I've never been so scared.

Jason works harder than most of the rest of Saint Cecilia's campus. He knows this for a fact. Coming as he does from a poor family, he nearly broke himself just trying to secure the scholarship money to be able to attend such a prestigious institution. Not to mention his parents, working tooth and nail just to keep the roof over their humble abode back in Maine. So Jason works, and he works hard. He stays in when the rest of the student body parties; he pours himself into his homework and into his appearance, working to give himself the same appearance of the students born into Saint Cecilia's legacy.

Nadia coming out just before they returned to school for their senior year has done nothing for Jason's courage. Even as understanding as his parents had been towards Nadia, he knows he can't expect that same treatment for his own sexuality. Not when Nadia is the golden daughter, and every time Jason takes a step out of line, he brings down fire and brimstone upon himself.

He grits his teeth, trying to concentrate on his history paper. His parents expect more from him, when they take the time to remember that he exists. They would never understand how they could possibly have two gay children. The perfect daughter, they can make allowances for, even as strict Catholics. The invisible son, well. He only has so much room that they can spare for him.

He sighs as his head falls in frustration on top of his essay. He's been in love with Peter ever since they'd moved in together as roommates. He just wishes he had the nerve to tell him.

Jason wakes up in the godforsaken hours of the early morning, right around three o'clock. His chest feels tight; all of a sudden, his body can't decide if it's too hot or too cold. He shifts, trying not to wake up Peter. He lets one leg dangle from beneath the blankets and brings the other up close, praying desperately that the shift in position will allow him to fall back to sleep. Today is his day off, and he would like to spend a fair amount of time of it sleeping.

No such luck. He tosses and turns as quietly as he can for about another half-hour. That's when the tightening in his chest trembles, and Jason feels his stomach drop. Sweat coats his body, plastering him to the sheets. Jason knows what's about to happen; he knows, and he starts praying desperately in his head for it not to happen.

"Shit," he mutters to himself as his feet hit the carpet of his bedroom. He doesn't get the chance to check if he's woken Peter up or not; he stumbles, a little dizzy, from the bed. He only just makes it to the bathroom in time, where he proceeds to worship the porcelain altar of the toilet, very much reluctantly. His chest heaves as he grips the side of the toilet, focusing on keeping his balance and hopefully not losing everything in his stomach.

He slides down on the floor after he finishes and flushes, wiping his mouth with a piece of toilet paper and throwing it away. He groans and curls in on himself, a little bit. God, but he cannot remember the last time he's been this ill. It has to have been that one October afternoon senior year. He'd been holed up in the infirmary for a week.

God, he hopes this bug doesn't last that long. He prays.

There is so much to learn about living on one's own, it almost overwhelms Jason. The idea of his own apartment seemed so exciting, at first; like a brand new adventure, and like Jason had actually made it to adulthood. The thrill of having his own space to call his own, and for, apparently, obtaining another shot at living, wore off faster than the terror and anxiety of finding himself in a world without Peter. The first time he glanced in the refrigerator, Jason realized, with dawning dread, that he would have to fend for himself in terms of food. So much for the shiny glow of having his own place for the first time in his life.

His apartment also shows the notable signs of someone who grew up with other people to clean after him; the clothes he'd hurriedly purchased after arriving in his Romeo costume strewn all across the floor, along with the costume itself and all of the props that had come with said costume. Jason's shoes rest on one of the side tables, and several, used glasses take up space on the counter, table, and couch in the living area. In short, Jason's apartment tells its own kind of horror story.

At least trying to figure out how to be on his own distracts Jason somewhat from the perpetual ache in his heart and thoughts. He still dreams of Peter and Saint Cecilia's; he pictures that performance with every detail vivid in his mind, and he usually has to go lie down somewhere to be able to recover from the sudden weight of those images.

Today, he's low on what he considers the basic staples of food: microwavable, packaged meals, cookies, popcorn, Lean Pockets, Slim Jims, and all of the other crap he used to sneak between meals as a 'growing, hungry boy.' Nadia would mock him for his selection; Peter would look on at him in horror. He can see the exact look on Peter's face, too. He snorts, picturing those wide, green eyes wincing and nose wrinkling at the prospect of Jason's groceries.

But of course, by virtue of thinking of Peter, Jason's brief happiness fades into sadness once again. He finds himself so distracted as he enters his apartment building, he nearly collides with another of the tenants.

"Whoa, sorry about that," he says before he has the chance to see who it is he's nearly bowled over.