Free Bad Influence by K. A. Mitchell

night.
    Silver lowered his plate to the table as quietly as if he were around someone nursing a hangover. Eli continued to flick through stuff on the tablet, a cup of coffee next to his elbow.
    “Syrup?” Eli offered without looking up.
    “Sure.”
    “It’s in the fridge.” Eli flashed a grin like it was a brilliant joke.
    “Thanks.” Silver rolled his eyes as he got up. But at least Eli wasn’t fixated on digging. It had been easier having him as a friend when Silver could just say he had someplace else to be and escape any inquisitions. “Cream?” he asked Eli, while he had the fridge open.
    “No thanks. Had some already,” Eli purred. “Fresh and full of protein.”
    “Yeah, whatever. Aren’t you the lucky bitch?”
    Silver sank back into the chair and saturated his French toast with the syrup.
    Eli put the tablet down. “If you want to get laid while you’re staying here, you can bring him back—”
    “Not fucking likely.”
    “I know it’s embarrassingly suburban.” Eli waved a hand then hid behind his coffee mug.
    “No, I mean, I’m not likely to want to get laid while I’m here.” Or for the foreseeable future. “And I like the house, Eli. You’re lucky.”
    That threw Eli off his stride. “Uh, thanks.” The mug hit the table with a thunk. “Quinn told me you were cleaning the bathroom this morning.”
    Silver cut his French toast into pea-sized pieces and swirled trails through the syrup.
    “You don’t have to do that.” Eli talked to the top of Silver’s head. “That kind of casual contact doesn’t spread—”
    “I know. I got the pamphlet and got an A- in health class, so you can save the public service announcement. I couldn’t sleep.”
    “Is that a side effect of the reverse transcriptase inhibitor?”
    Silver couldn’t have rattled the information off so easily, even if it was his med. The doctor at the clinic had talked about NNRTIs and NARTIs and retrovirals. Silver had thought this pill sounded best because it was a combo and he only had to take it once a day. But he had read the warnings on the side. “Yeah.”
    “Sorry. Did they give you anything for that?”
    Silver shook his head. “I figured I was lucky to get this. It’s not like I have insurance, you know.”
    “Me either. Though if Quinn and I got married…” Eli trailed off then hid behind his mug again.
    Silver stabbed another piece of sticky bread. The Eli Silver had met in the shelter would mock the hell out of the Eli sitting across the table. “Got your gown picked out?”
    “You know I love to dress for an occasion. Speaking of occasions, it’s time for a special one.”
    “What?” Silver used his last piece of bread to mop up as much syrup from the plate as he could.
    “The one where you tell me what the fuck was up last night with you and—” Eli’s lips pursed. He seemed to be having trouble coming up with one of his labels for Zeb.
    “Saint Zebadiah?”
    “Right. Him. Though I will say he’s rocking the whole bad-boy-Jesus look with the scruff.”
    “Nothing.” Silver should have known he wouldn’t be able to escape the questions.
    “Don’t nothing me.”
    “What are you going to do?” Silver sneered. “Kick me out? Please?”
    Eli tapped his chin in consideration.
    For a second, there wasn’t enough air, that last chunk of sticky breakfast clinging to his throat. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his thighs. This was the problem with living soft. Too easy to get used to it again.
    “Oh, I’ve got worse tortures in mind.” Eli narrowed his eyes. “I’ll send you bowling with Quinn.”
    “Oh please. Anything but that.” Silver held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, did you really go all psycho on Zeb in the courthouse lobby for me?” It was kind of cool to think that Eli would, plus getting him to talk about himself would equal total derailment of his questions.
    “Did he say that?” Eli got all indignant.
    “Nah, Jamie told me. Only he said