Then

Kenny wasn't sure why he was standing outside of a house he had not laid eyes on in over fifteen years. He hadn't attended Kuchel's funeral. Had not wanted to face the ghosts of affection that still lingered somewhere unfamiliar in his chest. Somewhere long since sealed up, full of things that were sharp and rusted. Dangerous in all the wrong ways, ready to slice him open from within. The phantom touch of hands on his skin, lips in his hair. A soft, sweet voice whispering in his ear, everything he wanted in the whole world.

None of it his.