“Let it out, sunshine,” he says, and I bury my head into his shoulder and let the tears flow.

Eventually, I pull back and dab at his jumper. “I’ve made a wet mark,” I say, unable to look at him.

“Charlie Michael Burroughs, look at me right now,” he orders. My gaze shoots up, and he smiles. “Better.” He pulls his sleeve down over his hand and wipes the tears away with the material. Then he hugs me close and kisses me on the forehead before pulling back. “I’m going to say something now that you need to hear,” he says.

“Oh dear,” I say faintly.

He shrugs. “You don’t have to be Charlie Sunshine all the time, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, startled.

Misha smiles wryly. “I don’t know if you’re just intent on living up to your nickname, but you seem to be convinced that you have to be happy and sunshiny all the time for other people. You can’t be angry and rage against things because you feel you have to be perfect. Well, you don’t have to be perfect with your mates and me and your family.” He shrugs again. “The sun goes in sometimes, and rain happens. Otherwise, we’d all need to invest in shares in Ambre Solaire.”

“I just didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Well, you actually ended up worrying everyone. That’s what happens when you try to keep things from the people who care about you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He shakes his head, straightening my jumper and pushing my hair back. “No need to apologise. Just do better next time.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he smiles briefly. “And now you’re going back to your mum’s, and you are going to get loads of sleep and gentle exercise. I want you to walk by the sea, feel the wind in your face, read all the books, and relax. You’ll tell the medical staff everything. And you can’t come back until you’re better.”

I nod and sniff, not wanting to let go of him. His sturdy confidence in everything. makes me feel safe. “I think I’m probably going to message you all day,” I mutter.

He hugs me tight. “I think I’ll expect you to,” he whispers into my hair. “I’ll miss you so much. Two months and no longer,” he instructs me, and I nod.

Chapter Eight

Six Weeks Later

Misha

I let myself into the flat and lean back against the door with a weary sigh. It’s been a fucker of a morning. I was called into work on a Saturday to solve an emergency, and coming home to an empty flat puts the cherry on top of the shit-sundae.