Ok, so this is my first try at this. I'm not usually good at romance, but I guess Trev and Philip sort of lend themselves to friendshippy-half-romantic feels and that's something I am good at – so here you go:D

Chapters will be 2.500 words usually; the prologue is a bit shorter.

There's a long, neat rip in at the site of Trevor's shirt where it caught on a nail last night. It tore exactly along the seam of his sleeve, just above his elbow. Philip scrunches up his nose as he struggles with the needle. He's really not the best person for such fiddly work; sometimes his hands still shake – and even if they don't, he doesn't have Trevor's or even Marcy's patience for this sort of thing. But Marcy spent most of last night sewing up much more delicate things and is currently passed out on Philip's mattress. And Trev … well. Philip eyes the man's bruised hands with sympathy. Nothing's broken, but he has no doubt they hurt like hell – no surprised after that asshole shut the car door on them.

"You ok?" Trevor asks, watching him mildly from over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, cracking his fingers as if it could get rid of the tremors. "Just … give me a minute."

It's not a big deal if he can't do it. Really, the question came rather off-hand – 'You think you can fix that for me?' If he can't, Trevor's mom will do it without batting an eye. She's been cleaning up after her son for almost 18 years, after all. Cage fighting will have ripped more shirts than any half-suicidal time traveling missions ever could. But still. It's a battle Philip keeps fighting with himself, trying to wring out whatever abilities this body grudgingly gives him, withdrawal be damned. It helps that Trevor's so cool about it, leaning back against the couch and leaving him to it.

"Fuck."

The stitches come out a little uneven. They don't even have any proper yarn; he's working with Marcy's spare surgical yarn and the white stands out starkly against the black fabric.

"Take it easy," Trevor advises, stifling a yawn. "We're all tired. Want to get breakfast after this?"

"Breakfast?" he murmurs, distracted. "Don't you have school?" Trevor nods.

"Yeah. But it's no use going back home for two hours. I've got my things, so let's eat and I'll head out straight after." Far be it from him to convince Trevor to go home. His familial situation seems less tense right now, but he understands the reluctance to engage with the people who are supposed to be his parents. He's almost glad that Philip didn't seem to have talked much to his anymore. Trevor reaches forward to push his sneaker against Marcy's sleeping back. Once, twice – "What …?"

"Food?" he enquires but she waves him away grumpily. "That's a 'no', I guess."

"I'll bring them back some," Philip volunteers as he finally ties off the thread. His eyes wander over to where Carly is lying, side wrapped tightly and no longer bleeding through the bandage. "Let's go."

Going out with his team is always a bit of a challenge. Not only are most of them picky eaters, they also have to go far enough from the city center to avoid all of their friends and families.
With only Philip and Trevor it's easier. It doesn't look weird when they walk somewhere together, simply because the age difference isn't that big. Adding to that Trevor's tall frame and Philips college-y grunginess they look like normal friends. Also, they live in entirely different areas of the city, so their friends – or acquaintances, in Philip's case – won't easily cross paths.

He yawns widely, bumping into his companion as his eyes squeeze shut. Trevor casually pulls him away from the bike lane, just as harried looking girl shoots past them.

Being alone isn't usually a problem. Philip is pretty good at keeping his own company. He has Poppy. And sometimes Ray turns up to check on him. But every once in a while it's just nice to have real company where he can let his guard down. The joint they settle on looks shabby, but the smell of pancakes that comes from inside is magnetic and there's this funny little green 'V' on their window that signifies edible food.

In the end Philip thinks they should have known. The door bell chimes and they're met not only with the scent of food, but also a gaggle of dolled up girls. Two of them only cast them passing looks, just long enough to take in Philip's nose ring and lose interest, but the third one starts visibly.

"Trevor? What the hell?"