Quinn got into his bed beside Bert, pulled the covers up to his neck, and put an arm around Bert. He'd been doing this for the past few nights, ever since Bert woke up the first night, got out of bed, wandered a few blocks away, and ended up shivering underneath someone's porch for over an hour before Quinn found him and brought him home. Though the worst of his withdrawal had passed, and Bert was clearly dedicated to the band, Quinn still didn't trust him not to bolt.

This was the only reason Quinn slept with his arm around Bert. It had nothing to do with late nights when they were both half-dead from staying up jamming in the garage, and he would get into bed after Bert had already stripped down to his underwear, and he would put his arm around Bert, and Bert would roll over toward him, his soft bare skin brushing against Quinn's, his face pressing against Quinn's neck, his breath warm and smelling like cigarettes and apple juice.

Bert had been clean for six days.

"I'm gonna write a song about you," Bert said softly.

Quinn smiled against the top of his head. "Cool. Make me a ninja."

Bert moved closer to him, wrapping one around around his waist and pressing his other hand against his chest. "No," he said. "It's a song about how much I love you."

"You can love a ninja."

Bert giggled into Quinn's neck. Quinn closed his eyes and fell asleep breathing in the scent of Bert's hair. It was his own shampoo, but it never smelled like that on him.

When he woke up Bert was gone.

Bert had only been sleeping in his bed for six days, but Quinn was so used to it already, that he woke up shivering, immediately aware of the absence. He sat up before he was even completely awake and looked around, as if Bert might be hiding under the desk or behind the closet door. But it wasn't that big of a room, and Bert was clearly gone. Quinn stood and rushed out of the room without even bothering to put on clothes. He'd run through the neighborhood in his underwear and t-shirt; he didn't care. There was no telling when Bert had woken up or how far he'd gone. He could be on the other side of town already. He could've met up with some of his old "friends" and be shooting up right at that moment -

Quinn had his coat on and the door open when he heard the music.

He closed the front door and turned toward the basement door. They had an old piano down there, but his mother was the only one who knew how to play, and he doubted she was up at 3am. Quinn opened the door and walked down the dusty wooden stairs. The basement was unfinished, and was mostly exposed pipes, the boiler, and damp cardboard boxes. But in one corner Quinn's mom had set down a section of leftover carpet around her old upright, though she only played occasionally, and mostly to entertain her sisters at Thanksgiving.

But now Bert was sitting on the piano bench, wearing only a pair of gray boxer briefs, playing a song that sounded both classic and uniquely modern. He was bent forward, the curve of his spine clearly visible through his skin, oblivious to everything but his song. Quinn froze on the second-to-last step and just watched. He hadn't even known Bert could play piano.

Quinn closed his eyes and listened to the music. Something about it was just so raw. It was like when he played guitar when he was angry, but the opposite. It was powerful in its open emotion.

The song ended and Quinn opened his eyes to see Bert turned around on the bench, smiling slightly. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

Bert gestured back at the piano. "I can't sleep, so..."

"Yeah, that's okay," Quinn said. "You can't even hear it upstairs." He took the last two steps down. "You mind if I...?"

Bert smiled. "Yeah, come on." He turned around and put his hands to the keys again.

Quinn slid onto the piano bench next to him. It was a small, secondhand bench not meant for two people, so their arms pressed together. Quinn leaned his head on Bert's shoulder, relieved just to smell him, feel him, know he wasn't dead in a crackhouse or wherever it was Bert lived before he came here.

"This is the song about you," Bert whispered, and he started playing it again. It was even better the second time, and Quinn hummed his approval. He was surprised to realize that his heart was racing more now than it had been when he thought Bert was missing. Maybe it was the delayed adrenaline or a lack of sleep or...

Quinn turned his head, his lips brushing dry against Bert's jaw. Without pausing in his song, Bert turned his head and kissed Quinn on the mouth. Like everyone Bert knew for more than eight seconds, Quinn had been kissed by him before, but with the music, the damp basement air, and his hand against Bert's stomach, it was suddenly not enough, and he leaned into the kiss, pressing their lips together harder, licking his way into Bert's mouth, and it wasn't until he felt both Bert's hands on his hips, pulling him closer, that he realized the music had stopped.

"We should - " Quinn pulled his head back and glanced at the stairs. "We should go back to my room."

He looked back at Bert, who was smiling so big he was practically glowing. "I'll do words for your song tomorrow."

Quinn couldn't help but return the grin. "Okay," he said. "Come on."

He took Bert's hand and stood up. They made their way up the stairs quietly, careful not to close the doors too hard, and Bert was kissing behind Quinn's ear while Quinn was still fumbling with the lock the bedroom door behind him.

It was late, and when the sun rose he'd have to wake up despite how little sleep he was going to get. But Quinn didn't mind. Tomorrow he would have work, then chores, then band practice. Tomorrow Bert would be seven days clean. Tomorrow his song would have words.