He could be good enough. He could say the right words, do the right things, feel the right way. He could get a smile, a nod, or a touch to his shoulder that told him he had done something right.
He could ignore the voices in his head, the laughing, gibbering demons that watched his every move and told him he would never be good enough.
He knew he could, because the voices had suddenly quieted when Rupert pushed him against the wall, shoved his legs apart, and thrust into him with a low growl.
"Oh, god… Wesley, so good…"
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