“They weren’t—” Shaw poked his head into the room long enough to say, “—panties.”

Then he was gone.

“What about those cute little pink jorts? The ones you got in Boystown?”

Shaw’s head appeared again; his hair was slipping out of its bun, a long auburn curl falling over his shoulder. Against the turquoise shirt, the red in his hair, normally muted, seemed to come alive. The effect made North forget what he’d been about to say.

“Don’t you think they’d be a little—you know—for a—” Then Shaw shook his head. “I think I gave them to Rufus anyway.”

Gone again.

North tried to work some saliva back into his mouth. It was one thing having to control himself when Shaw spent most of his life in various states of undress. That was unfair on a cosmic level, but North figured he was enough of an asshole that he probably deserved it. This, though, with that goddamn turquoise guayabera, this was a whole fucking other level.

“Hey, I’ve got kind of an idea,” North said, suddenly restless and pacing to the window and the line of tea kettles. Empty, thank God. “Shaw?”

“An idea?”

“Maybe we get out of here for a few days. Like, a mini vacation. We can go to Chicago or KC or Nashville.”

From the bathroom, echoing against the tile, came Shaw’s voice. “We’ve got to work.”

“I think it’d be good for us. Just get away. Relax.”

Hocking noises— Shaw was brushing his teeth, North guessed—and then, over the running water: “Tuck’s not exactly in a good condition for you to leave him alone.”

“Tucker will be fine. And anyway, I asked him, and he was really supportive.” Oddly supportive, actually. None of the sniping about Shaw. None of the hysterically jealous rages. “He even said he wanted to pay for the whole thing; he’s been sitting on his Christmas bonus from last year.” And that was the most bizarre part of the whole thing, although North wasn’t going to give Shaw the satisfaction of saying that.

“Can’t,” came Shaw’s tile-echo voice from the bathroom.

“What? Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You have no fucking life besides this place, and we can take a few more days.”

“Sorry. Can’t.”

North was about to wade into it and pick a real fight about this—he didn’t like Shaw in this place, he didn’t like Shaw being alone after everything that had happened. He didn’t like worrying at odd moments that Shaw might fall back into that horrible space where North knew he had only fifty-fifty odds of reaching him. Then North saw the laptop on Shaw’s unmade bed, the sheets kicked into a ball at the foot, and decided to try a diversion. “So you were watching porn? Hopefully nothing you’re ashamed of. Some guys really need to have a gag in their mouth, that’s nothing you should have to hide.”

“What?” This time, Shaw’s hair had completely slipped free, spilling across his shoulders and down his back, and he stared at North like he hadn’t understood a single word. “Oh. No. Watch that video and tell me what you think.”