot of potential. You, too. You’re nothing but potential.” He reached over and squeezed Will’s knee.

“What kind of family do you come from?” Will put his hand over Quinn’s. It felt so good on his knee, so good beneath his palm: strong, lean, firm and yet intrinsically fragile, as if all the strength and firmness came from Quinn’s own will.

Quinn laughed. “Loud. Raucous. We put the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional.’ Seriously, there are six kids in my family, nine in one set of cousins, eight in another, five in still another. My dad’s Scottish, my mother’s a true Creole, some African American but with a smattering of Irish and Cuban and French, and my grandmama’s an old bruja who rules us all. She lives in N’Awlins, where the family’s roots are. We’re Scots and black and Irish and French and Spanish and nuckin’ futs. When we ain’t singin’, we’re rasslin’.”

His voice had taken on a strange cadence, sort of Southern, sort of French, and all musical. Will could listen to it for hours. He’d never heard Quinn sound like that before—the whole time they’d been roommates, Quinn had sounded just like everyone else.

“We love each other like crazy, even when we drive each other just as crazy. Grandmama calls everyone in the family ‘bebe’ and Maman does too.” He flushed a little. “It’s just for family, though.”

“You called me ‘bebe,’” Will pointed out. “But that doesn’t mean the same thing, does it?”

“Of course it does, bebe,” Quinn said. “You need a family. I got plenty.”

“That’s bullshit. You don’t know me from Adam. If I hadn’t been your roommate, you would have left me sitting in that church—”

“That,” Quinn snapped, “is where you’re wrong. I would have done exactly the same thing—okay, maybe I would have ignored what you said and called the damn police like you should have done.”

“Why should I? It wouldn’t make any difference! They aren’t gonna arrest my dad for walloping me. He’s got every right—”

“Bullshit!” Quinn yelled. He shot to his feet, his hands fisted. “Nobody has the right to beat the shit out of someone, no matter who they are. Okay, maybe they couldn’t get him on child abuse, but they sure as shit could tag him for assault and battery! Bet that would look good to his fucking church!”

His eyes were glittering, his face was flushed and his fury was a beautiful thing. Will got up, caught Quinn’s face in his hands, and kissed him, hard. It hurt his mouth but he didn’t care; he just wanted, needed, to kiss this amazing man.

Quinn started, struggled a little, put his hands on Will’s chest—but then the hands softened and slid up over Will’s shoulders, and Quinn’s slim, strong body swayed up against Will’s gangly one. Will shifted his grasp to Quinn’s waist, wrapping tightly around him to hold him, just there, tight against Will. Their tongues touched, twisting and tasting and teasing, hot and wet and hungry.

He dragged his mouth from Quinn’s and bent to taste his throat, nudging the collar of his sweater aside to lick the curve where neck met shoulder. The skin tasted sweet there, like the fruit-scented body wash he used. Will could always tell when Quinn had just taken a shower, because the floor bathroom smelled like strawberries or melon or papaya. The other guys on the floor always griped about the bathroom smelling like a girl’s. Will had never minded, but now he wondered if he should have suspected Quinn’s gayness just from that. He chuckled then, his earlier anger fizzling out in the taste of Quinn.

“Oh, God,” Quinn moaned. His arms tightened around Will’s neck, and he rocked his hips up against Will’s.

Will went still. He’d sprung a woody, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Quinn had, too. Oh.

He let go of Quinn then, and stepped back just a little. Quinn’s arms were still around his neck. “Second thoughts?” Quinn asked, smiling, but the light had gone out of his eyes.

“I . . . uh . . . I . . .” Will set his hands gently on Quinn’s hips and looked down at them. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know—I’ve never done anything like this before. This guy— The fight at the club . . .”

“Oh, shit, Will. Don’t tell me you just made your first pickup when the fight broke out?”

Will nodded. “I didn’t want to after that. Just left, went back home. Here. You were out.”

“What were you planning?”

“I don’t know.” Will shrugged. “Just—he said he had an apartment, and he was cute, and smaller than me, so I figured I’d be okay, you know, ’cause I could take him if I had to, and if I changed my mind, I wouldn’t have to worry, so I figured I was safe. The club was kind of scary and I’d never used a fake ID before—I got it from one of the kids on the third floor—but nobody caught me. I was kind of freaked out—there were so many guys there, and it was crowded and noisy and dark, and when Denny came up to me I was just relieved and wanted to get out of there. I acted like I knew what I was doing and he seemed to believe it. But I’ve never done anything,” and the word was a cry from the heart. “I’ve never done anything but jerk off, you know, never kissed anyone, never got a blowjob in the school bathroom, never anything.” Quinn’s hands had pulled his head down onto Quinn’s shoulder and were stroking his hair. “Not anything, ever, and I just wanted to know what it was like.”

“Of course you did,” Quinn said in his ear. His breath tickled, and Will shivered.

“I went to private school,” Will said.

It was a non sequitur, but Quinn seemed to understand. “Church school? Well, that figures. Though I’m surprised you didn’t find someone else in the closet there—it seems like half the messed-up kids I’ve known have been from church schools. You know, when Jesus said ‘Suffer the little children’ he didn’t mean it literally.”

Will snorted a laugh, surprising himself.

Quinn leaned back and grinned at him. “That’s better. Look, you’ve had a rough couple of days, and I bet you’re still hurting. Why don’t you just lie down and take another nap and then come to rehearsal with me. Then we’ll go out to dinner and maybe a movie, and it’s a date, so don’t make any noises about paying me back, ’kay?”

“A date?” Will blinked. “You want to go out with me?”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. You don’t think I get a chubby from giving random guys hugs?”

Will heard a buzzing noise, and Quinn rolled his eyes again. “Hang on right there,” he said, and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Hello, Maman. Oui? No, just chillin’.” He pronounced it shillin’. “Wit’ m’ami Will. M’roommate, remember? Oui, dat one. Oui. No foolin’? Tomorrow? Pourquoi? Mas excellent, Maman! You call den, okay?”

Listening to Quinn’s sweet, peculiarly singsong tones, Will sat back down on his bed, leaned back on his pillow, and relaxed. His hands and face were starting to hurt again, and his chest ached, but he felt better than he had in the last twenty-four hours. He was safe for a while, and he and Quinn had a date. He’d kissed a boy and lightning hadn’t struck him dead, which he’d been afraid of ever since his father had waved that picture in front of his face. Hell, he hadn’t even done anything with Denny, not even kissed him, and he’d gotten punished for that. He’d kissed Quinn—twice—and nothing had happened.

Except he’d gotten a woody, so had Quinn, and now he had a date. And maybe after the date, when they came home, there would be more, and he would finally, finally, find out what all the fuss was about. With Quinn.

He fell asleep still smiling.