“Right,” I naffed. “I know your parents brought you up a certain way, but you can’t—oh, for fuck’s sake—live your life trying to be good enough for other people. You have to be good enough for yourself. Although, for the record, you’re definitely good enough for me.”

“Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.” I couldn’t tell if he meant it as affection or admonition. “That was exceptionally naff.”

I rolled my eyes at him in mock rebuke. “Sometimes true things are naff and naff things are true. It’s one of the many ways in which reality is bobbins.”

There was a tiny pause. “And,” he said, “and…you’re sure this is…okay?”

“What’s okay?”

“Saying these things. I’m not just convincing you that you’re about to marry a whiny prick?”

“You’re not being a whiny prick.” I went back to my hopefully comforting stroking. “This shit is clearly messing with you. It would mess with anyone.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “It would mess with anyone in similar circumstances. But I’m deeply aware ‘Oh woe is me, my affluent parents whose cultural and literal capital gave me significant unearned advantages that most people can never access and which I largely took for granted were sometimes a bit emotionally unsupportive’ isn’t exactly the stuff of tragedy.”

I was starting to feel like I’d misplayed noughts and crosses and now Oliver had the centre and two corners and wherever I went next, he was going to win. “Oliver. I understand this is complicated, but you’re forcing me to either be naff again or shit on your dead father, and I don’t want to do either.”

“It’s the room of hate, remember.” Oliver made a small encircling gesture. “So you can do both.”

“Okay, fine. Naff thing: Your pain matters, even if other people have it worse. Shitting-on-your-dead-father thing: Your parents were more than just sometimes a bit emotionally unsupportive. They’re total fuckers who made you feel inadequate your whole life. And they’re kind of homophobic.”

“Well,” said Oliver, “at least I only have one of them to deal with now.”

My eyes went wide. “Wow, really taking advantage of the safe room, aren’t you?”

“As you may have noticed, Lucien”—something like a smile touched his lips—“I seldom do things by halves. Besides, my mother’s currently being difficult enough for the both of them.”

Curling closer, I waited for Oliver to unleash himself.