“Ben,” Ari said, a little panic rising in his voice at the way Ben suddenly looked, eyes watering and stumbling over his words – and Ari already felt guilty enough about having made him come here to visit; about having dragged him into everything to begin with, and then cutting him adrift so severely when things had gone wrong, without seeing him like this.

“Ben, hey –” there was an old instinct in him, that he couldn’t quite contain; and he didn’t fold Ben into his arms the way he wanted to, but still, he leaned forwards and pressed a hand to Ben’s thigh to say please stop, please don’t, it’s okay. “There was nothing – nothing – you could have done for me,” Ari protested, or assured him, a little desperately. “You tried to be there for me, and I didn’t let you. I never deserved you.” (There it was, that old, gut-twisting feeling of guilt, of shame, of worthlessness again.) Ari held onto Ben’s leg more tightly, trying not to think about how he had staved off those kinds of thoughts before, and how he had nothing to hurt himself with here. Nothing physical, anyway.

But – “What have you been doing to yourself?” he asked, worried. Ben might not have gotten to this state, but he had said rubbish, and Ari was sure that meant he had not been in the best frame of mind, either.

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