Quinn didn't remember the first time he saw Robbie McCracken. It seemed like he had always been there, in choir, one row back and to the left, his voice just a fraction louder than everyone else's. When Quinn sang, especially at performances, he would listen for Robbie's voice, to make sure he (Quinn) wasn't off key. But they'd never been friends, and never even spoken to each other, and then one day he was just gone.

The prevailing rumor was that Robbie had gotten kicked out of his house for having sex with Sarah West, dropped out of school, started doing meth, and was living in some guy's garage. Sarah West denied it furiously, and even got in a fight with a girl who called her a slut. It was big news in the lunchroom for about a week, and then Derek Palmer got caught smoking pot in the bathroom, and everyone forgot about Robbie.

Six months later Quinn was rehearsing in Branden's garage when Jeph very calmly switched off the amp, set down his mic, and said, "I'm not singing anymore."

"Since you're our singer," Branden said. "That's kinda gonna affect the band, dude."

"I wanna go back to playing bass," Jeph said. "I suck at singing. We're not going anywhere with me fronting."

"It's cool," Quinn said. "We'll audition singers. We can put up flyers and shit."

"You can put up flyers," Branden said as he got up from behind his drums. "I gotta get to work."

"Plus you have the boundless energy of youth," Jeph said with a big smile.

"Fuck you guys," Quinn muttered.

Quinn spent the next month plastering the town with flyers, which was no easy task when he didn't even have a car. They got plenty of calls, and ended up auditioning at least twenty singers in Brandon's garage, each one worse than the next.

Just as the door shut behind some thirty year-old guy who had to be tone deaf, Jeph leaned his bass against the amp and said, "I bet I could have a good career as a male stripper." He turned to Branden. "You'd put a dollar in my pants, right?"

"No," Branden said. "But I could get you a job at the warehouse."

"Wait," Quinn said, suddenly sitting up straight. "Wait. I think I know a guy."

He started with Marty Scofield, a kid from high school who dedicated his life to sitting outside the 7-11 and mooching snacks and weed from everyone who passed him. Marty said he'd heard Rob McCracken was living in Mike Ferman's basement, but Mike told him that Rob had moved back home.

Quinn knocked on the front door of the McCracken house, and was surprised when a tall man with a hard face answered.

"Is Rob here?" Quinn asked.

The man just stared at him, as if trying to determine whether he could be trusted.

"I know him from choir, from school," Quinn explained. "I wanted to see if he was interested in singing again." He swallowed. "In um, church."

The man took a step back and opened the door. "His room's the first one on the right," he said. "But he's got dinner in fifteen minutes."

"I won't be long," Quinn promised, and he ran up the stairs.

Rob looked different than he had in school. His blond hair was a little longer, and he was skinnier, though Quinn wouldn't have thought that was possible. He was reading a magazine and chewing on the ends of his fingers. He looked up when Quinn entered.

"Hey," Rob said.

"Hey," Quinn said. "You probably don't remember me, but we went to school together, and -"

"You're Quinn," Rob said with a slight smile.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Anyway, I have this band, and we need a singer, and I remember you from choir, so..." He took a CD out of his pocket. "Here's one of our songs. You think you could make a vocal part for it in a couple days?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Rob said, accepting the CD. "Man, you have no idea how much I need something to do, you know? It's all throwing up and getting screamed at."

"Yeah," Quinn said, though he wasn't sure what Rob meant. "Are you free Saturday?"

Rob nodded.

"I can pick you up around three and take you to our rehearsal space," Quinn told him. He paused, remembering the imposing figure in the doorway. "Will your parents be cool with that?"

"Probably not," Rob said, but his face broke into a huge smile. He hopped off his bed and pulled Quinn into a hug. Quinn just stood there frozen, with his hands at his side, unsure of how to respond. Rob let go quickly, sparing him the embarrassment.

"Thanks, man," Rob said as he settled onto the bed again, grasping the CD tightly. "This is so awesome; you have no idea."

"Thanks for doing it," Quinn said. "I should go. You have dinner soon."

That Saturday Quinn borrowed his dad's car and drove to Rob's house. Rob was sitting on the front lawn, bouncing one foot nervously, and he leapt to his feet as soon as Quinn pulled in.

"Hey," Rob said with a big smile as he settled into the passenger's seat. His mood was clearly different from when Quinn had seen him before. His whole body seemed to be vibrating with energy. "I'm so fucking psyched," he said. "I think you guys'll like it. I hope you'll like it." He turned in the seat to face Quinn. "Hey, can I be Bert?"

"Bert?"

"Instead of Rob," he said. "It's just, today I realized that if I have to keep walking around with my father's name, I'm probably gonna set myself on fire, you know?"

"Yeah, you can be Bert," Quinn said, though Quinn didn't think Rob needed his permission to change his name.

"Thanks," he said, and he was quiet for the rest of the drive.

At the rehearsal space Quinn introduced Jeph and Branden to Bert, and then handed Bert the old boom box they used as a CD player. He expected Bert to be like some the other singers they'd auditioned, with demands for certain types of set-ups or the full band backing them, but Bert just hit play and went for it.

His singing was like nothing Quinn had ever heard before, and by the time the song was over he, Jeph, and Branden were exchanging wide-eyed looks. Bert just wiped some sweat from his forehead, hitched up his pants, and smiled at them.

"Um..." Quinn said. "Do you want to be in our band?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bert launched himself at Quinn, nearly knocking him over, and this time Quinn was giddy enough to hug back. Jeph and Branden got hugs next, and then Bert immediately wanted to listen to the other instrumentals they recorded.

They jammed until it was dark outside, and Bert's face fell as he said, "I should get home. I'm already in so much shit."

On the ride back to his house, Quinn and Bert talked about what kind of music they liked, and what kind they wanted to make. Bert seemed excited, but when the car pulled up in front of his house, it was like all the energy drained out of him.

Bert leaned his head against the passenger's side window and looked up. "The moon looks nice tonight," he said.

"Yeah," Quinn said softly.

Bert pursed his lips together. "I really don't want to go in there." His body seemed to collapse into itself, his elbows and knees drawing into his torso.

"You could stay with me," Quinn said.

Bert looked over at him doubtfully.

"My parents are cool; I have friends stay all the time," he explained. "And it'll give us more time to practice."

"I already owe you too much," Bert said softly.

"Shut the fuck up," Quinn said. "Without you, we wouldn't even have a band." He put the car into reverse. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Bert insisted on stopping at the grocery store on the way back, where he shoplifted some black hair dye even though Quinn offered to pay for it. When they got to Quinn's, they dyed Bert's hair in the upstairs bathroom along with Quinn's little sister, who served as look-out so Quinn's parents wouldn't see how they stained the tub. When Bert's hair was finally done he made faces at himself in the mirror as Quinn tried to scrub the dye stains off the sides of Bert's face.

Next Quinn pulled out his two acoustics and they sat in the backyard playing. Bert was surprisingly good for someone who hadn't studied much guitar, though eventually he gave up and just started making up lyrics to Quinn's riffs, spontaneously composing songs about everything from quitting drugs to leaving Utah to breaking up with girls.

When it got so cold that they couldn't ignore their shivering anymore, they took the guitars back inside the house and up to Quinn's bedroom.

"There's not a lot of room in the house," Quinn explained. "So you'll have to sleep here, unless you want the couch."

"Here's good," Bert said. He took his shirt and pants off and crawled into bed wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs. "I'm not completely detoxed yet," he said. "I think the puking part is over, but I still can't sleep real good." He put his head against the pillow and looked up at Quinn. "I hope I don't keep you up."

Quinn shrugged. "I'm a heavy sleeper." He took his pants off and got into bed wearing his t-shirt and boxers.

Quinn was surprised when Bert rolled over, threw his arm across Quinn's body, and buried his face in Quinn's chest.

"I love you, Quinn," Bert said, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life with you."

"Okay," Quinn said. "Are you sure you're not on drugs anymore?"

Bert rolled back, though he left his hand on Quinn's chest. "Actually, I'm still smoking weed, but not a lot. Want to play a game?" He continued before Quinn had a chance to respond. "Tell me all your secrets. Every single one. And nothing leaves this room."

"Secrets?" Quinn took a moment to consider it. "Um...Freshman year I jerked off into a sock and put it in Mrs. Kask's mailbox."

"That was you?" Bert whooped out a laugh. "That was legendary!"

Quinn shifted so he could see Bert's face. "Now you tell me one of yours."

"Um...you remember the whole rumor about me and Sarah West? I never even touched her."

"You're kidding," Quinn said.

"I was on the phone with her talking about how I wanted to touch her, getting really X-rated about it, and my mom was listening in, and that's what got me kicked out." He shrugged. "So I get this whole reputation, and my parents hate me, and I'm still a virgin."

"No way."

Bert stretched out on the bed, kicking Quinn's ankle in the process. "I am as pure as the driven snow."

"Loser," Quinn said. A moment passed, then he whispered, "I am too."

Bert just looked at him.

"Don't tell Jeph and Branden," Quinn continued. "I had this girlfriend Junior year, and everyone just assumed..."

"I won't tell," Bert said softly. He was silent for a few moments, and when Quinn looked over at him, he was asleep.

True to his word, Bert woke Quinn up three times during the night, twice by tossing and turning, and once by kicking Quinn in the shin. Quinn just rolled over each time and fell back asleep. When he woke up, Bert had one arm around him and their ankles hooked together, and Quinn lay in bed like that for a half hour before waking up Bert because he smelled his mother's waffles.

After breakfast Bert wanted to get right to the music, so Quinn set up his electric guitar in his room. Bert took one of his riffs and made up an entire vocal part, something about a box with sharp things in it. The second time they played it through Quinn's mom appeared in the doorway looking worried.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Allman," Bert said. "Are we being too loud?"

She shook her head. "I was just afraid Quinn was beating you to death."

Bert smiled. "That's our music."

Mrs. Allman returned the smile. "It's very...original." She turned to Quinn. "I'm going grocery shopping, so if you need a ride to Branden's it might be best for me to drop you off now."

"Sure, mom," Quinn said.

They got to the practice space long before Branden got off work, so they continued jamming, and eventually Jeph showed up and joined them. Then they found a book of matches, and Bert invented a game that no one quite understood the rules of, which resulted in him burning off all the hair on his left arm. Finally Branden showed up, and Quinn and Bert played the song they'd written that day. Jeph and Branden loved it, and by the end of the night they had a demo recorded.

It was late by the time they finished, so Brenden drove Quinn and Bert home, where they tiptoed through the dark house and up to Quinn's bedroom. They stripped to their boxers silently and got into bed.

"Secrets?" Bert whispered.

Quinn was too worn out to play games, but he said "yeah" anyway.

The sheets rustled as Bert pushed himself up on his elbow. "The first time I kissed a girl, I stuck my tongue in her mouth and she bit it."

Quinn laughed quietly. "When I was a kid my dad was painting a room, and I ate some of the paint because it looked like ice cream, and they had to take me to the emergency room."

"When I was twelve, I heard that you could get drunk from lemon extract, so I drank a whole bunch and puked all over my bed."

They chuckled silently into each other's air, their faces close together. Quinn took a deep breath and held it in for a moment.

"I'm not into girls," Quinn said softly.

The room seemed to go completely still. There was the shadow of a tree on the opposite wall, and even though Quinn could hear the wind outside, the tree branches were motionless, as if the shadow was stuck in the weight of the room's air.

Finally Bert made a small sound, a tiny breath in. "I'm not...I mean, I don't really know..."

"Forget about it," Quinn said quickly. "You don't have to say anything."

Bert paused, then blurted out, "When I was eight I put an M&M so far up my nose I had to go to the hospital."

Quinn looked down, focusing on the shadow of Bert's stomach (he was so thin), but he could still feel Bert's eyes on him. "You don't have to -"

Bert put his hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Go to sleep," he said. He shifted so that Quinn could have more of the pillows and lay his head down. Quinn stretched out beside him, careful not to jostle Bert's hand, as if he might be scared away. But if Bert had shown him anything today, it was that he wasn't running away.

"You're our singer," Quinn said softly.

Bert smiled. "That a secret?"

"Not for long."

Bert closed his eyes, and in a moment he was breathing heavily.

The next morning Bert was out of bed before Quinn, and it was his pacing that woke Quinn up. He was staring out the window to the backyard, chewing on his index finger, then turning on his heel and pacing the length of the bedroom, only to return to the window a moment later.

Quinn blinked a few times. "You okay?"

Bert started at the noise, then turned to look at Quinn. "Yeah," he said. "I just need to go into town today."

"It's cool; I have to work." Quinn sat up. "My mom might be able to drive you."

Bert shook his head. "I can walk." He scratched his neck, seeming twitchier than usual.

Quinn stood up. "You sure you're okay?"

Bert nodded. "Fine." He picked up his hoody from a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Quinn said, and he was gone.

Quinn spent all morning mowing the golf course in the oppressively hot sun, and then had to wait a half hour for his mom to come pick him up. When he finally got home he was exhausted, sweaty, and desperate for a shower. He pulled his shirt off and kicked open his bedroom door.

Bert was standing in the middle of the room, his pants and underwear at his knees, a hypodermic needle poised just to the side of his dick. When the door opened, he looked up, his eyes wide.

Quinn wasn't sure what to do. His first instinct was to apologize and back out of the room, but it was his room, and oh yeah, needle near his dick what the fuck.

"Bert..."

Bert looked down at his feet. "I just needed a hit, I'm sorry."

Quinn took a deep breath. "Did you do any yet?"

Bert shook his head, eyes still lowered.

Quinn took a small step forward. "Can I have the needle?"

Bert looked at the needle, and for one terrifying moment Quinn was sure he'd inject himself. But Bert turned it over, his hands shaking, and Quinn grabbed it gently by its center.

Bert was still naked from the waist down, and Quinn gestured to his crotch. "Why were you...?"

"Oh." Bert pulled up his pants. "Veins in my arms collapsed."

Quinn considered the needle in his hand. "How do I get rid of this?"

Bert rubbed his eyes. "Wrap it in plastic or something and put it in the outside trash," he said. "But empty it first, or I'll end up digging it out later." He sat down on the bed. "Quinn, I - "

"It's cool," Quinn said quickly. "Just gimme a second." He carried the needle into the hall bathroom, praying his parents weren't around. He hit the plunger at the end of the syringe, emptying the dark liquid into the toilet, and flushed. He shoved it to the bottom of the bathroom trash, and took out the whole plastic bag. It was garbage day the next day, so the can was at the curb, and Quinn buried the bathroom garbage under a bag of chicken bones from last night's dinner.

When he got back to his room, Bert was lying on the bed facing the wall. Quinn shut the door behind him, but Bert didn't react. Quinn wasn't sure whether he should yell at Bert, throw him out, or just pretend it never happened. But then he noticed Bert's shoulders shaking.

Quinn walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down next to Bert. He put his arm around Bert's body and pulled his head against his chest. Bert's breath hitched with strangled sobs, and Quinn put his hand on his hair.

"I'm sorry," Bert said, his voice shaking.

"It's all right," Quinn said. He tightened his grip around Bert. Bert had to stay with him. Bert would be safe here. He needed to keep Bert safe, and it wasn't because he was the best vocalist their band ever had.

There was a knock on Quinn's door and his little sister's voice: "Mom says dinner's ready!"

"Be right there!" Quinn called back. He ran his hand through Bert's hair until Bert looked up, his eyes red. "Do you want me to bring your food up?"

Bert nodded. Quinn extracted himself from the bed, and Bert buried his face in a pillow.

At the dinner table, Quinn told his parents Bert had the flu, and after they'd all eaten his mother gave him a dish and a soda to bring upstairs. He found Bert asleep in just his boxers, but woke him up and encouraged him to eat at least some of the food. When Bert was done, he left the plate on the floor, got back into bed, and closed his eyes.

Quinn sat on the floor near him. "Secrets."

Bert was still for so long that Quinn thought for a moment he'd fallen asleep. Finally he spoke, his voice gravely. "I don't think I'm gonna make it."

Quinn leaned back on his hands. "Here's my secret. I been playing music with Jeph and Branden for a long time, but this is the first time we've felt like a real band. We need you, Bert. But we need you clean."

Bert didn't respond.

Quinn stood up. "But you know what? If you're not into it, fine. Fuck it all. That's my real secret. I don't care about the music." He took a step closer to the bed. "I'd rather be your friend than be in a band with you, Bert. But either way I'm gonna make sure you don't die."

Bert opened his eyes. His face looked so worn, and his body was so thin, but his eyes burned with purpose. "How?" he asked.

Quinn leaned down and kissed him.

Bert reached up and pulled Quinn down, and Quinn clumsily fell on top of him, one knee at his side and one knee between his legs. Quinn felt like he'd crush Bert, but Bert put his hand on the back of Quinn's neck and yanked him closer, pulling their chests flush against each other's. Bert kissed messy and desperate, and Quinn put his hand on the side of Bert's face to keep him steady.

Bert ran his hands up Quinn's side, underneath his shirt, and Quinn gasped at how soft his hands were. He was used to his own guitar-calloused fingers. As Bert lifted his shirt over his head Quinn thought about how many lifetimes Bert must've lived already, yet he was still so soft. He still needed someone to take care of him.

Once their bare chests were touching, Bert put his fingers in Quinn's short hair, as if trying to pull him closer. Quinn wanted to be closer. He wanted to pull Bert inside him and keep him safe and warm forever. He kissed Bert so hard their teeth clicked together. Bert put his other hand on Quinn's waist and rolled his hips up. Quinn could feel Bert's dick hard against his thigh.

Quinn didn't hesitate. He pushed his hand past the elastic of Bert's underwear and wrapped his hand around Bert's dick. Any discomfort he had with the act was eliminated when Bert started making noises, panting and moaning against Quinn's neck. Quinn thought about a needle touching Bert there, and felt a surge of protectiveness, wanting to claim the area as his.

When Bert stretched up to Quinn's ear and whispered, "Quinn, I love you.", Quinn pressed his dick against Bert's hip. Quinn thrust against Bert each time he moved his hand along Bert's dick, and before long he was coming in his pants, gasping and nearly sobbing against Bert's face.

Quinn kept his hand in motion, but Bert grabbed his wrist and gently moved his hand to the side. "Let me," he whispered. He stroked his dick a few times, hard, the bones of his knuckles banging against Quinn's, then came over both their hands.

Bert moaned out an unintelligble curse and then leaned his face against Quinn's neck to catch his breath. When he seemed calm, Quinn removed his hand from Bert's underwear, wiped it on the sheets, and rolled off him. He collapsed onto the bed, but remained close, placing one hand on Bert's bare stomach and one on the side of Bert's face. Bert turned to him and kissed him, then rested his forehead against Quinn's and closed his eyes.

"It's okay?" Bert whispered. "If I can't do the band right now?"

"Fuck the band," Quinn said. "Just stay here. We'll hang out and waste time."

Bert smiled. "You're the best fucking thing in my life."

Quinn felt his throat close up. "I love you too," he said, though he wasn't sure it was completely audible.

"Quinn!" Came his mother's voice from outside the room. "You have company. Come downstairs."

"Shit," Quinn muttered. He and Bert got out of bed and put on the first clean clothes they saw. Quinn tried to smooth down Bert's hair, but he still looked freshly fucked, and Quinn fussed with his own hair for a moment before his mother called out for them again. They hurried down the stairs to find Branden and Jeph standing in the entranceway.

"You'll never believe it," Jeph said. "You're not gonna believe it."

"John Feldmann," Branden said.

"John fucking Feldmann," Jeph repeated.

"What?" Quinn asked. Jeph and Branden were grinning, and he felt like he was the only one not in on a joke.

Brenden reached out and grabbed Quinn's wrists. "That song you guys wrote? Pointy things in a box? He loved it. He wants to hear more."

Jeph pulled a confused-looking Bert into a hug. "He said if all our stuff is this good he wants to work with us."

"Work with us!" Branden squeed, shaking Quinn's hands up and down. "He could really make things happen for us!"

Quinn looked over at Bert, who was hugging Jeph tightly. "Guys," Quinn said. "We need to talk. Bert -"

"I have more song ideas," Bert said, releasing Jeph. He turned to Quinn. "I have a bunch of poems written." He lowered his voice. "I can do this."

Branden released Quinn's hands. "I know you have school tomorrow, but you think you can come over for a couple hours?"

"Let me go ask my mom," Quinn said.

"I'll get my notebook," Bert said, and he ran for the stairs.

Quinn got permission, and met the other three by the door. He watched Bert carefully for any signs of distress, but he was the happiest Quinn had ever seen him, yelling insults at Jeph and jumping on Branden's back as they crossed the lawn. Bert and Quinn got into the backseat of Branden's car. Branden turned on the ignition and Operation Ivy began playing. Bert slid into the center so he could lean against Quinn, and took Quinn's hand in his.

"You sure about this?" Quinn whispered.

Bert nodded. "I wrote a song about you."

Quinn smiled. "When?"

They passed by a streetlamp, and in the light Bert's eyes practically glowed blue. "Just now."

Quinn squeezed his hand. Outside the sky was covered in dark gray clouds, and as they drove on, they couldn't see the moon.