“I know,” North said, helping Shaw back to his feet.

“I can walk upstairs on my own.”

North made an agreeing noise and rested his hand on the small of Shaw’s back again. Shaw wasn’t drunk. Neither of them was. The night might have been easier if they had been, North thought. Or it might have been spectacularly worse. He wasn’t sure.

“Boom,” Shaw said as he spilled through the doorway into his bedroom. “I’m home. I’m safe. You did your job. You can go back to Tucker now.”

The thought of going home turned like a screw inside North. As he followed Shaw into the bedroom, though, all he said was, “Shaw, we need to talk about Matty.”

“Umm,” a familiar voice said. “About me?”

Matty was sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, and he reminded North of an insect that had been stepped on but not successfully crushed. He was wearing a rainbow tank top and a rainbow jockstrap, and the pale, lean lines of his legs went on for about a mile.

“Matty,” Shaw said with a goofy grin.

“Get out,” North said.

“I’m sorry,” Matty said, gathering the sheet to cover himself. “Oh Christ, I’m so sorry. Were you guys—oh Christ. I can’t even believe I did this. I thought you two weren’t—oh Jesus Christ.” He slid off the bed, grabbed his pants and dragged them on.

“Hold on,” Shaw said, and he would have sprinted around the bed except North clamped a hand around his arm. “Matty, just hold on.”

“Don’t hold on. Get the fuck out of here, and don’t ever let me see you again.”

Matty’s face was bright red, and he was biting his lip like he was on the edge of tears. He grabbed a sweater and yanked it over his head, disturbing the unruly wave of blond hair even more.

“What is wrong with you?” Shaw said. “Let go of me. What the fuck is wrong with you? What—North, I told you to let go.”

“Sure. Once he’s gone.”

“I’m going,” Matty whispered, grabbing his shoes and darting around them. “I’m so sorry. This was so stupid.”

“No. No!” Shaw stumbled, trying to drag North’s weight, and managed to stretch an arm into Matty’s path. “Just hold on. This is some kind of misunderstanding. North and I had a rough night—”

“A rough night?” North wanted to shake Shaw. Fury was building inside him, driving the gauge into the red. “A rough fucking night? This little shit has been lying since the first day, Shaw. He’s a fucking whore. He’s some street hustler who—”

At first, the pop and shock seemed like they came from a long way off, and North wasn’t sure why he’d stopped speaking. It was only after a stunned heartbeat when he tasted blood, where his teeth had cut the inside of his lip, that he realized Shaw had hit him.

Shaw was trembling. Both fists were balled at his side. His hair had slipped half free of its bun, netting his face wildly. “Get out of here. You’re drunk or you’re high or something, but get out of here and come back when you’re not going to be such an asshole.”