“Vince, wait.”
His steps falter as then mingles with now, Eric sounding so much like he used to that Vince can’t escape him, or his laughter, or his hands. They reach out again, touch his back, his arms, like phantoms in the night. “Eric, don’t,” he sighs, pushing through the bushes and thin, leafless trees that line the side street and lead the way into the alley. “Don’t touch me.”
Eric doesn’t seem to get the point. “Vince, stop, please.” Is that a sob? Or did the sound come from Vince’s own tortured throat? He isn’t sure. It used to be like this, didn’t it? They were one soul in two bodies, he couldn’t tell where he stopped and Eric began. Until that day, he thinks bitterly, and your laughter shattered us. Do you still hear it, Eric? The way I do—does it keep you up at night? Do you w
