Baz is looking down at me. Frowning slightly. “You don’t want to stay at university?”

“I really don’t.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says.

I shrug again. Maybe I am. It doesn’t matter. The lock of hair has fallen over his ear. I tuck it back—Baz catches my hand. He brings it to his mouth and kisses the inside of my wrist, without looking away from my eyes. It makes me feel … I don’t know. I pull my hand away and stretch my arms over my head. One of the joints in my wings pops. They’re still bunched up under my T-shirt.

“Here,” Baz says, pushing up the bottom of my hoodie. I sit up and take off all my layers. He sits up, too, and gives me room to stretch out my wings. He’s smiling at me. “You look like a bird, preening.”

“I can’t help it.” I’m still stretching. “They get cramped.”

He lies down again, on his back. I take the position he had, propped up on an elbow beside him. I’m still shaking my wings out behind me.

Baz reaches a hand up and pets my chest. I don’t have much hair there, not like him—he’s got a proper spread across his pecs and a black stripe down his belly. Now that I’ve got fat, I look like a baby when I’m bare-chested.

“You don’t have to wear a shirt on my account,” he says, still petting me. “If you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

“I mean … you should feel at ease in your own home.” He pinches the chub over my ribs.

I grab his wrist. “Thanks,” I say, watching him laugh. And then, because I’m holding his wrist, I kiss it—it feels especially cool on my lips. “Are you cold?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the one who’s half undressed.”

“I’m fine, it’s warm in here. But you’re cold.” I kiss his wrist again. Then chafe it with my thumb.

“I don’t really get cold…”

“Like you can’t feel the cold?”

“No, I can. It just doesn’t usually bother me.” Baz looks troubled for a second. “Unless I’m sick.”

“When do you get sick?”

“Almost never. But … I was sick after the numpties. I was cold then.”

I kiss his wrist, harder. Then his palm. I hold his hand over my face, kissing it—it isn’t enough. I bring his hand up around my neck and lean over him, rubbing my face in his cheek. “I should have found you,” I say. “Your aunt should have told me you’d been kidnapped.”

“Snow, you hated me then.” He’s stroking the back of my hair. “You probably would have sent the numpties a thank-you note.”