Pylar set the receipt on the table, offering a smile to the couple sitting in the booth. "Thanks for coming," he said.

"The food was good," said the man as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "And your service was... excellent. What was your name?" He picked up the piece of paper and read over the bill. At the top of the receipt, just under the restaurant name and logo read, "SERVER: PYLAR." The man's brows furrowed and he looked up at the redhead. "Pylar?" He drew his credit card out. "What kind of a name is that?"

Pylar's throat became dry. The voice tickled the back of his ear; low, intimate, someone pressed into his back, curving around his spine and with hips pressed into his own. The voice chuckled in his ear and someone pressed their lips against his ear and his eyes flickered shut. The voice, immediately Pylar knew it was Gage. His palms pressed into the table and his hips stuck out further back. "Mm, what?" Pylar said.

"That name." The man said, slowly. He cleared his throat, causing Pylar to open his eye and straighten up. He tucked his hands into his apron pockets. "It's something. It's... unusual."

"So I hear." Pylar chuckled. He picked up the card and receipt from the table. "I'll be right back with this." He ducked behind the counter and to the register. Maddox sat at the counter with a pile of half-eaten french fries, sliders, and mozzarella sticks accompanying an engineering book spread open and his laptop sitting on the counter. With two younger siblings, Maddox had gotten used to doing his homework outside of the home. Sometimes it was at the library, sometimes it was by the fountain at the mall, most commonly it had been at Pylar's house when they were growing up. Now, Maddox spent almost as much time at the diner as he did Pylar's house if Pylar was working. If the homework was for a class they were both in, Maddox always did him the solid by providing him with the most helpful information to get the job done faster. Maddox's studying was pretty much the only thing keeping Pylar at a B or A- in most classes. It wasn't that Pylar was stupid or he didn't get the course work, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care.

College was supposed to be exciting. That's what he heard growing up, that's what all the television shows said. It's where you found yourself, it's where you discovered who you wanted to be and what you wanted to do, but for the last three years, Pylar was only going through the motions. Maddox had his thing; studying engineering and as their time at college matured, their coursework became different and Maddox's studying didn't turn into Pylar's report card. While Maddox grew more excited about his courses, Pylar went term to term trying to find what he wanted to do or what he thought he should do and every time enrollment came around, he thought maybe the best thing to do was drop out. He didn't look at homework the way Maddox leaned over his book at the diner bar now. He didn't look forward to any upper division courses. He didn't look forward to the day they were supposed to dawn the cap and gown and then with a pat on the back, a hug, and a piece of paper, sent out into the world to apply whatever it is they spent a couple years 'learning.'

Pylar slid the card through the reader and tapped his finger against the screen, mashing the buttons to fill out the ticket. "Is it really that weird?" He looked at Maddox to see if he'd heard, but when the man didn't look up, but instead, pushed his thick, black-framed glasses back up his nose and adjusted where his elbow sat on the counter, Pylar smacked his hand into the counter.

Maddox leaned back and looked up at him.

"Is it really that weird, Mad?" Pylar said again.

"What?"

"My name."

"I mean," Maddox leaned back and crossed his arms. "People thought you were a girl back in grade school when the teacher said Pylar."

"I'm pretty sure it is a girl's name, honestly..."

"I don't think they made fun of you as much for your name because you're a ginger. You know, curly hair, pale as hell, and the, like, really light eyebrows. You looked a little freakish, but... so does everyone without eyebrows."

Pylar's yanked the receipt from the printer. "Excuse me," he said through a laugh.

"Don't worry, you grew into your eyebrows. They look at least a little better now."

"Thanks." Pylar grabbed a pen from the cup under the counter.

"Who's giving you trouble about your name?"

"Well—" Pylar's throat constricted.

Gage's voice muttered against his throat, 'the kind of name I'd like to hear you moan.'

Pylar shook his head then nodded his nose toward the couple by the window. "That guy over there said something—"

Maddox twisted in the counter chair.

"Don't turn around," Pylar muttered.

Maddox casually made a full circle and turned back toward the counter. He leaned against it. He pulled a glass of pop closer before folding his arms over the countertop. "Just one person?"

"Yes—well, no. There was another guy the other day—"

"Two people? Py, are you... are you getting sensitive?" Maddox grinned and glanced over his shoulder again. "Dude, they're staring at you."

"No, they're not." Pylar pursed his lips, hiding a smile. "You remember that kid in middle school that called you 'Mad Dog' all the time?"

"Of course. Probably the most badass nickname I've ever hard."

"Yeah... What about Mad Cocks? That was another good one."

"Don't you have a job to do?"

"And my favorite was in high school — Remember, "You Mad Bro?"

"How could I forget?" Maddox dropped his head back and rolled his eyes. "Literally every time they ran into me, every time they said something to me in class — even our subs called me You Mad Bro a couple of times."

"At least it wasn't Mad Cocks." Pylar slipped the card and receipt into the receipt tray and stacked the pen on top. He returned to the couple at the booth and thanked them one more time for stopping in. He checked on the other tables in the dining room. He came back to Maddox's nose returned to the book, his pencil sliding along the page as a fry slowly slipped deeper into his mouth.

Pylar's mom slipped out of the kitchen and into the nearest booth. She slid the net from around her hair and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Sweat dripped down her cheek. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her fingers grasped the edge of the table as if for balance.

Pylar sat down across from his mom and took her hands in his. "Are you okay, mom?"

Her hands squeezed his with a gentle pulse that didn't last long. "I'll be fine. I only need a minute, then I'll go back." Her words faded at the end like she'd run out of breath run out of energy, run out of life. Her face was pale and clammy, almost giving her an illusion of transparency.

"Don't worry mom." Pylar glanced around the dining room. Only a couple of tables still had people in them and it was more than an hour before the dinner rush started. "We're fine. Tables are covered. Do you need anything?"

"A minute to breathe." She leaned back. Sweat dotted her face and she wiped it with the back of her hand. "Maybe a little ice water?"

"You got it." Pylar pushed out of the booth instantly and squeezed behind the counter. He grabbed a glass cup, filled it with ice from the icebox, and topped it off with water. After giving it to his mom, he was reluctant to walk away, but the both of them couldn't take a break at the same time, though at this point it felt like it might be something of a relief if his mom didn't work there anymore, it would've been more difficult on their finances. "I'll be behind the counter. Yell if you need me."

Pylar's mom nodded and dragged the water across the table toward her.

As Pylar returned to the counter, he didn't turn his back. He watched her face cringe, her posture melt into the seat as every ounce of energy came out of her body in a way that made her seem like she was going lifeless. It happened to her often enough and for long enough. It wasn't always at work and it wasn't always after some kind of activity and it had been going on since he was a child. They could've been watching TV and all the life inside of her would drain from her head, down her shoulders, and into the couch. Driving to or from school more times than Pylar could count, everything just stopped and his mom had to pull over and she would pass out after the energy had left her and her body had gone limp.

It wasn't every day. At least there was that. It wasn't even every week most of the time, when whatever was going on with her consumed her to the point that she lost consciousness, but she was always weak. She couldn't run a marathon of errands and Pylar learned quickly how he needed to help his mom, to keep up with chores, with cooking, and sometimes their house would just fall into disarray because they couldn't keep up. Just the two of them.

Pylar leaned against the counter. He pressed his palm into his eye and groaned.

He heard a voice, but it was like a song on the radio, something he wasn't listening to filling the white noise around him, coming in through one ear and out the other. The second time, he heard Maddox say, "How's your mom?"

Pylar's hand slid down his face and he took a peek toward his mom. Her head leaned against the back of the booth, her eyes closed, and her hand laid open on the table beside the glass of water. Everything about her body lacked energy; worse, it lacked life. "She's... mom."

"Have they found... anything?" Maddox leaned against the counter.

"The doctors?" Pylar snorted. "They've found exactly the same problem since I was a kid: nothing. Nothing. They can't tell us anything. She's just... this... and I want her to be better. She fucking deserves better." Pylar slammed his fist onto the counter as he straightened.

Standing on the other side of the counter, their eyes wide, brows lifted, and expressions surprised, was the couple whom Pylar had just been serving.

Pylar curled his lips together before he smiled toothily and laughed through clenched teeth. "Sorry." He ran his hand down the back of his head. "I—didn't see you standing there. I—please don't—" He looked at Maddox, then back at the couple. "Was there anything else you guys needed?"

The woman hung off the man's arm, clutching him against her as she reached out with a handful of bills, at least one ten on the outside of the small fold. She held it over the counter and shook her hand at Pylar until he reached his hand out. She placed the bills in his open hand, touching her palm to his and trailing her fingers along his. She slowed down as she reached the end of his hand, prolonging the touch as she looked into his eyes.

Pylar withdrew his hand and quickly, giving a glance to the man she was with, but making it as brief before looking back at the money. "What's this?"

"Your tip," she said, flicking her head to the side. Her straight, black hair bounced over her shoulder.

"Realy?" Pylar thumbed through the bills, counting. "But, this is... the price of your bill. Are you serious?"

"You did a great job, kid." The guy reached over the counter and gave Pylar's shoulder a squeeze. The grab lingered until Pylar took a mild step back and nodded.

"Well," Pylar cleared his throat, "thanks."

"We look forward to seeing you next time." Though the couple left, they took their time doing it and once they were back on the sidewalk, they threw one last glance into the restaurant, giving Pylar a look, and then laughing to each other as they walked away.

"What the hell was that about?" Maddox turned back toward the counter.

"I don't know." Maddox counted the money, slower this time, and checked to see if it was real. "But... it was legit." He slipped the money into his apron.

"Do that more often and your mom might be able to quit."

"Yeah," Pylar grabbed a wet towel and went to his mom. "If only I could figure out what that was." With dinner hour coming up, he couldn't leave her. He lifted her from the booth to take her to the back room.