A week before Christmas, they cut themselves off from the world. Five days, Billy says. But five days turns into six which turns into seven and before they know it, eight is threatening and neither man wants to plug the phone back into the wall or recharge his laptop batteries. The stereo sits cold and black, unused because music implies normalcy and the situation is anything but. They drink but never enough to blur the sobriety line. They sit mostly on Billy's couch and hold each other, feeling their bodies shake and relax on and off for hours. They did plenty of talking before coming out here and now do very little. So when Dom starts to talk, Billy thinks it's a good idea to listen.

"I thought I could just switch it off," he says, sounding hollow and half-asleep. "It worked for a while, don't you think?"

Billy nods and thinks of Terry.

"We were doing good, there," Dom continues, sliding his hands further around Billy's back. "Started to scrape the bottom for me, though, and I told myself it wasn't because of you, us, or what have you, but..."

"I know, Dom." Billy tucks himself further against Dom, the top of his head bumping the underside of Dom's chin. "This is too much to give up. I tried, you tried. Fuck all, Dom, one minute with you has as much goodness in it as two years with her."

Dom smoothes Billy's hair, and the motion is so safe and so easy that he wants to fall into it. "We'll take it slow. But we need this holiday. The world can sit outside for a little longer, yeah?"

Billy smiles, bringing the blanket higher around their shoulders. "Yeah."