Lars was eating a turkey sandwich in front of the television when Matt called him.

"I'm still in Virginia Beach with the family," Matt said.

"Having a good time?" Lars asked.

"Yeah, it's nice," Matt replied without much enthusiasm. "Listen, I talked to Tim this morning. He got the divorce papers in the mail."

"That sucks," Lars said through a mouthful of turkey.

"And now he's not answering his phone," Matt continued.

"Maybe he's out."

"His cell phone."

"Maybe the battery died."

"Lars."

"He does have other friends besides us."

"Lars!"

Lars stood up. "Fuck. Fine. You owe me half a turkey sandwich."

"I think I can manage that."

Lars grabbed his sneakers and sat down on the steps to put them on. "I don't do that therapy bullshit you do."

"No therapy, no interventions," Matt said. "I'll be back tomorrow. For now just make sure he's not hanging from the rafters."

"Tim's house doesn't have rafters."

Matt sighed. "Just check that he's not dead, and then call me so I can fucking sleep."

Lars thought about calling Matt the band's mother, but stopped himself just short of saying it, because even though Matt was in Virginia Beach, he was good at remembering shit, and he was also good at giving Indian burns. "All right, all right," Lars said as he grabbed his car keys. "I'll call you as soon as I find the suspect."

It was only a ten minute drive from Lars' house to Tim's. Lars parked in the driveway and walked around to the back of the house. Tim always left the patio doors unlocked, because he couldn't be bothered with carrying keys. Lars walked inside and turned on the light. Nothing looked out of place. "Hey, Tim?" he called out, but there was no response. He could see the opened FedEx envelope on the kitchen counter, with the return address of a law firm.

He walked into the living room and turned the light on. The figure on the couch twitched. It was Tim, wearing jeans but no shirt, looking pale, his eyes red. On the coffee table in front of him was a two-thirds-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

Tim looked up at Lars, blinked a few times, and said, "I'm turning gay."

Lars picked up the bottle. "I'm dumping this." He went into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, poured the rest of the liquor down the sink drain, and had a brief chat with Matt to let him know Tim was okay. When he walked back into the living room with two cups of coffee, Tim was still lying on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Here," Lars said, placing one of the cups in front of Tim on the table. He sat in a nearby chair and took a sip of his own coffee. "I didn't tell Matt you were drinking."

"Thanks," Tim mumbled.

Lars leaned over and patted his shoulder. "Once we get you sober enough to walk, we'll go out to the strip club, get you some ass, and you'll forget all about that bitch."

"Don't call my wife a bitch," Tim said softly.

"Sorry," Lars said as he took another sip of his coffee. "Would 'slut' be a more appropriate term?"

Tim pulled the throw pillow out from under his head and tossed it at Lars. It flew past him about three feet to his left.

"Whore?" Lars asked.

Tim put his face down against the cushion and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Tim," Lars said.

Tim lifted his head up, his face damp with tears. "Lars," he said sadly. "I lost my pillow and I don't know why."

Lars got up, retrieved the pillow, and handed it to Tim.

"Thank you," Tim said. "I should be gay with you, Lars."

"I'm married," Lars said as he sat back down.

Tim waved his hand dismissively, knocking over his cup of coffee. "Stephanie's cool with me. She won't mind."

Lars leaned over to pick up the overturned cup.

Tim pushed himself up on his elbow and pointed at Lars. "And I've seen your dick. It's not that big. I could take you."

"What?" Lars said.

Tim leaned forward too far and fell off the couch.

Lars craned his neck to make sure Tim hadn't hit his head or otherwise died.

Tim rolled onto his back. "Like with writing songs," he said. "You sing lead and I sing back-up on one song, and then I sing lead and you sing back-up on another song." He stretched his arms up, one elbow going into the puddle of coffee on the floor. "Switching off. It would be like that, but with sex." He frowned and looked up at the coffee. "Is that pee? Did I pee on the floor?"

"It's coffee," Lars said. He took the last sip out of his cup and placed it on the table.

Tim sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "There's only one rule," he said. "Lars, only one rule in our new gay relationship. And that's that no one is allowed to have sex with anyone in Queens of the Stone Age."

Lars nodded. "I'll try not to blow that bassist with the vagina facial hair."

Tim put his hands over his eyes and choked back a sob. "I just want to her to be happy."

Lars stood up, put his hands under Tim's arms, and lifted him back onto the couch. "You're doing this all wrong," Lars said. "You don't wish her happiness." He sat down next to Tim and put his arm around him. "You wish her misery, and heartache, and chlamydia."

Tim leaned his head against Lars' shoulder. "I can't hate her," he said weakly.

Lars pulled Tim closer and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Once Jesse gave me a handjob," Tim said.

Lars pulled back, his face the picture of confusion. "What?"

Tim kept staring forward. "So I'm not new to this whole 'gay' thing."

"Wait, back up," Lars said. "Jesse gave you a handjob and you kept this a secret for like fifteen years?"

"It's not a secret," Tim said. "Matt knows."

"You told Matt and not me?"

"I didn't tell Matt. He was just in the car at the time."

Lars leaned back against the arm of the couch and tried to get his bearings. "Let me get this straight. Jesse gave you a handjob in a parked car while Matt watched?"

"Of course not," Tim said with an exasperated sigh. "The car wasn't parked. Matt was driving."

Lars ran his hand back over his hair. "Okay, fine. But one handjob fifteen years ago does not make you gay."

Tim pulled Lars closer to him. "I'm not going to be gay full-time," he said. "Just for a little bit. Just until the idea of women in general stops making me cry." He took a deep breath, as if he might start crying just from the thought. "And I called Davey but he's in New York, so you're it."

Lars stood up. "As flattered as I am that you've chosen me because one, I am here, and two, my dick isn't that big, we are only doing one thing tonight, and that is sleeping."

He held out his hand, Tim took it, and Lars pulled him up on unsteady legs. Lars led him up the stairs and to his bedroom and let him collapse on the bed.

Lars looked around the room. There was some make-up on top of the dresser, and he carried it to the downstairs garbage. He figured he might as well de-wife the whole house, so he made his way through all the rooms and tossed out some clothes, hairbrushes, and a box of Distillers merch, then took it all out to the trashcans at the curb. Then he called Stephanie and told her he was crashing at Tim's.

When he got back to the bedroom, Tim was asleep, curled up against the wall and breathing loudly. Lars pulled the blanket out from under him, and then crawled in next to him.

"If you touch me in my private areas," Lars whispered. "I will punch you in the face."

"You wouldn't punch me in the face," Tim said, his voice mumbled but confident.

"I wouldn't," Lars agreed. "But I'll tell Matt, and he'll give you that hour-long speech about sexual harassment he gave Brett when he grabbed that girl's ass in England."

Tim let out a vague hum and was back asleep in seconds.

Lars woke up sometime in the middle of the night because someone was pulling off his underwear. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and then he groaned. "The things I do for this fucking band," he said.

"Shhhh," Tim said as he tossed Lars' boxers over the side of the bed. "Just be cool." He grabbed Lars' crotch roughly.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," Tim said. "It's dark and I'm confused."

"Then maybe this isn't the best time for - ow!" Lars flinched as Tim took his dick into his mouth, unconcerned with being delicate. "You have a dick," Lars said. "You know they don't like suddent violent movements." He yelped. "Or teeth! Jesus!"

Tim made a soft gagging sound, and Lars decided he had to end this before he ended up covered in vomit. "Okay, we're done." He reached down, grabbed Tim's shoulder, and hauled him up.

"Okay," Tim said. He pulled a pillow under his head. "I'll finish later, okay?"

"Sure," Lars mumbled, and he turned around.

Lars woke up around ten and made some waffles. He knew Tim would be too hungover for food, but he found a wafflemaker in the back of a cabinet that had never even been opened, and Lars was a whore for some waffles. He called Matt as the first one was cooking and made plans to meet up later. He was just finishing up a huge stack of waffles when Tim walked into the kitchen, sat on a stool, and put his head down on the countertop.

Lars got him a bottle of Excedrin and a glass of water, but Tim didn't react.

"Did you know you own a wafflemaker?" Lars asked.

Tim looked up, spotted the bottle, and dumped a handful of Excedrin directly into his mouth. He gulped down the entire glass of water, then leaned his head down on top of his hands.

Lars went to the refrigerator, got some syrup, and ate a small stack of waffles in silence. Then he wrapped up the rest of the waffles in saran wrap and put them in the freezer. Then he cleaned off the wafflemaker, made some coffee, and stood across from Tim as he sipped his coffee.

Tim looked up at him. "Did I suck your dick last night?"

Lars walked to the coffeepot, made another cup, and set it down in front of Tim. "Let's just say I think you should reconsider being gay, since you're not very good at it."

Tim frowned. "Usually I pick things up so quickly."

"Sucking dick is not quite like playing the piano."

"Maybe I just need to practice more." Tim spotted the FedEx envelope on the other end of the counter. "Fuck." He stretched out to reach it, pulled out the papers, grabbed a pen, and started signing the flagged pages. When he was done he dug a prepaid envelope out of the original envelope, put the papers inside, and sealed it. "There, fuck it."

"I'll drop it off," Lars said, taking the envelope from him and pulled him into a hug.

"Thanks," Tim said.

Lars patted his back, released him, and went back to his own cup of coffee.

"I'm really lucky to have such good friends," Tim said. "I'm gonna write a song about that."

"Great," Lars said flatly. "Leave out the part where you gave me the worst blowjob in history."

Tim furrowed his eyebrows contemplatively as he took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't get much radio play."

Lars reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. "There's a baseball game on, and then we're invited to Matt's for dinner."

"Cool," Tim said. "During the National Anthem, can I suck your dick?"

"No," Lars said as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Maybe?" Tim called out after him.

"Maybe," Lars called back.

Tim smiled, grabbed the bottle of Excedrin, and headed into the living room.