“That’s not what I asked…” I squeeze his tail. I’m holding the very end, near the spade. It doesn’t seem to hurt him, so I do it again, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. It’s warmer than you’d expect—maybe dragons are warm-blooded. And there’s a nap to it, like the texture of kid gloves.

I unloop his tail from around my arm, then slowly work my hand up the length of it, partly massaging it and partly just feeling it. Normally Snow would have pulled it away by now.

He isn’t pulling away. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s looking at the floor beside us.

“I want you to know,” I say, “that I didn’t consider staying in America. With Lamb. Not for a single second.” I loosen my grip and draw my arm out, so that his tail slides through my fist.

Simon shivers. His wings spread out—reflexively, I think. “You should have considered it,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t, I haven’t … I won’t.” I work my hand back up his tail, towards the base of his spine. “I’m sorry I put you through it that night.”

He’s still making a miserable face at the floor. “I would have understood, Baz—”

“Crowley, Snow, I need you to promise that you won’t keep bringing this up.” I let his tail slide through my palm again, more gently this time, lightly dragging my nails down it.

Simon flinches, and whips his tail out of my hand. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Did that hurt?”

“No, it…” He looks uncomfortable. “I just don’t like that feeling. That, like, feathery feeling. Like, touch me or don’t—but don’t, like, whisper on me.”

I take hold of his tail again, firmly. “Is this better?”

He licks his bottom lip. He’s embarrassed. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t need you to do it at all.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I rub his tail again, pressing hard with my thumb.

“Yeah,” he says, blushing fiercely. “It’s better.” He brings his arms up around my neck, still looking reluctant, still not looking in my eyes. “Lamb was well fit.”

I shrug, working at his tail. It’s so warm. And it’s always moving. Like holding a current in a stream. If you’d asked me ahead of time, I would have said I wasn’t into tails. But I guess I’m into anything attached to Simon.

“Oh,” he says, finally looking up at me, “you didn’t notice he was fit?”

“I didn’t care,” I say. “A lot of people are fit.”

“Not like him.”

“Fuck, Snow, maybe I’m the one who should be jealous.”

Simon rolls his eyes.