[For a moment Will just looks down, watches the slow slide of Eddie's thumb over the back of his hand. Eddie's hands aren't soft -- they're warm, they're roughened, they're like Mike's. They're familiar, in an unfamiliar way. He likes them.]

...I guess...I guess I sometimes feel like the stuff that was supposed to get put into my head...got put in wrong. Or backwards or mixed up. Like the pieces are in the wrong place.