Free Something Different by T. Baggins

grace. It would take a week for the implants to arrive. Until then, James would confine himself to closed-mouth smiles and ducking his head. It was a strange feeling, being ashamed of his looks. Until his injury, they were the only attribute he was truly proud of.
    He swung by his flat and found an eviction notice on the door. That was no surprise. Inside he loaded up two tote bags with his relevant possessions—three more pairs of jeans, two shirts, socks, underwear, condoms, lube, an MP3 player, ear buds, comb, shampoo, conditioner and a box of frosted cherry Pop-Tarts. He left his old toothbrush behind; Dr. Beckman's office had given him a kit with a fancy toothbrush and a tube of organic peppermint toothpaste. The rest, including his futon and his old TV, he never cared to see again.
    When James returned to the flat in Shepherd's Bush, he found Michael sitting on the floor assembling a new piece of IKEA furniture. The flat consisted of a sitting room connected to a small kitchen, with a bedroom and toilet to the right. The only other room, hardly bigger than a loo, was doubtless meant to serve as an office or storage space. The twin-sized bed frame Michael was putting together would fit inside, but only just. There would be no room for anything else.
    "Planning on asking your kids round?"
    "Here? No. This will be yours, when you want it."
    James didn't know what to say. No more crying, no more pissing and moaning, he told himself sternly. Noticing the MacBook on the coffee table, he went to it, studying the symbols on the digital desktop. Probably he'd never learn to actually read an entire book from start to finish. But if he could just pick up enough to have a proper e-mail address like the whole rest of the world, to search for cinema times and takeaway menus and porn...
    He clicked around, opening and closing programs, wishing he could actually use the damn thing. "So you can search for a job online?"
    "I could. But turns out I won't be. I told you about Peter. Well, his boss, Philip, called me while you were out. And apparently..." Michael shot James a sidelong smile. "I am now working from home. I'll have to go in occasionally for meetings and such. Otherwise, I'll compose my textbooks from here."
    "You badass motherfucker," James grinned. "You know what you did? You cut off Peter's bollocks and fed them to him."
    Michael only smiled. He was more than an attractive man, James realized suddenly. He was growing more handsome by the day as his ginger hair came in. He'd grown a little beard stubble, too. The moustache had made him look old and constipated. The all-over stubble made him look edible.
    James was eating a frosted cherry Pop-Tart when he realized what Michael was installing on the inside of the small bedroom's door. It was a stainless steel deadbolt.
    "Hey. What happened this morning—don't over think it," James said, alarmed. "I was just startled. I'm not afraid of you, Michael. That lock is way over the top."
    Michael kept right on drilling the second hole. "The lock isn't practical. It's symbolic. If you want to shoot the bolt, you can. Simple as that."
    As a boy James would have given anything for a place of his own to sleep, a way to keep people out. For a moment he was stunned that Michael understood. Then it came clear to James, as basic words occasionally did if he stared at them long enough and really tried.
    "What my uncle did to me. Something like that happened to you."
    Eyes still on his work, Michael nodded.
    James didn't try to touch Michael, didn't try to make him discuss it. Michael had loosened up considerably, but he was still stiff and robotic at times, the way he'd been when he stripped for Deepak's massage. With Michael, confessions would never come easily, if at all.
    "If you ever want to tell me, you can." James let the invitation hang between them for a moment. Then he thrust the Pop-Tart box under Michael's nose. "Fancy one? Healthy stuff. Nine essential vitamins and