I think if I’d let him, Oliver would have passed out where he’d fallen. But because I knew from experience that waking up in your clothes from the night before felt awful, I half coaxed, half bullied him undressed. Then I slid into bed beside him and pulled the duvet over us both.

We lay there for a little while, with me desperately trying to think of something consoling to say that wasn’t just…shit. Like It’ll be okay or Everything happens for a reason or He was a cock anyway. So, finally, I went with “I love you,” because it was true and safe and wouldn’t make him think about the thing he didn’t want to think about. He murmured my name and pressed in close, his face a sharp-angled shadow in the darkness of the room.

Yeah. Definitely not a words situation.

Carefully I pushed back the tousled waves of his hair, letting my fingers move in long strokes through the strands. He gave another little murmur, half-sad, half-soothed, and tilted his head towards me on the pillow.

Very gently, I kissed him. Not a hello-you kiss or a do-me-now kiss. But the sort of kiss that speaks for you. A kiss to draw us together. To show I was there. To promise I always would be, if he’d let me.

And afterwards, Oliver settled into my arms as if he belonged there, and we stayed that way until morning.

Chapter 30

IF THERE WAS EVER EVIDENCE that Oliver was in a bad way, it was that not only was he still asleep when I woke up, but he was still asleep when I got bored of lying in bed—which I thought was basically impossible. Easing myself out from under the duvet as quietly as I could so I wouldn’t disturb him, I surreptitiously dressed and sort of, somehow, found myself standing there, looking at him. Like that bit in a country song where the singer is all “Honey, I love you, but something inside me means I gotta go and do a man thing and I hope when I come back you and little Ellie May will be waiting for me.” And then I’d die in the second-to-last verse and the last verse would be me going, “Dagnabbit, why did I have to do a man thing instead of staying at home with my wife and little Ellie May.”

“Are you staring at me, Lucien?” asked Oliver drowsily. “Are you watching me sleep?”

Oh, fuck. “Only technically. I was mostly thinking, ‘Gosh, I wish I could do something to make Oliver feel better.’ And you just happened to be in my line of sight. And you just happened to be asleep.”

Oliver shifted the pillows into a more ergonomic position. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, but thank you for offering.”

“I’ll…I’ll leave you to not be stared at.”