Eric figured that three hours in Steve's company was enough to save face, and then - almost to the minute - he told Steve that he'd had enough and he was going home.

"Yeah," Steve said, "I'm gonna hang around for a bit." Eric didn't know why: all afternoon he'd been complaining about the music. "Boring Triple J shit" he'd said, though Eric could remember vividly when Triple J had been all anyone who cared about music had listened to. But he couldn't disagree with Steve.

He wondered, though, why Steve was going to hang around if that was the case. He supposed that it had something to do with trying to find a drink, or drugs, or a party. He didn't know what Steve got up to by himself and he didn't care. No-one needed to know anyone else's business, some things were private.

He wasn't made for the city, really. It was just by an accident of fate that he'd been born in one. He couldn't imagine living anywhere else, couldn't imagine living in the country, but if given a choice he would've taken solitude over company just about every time. Just about, there were exceptions. Not down here in Melbourne, really, up on the Gold Coast was where his Exception lived. His Exceptional. Eric smiled to himself as he thought about it.

They'd bonded over music, they were both musicians, and if it was unlikely for Eric to be living in a city the size of Melbourne it was even more unlikely for his Other to be living on the Gold Coast. The Gold Coast was appalling, it actually appalled Eric, he just couldn't understand the beach culture at all. His Other teased him and said that the boys were all practically naked on the beach, and Eric had to concede that point, but when it came down to it would you want to actually be with any of them? His Other, his Partner, his Exceptional Gold Coast Boy, just laughed and said that sometimes a one-night stand was better than nothing. They had an agreement, they'd agreed that the only way to make a long-distance relationship work was to make sure the bonds weren't too tight, and Eric wasn't really sure about that but he'd agreed to it anyway, of course he had. Not that he'd ever strayed himself: not that he'd ever seen anyone he wanted to go astray for. He hadn't asked his partner about his own exploits, his own exceptions.

But this was all private, intensely private, and he didn't tell anyone because it wasn't anyone's business.