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When Grayson told himself that Jude wasn't going to remember any of this, and that he was going to do his damndest to do the same, it was all right. He could sit there and listen, murmur appropriate responses, try not to read anything into the stories that were passing between them. It wasn't too difficult to miss deeper meanings, broken and scattered as they were, but he still had to remind himself that it didn't mean anything.

Because, as much as he told himself he and Jude weren't really friends, he wouldn't mind if they were. There was something about Jude that he liked, when he wasn't freshly released from the hospital and staggering about the town starting fights. There was honesty and, usually, a sincere desire to help -- though often his words missed their mark, and his actions were too big, too much. In all the time they'd known one another, he couldn't remember them having a single real conversation that didn't involve Peyton Manning, and while that was sad, he didn't want their first real conversation to be like this.

And, Jesus Christ. He didn't want it to be about his sexuality.

He isn't going to remember it, Grayson told himself, fighting back the urge to laugh, just a little hysterically, at the question out of left field. Why did Jude care? Jude loved Hero, Jude disapproved of just about everything that had to do with Grayson - why did he even want to know?

God, Jude was just as confusing drunk as he was sober.

"Jude, really?" His voice was just a bit higher than usual, and he took a moment to regain control of it again. "I..."

He sighed. Jude hated it when he sighed.

Then he looked over, and the look lasted longer than three seconds. "I don't know, Jude. I suppose it's just like how you know you're attracted to women and not men. It's just... a knowing."

Despite himself, he rubbed his free hand against his forehead. He hoped Jude was satisfied with that. If not, it was going to be a long night.

A really, really long night.

It was very still and very quiet in the storage unit after Jude passed out.

Staring with unapologetic bewilderment at Jude's prone form, he watched as his mouth went slack and his breathing evened enough that he began to snore. It was too quiet, save for Jude; too cold, really, to be there.

And yet...

He stood, tiptoed his way around the storage room. There really wasn't much. There was a blanket, kicked off the couch, that he hadn't noticed before. That would do, he decided, and he tucked it over one arm. He couldn't find much to serve for a pillow, but as he thought about it, he didn't really want to life Jude's head.

Weaving back over, nearly losing his balance when his shoe caught on the corner of a box, he draped the blanket over Jude, his movements quick and brisk. God damn, it was going to be a cold night for him... but he really didn't want to wake up to Jude screaming in his face, the gun aimed at him, because he'd dared get under the covers with him.

There was blood on Jude's face, and Grayson hesitated. Then, deciding that what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, he licked his thumb, quickly cleaning it off as best he could. He made a face, because he wiped his thumb off as best he could, but he still tasted blood, and then sat back down on the couch.

As far from Jude as he could.

He tucked his arms up in his sleeves, kicked his legs out. He managed to get in a semi-comfortable position, though he knew come morning, he was going to be aching all over. It took him a while, but with Jude's constant snoring assuring him, he managed to fall asleep.

In a storage unit.

As far away from Jude as he could be.