“And told me that they were used for sharpening pencils.”

“I have no doubt.”

“And—”

Tokala smiled. “You survived. That’s the most important thing.”

Peter offered a smile of his own, but when it didn’t last, silence took its chances, destroying what little opportunity there was for small talk until all that was left was the truth, that this hurt.

Tokala stood. “I should give you two some space.”

Peter looked up, at once relieved and frightened to be left alone with Cooper.

“Your father has been offered an apartment across town, Peter. He thought you and Cooper would both appreciate your own space, so we’ve allocated the studio above the Lone Star for you both if you’d like it.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “Thank you.”

“That’s settled, then. I’ll get the keys for you now.”

Tokala’s dark eyes held Peter’s, an invitation to talk to him whenever he needed to. But he didn’t linger. Peter nodded his thanks and Tokala quietly left, closing the door behind him.

Cooper didn’t turn round. And in the moment of the two of them being alone again, it almost seemed impossible to Peter that so much separation could exist where not even a gap between two kisses had existed before. But there it was. He didn’t even feel he could look at Cooper any more. The most he could manage was the space surrounding him. The chair. The carpet beneath his feet. The air above his head. But no closer than that. He didn’t have permission for any closer than that. And right there and then, he realized something else. If it went on like this, if it never got any better, then it wouldn’t just hurt because he no longer had access to Cooper’s heart, but to his own heart and those parts of it that forever lived inside him now whether he liked it or not. But perhaps that’s how it was. That when two people ended, neither one got the part of themselves that once belonged to the other person back again.

“Did they treat you right?” came Cooper’s voice low inside the silence.

“Yes. Everybody’s been nice.”

“And your dad?”

“He’s OK. He’s waiting for us in reception, I think.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” said Peter quietly. “Of course, us.”

“No of course about it, Pete.”

Cooper stood, scuffing the corner of the empty carpet tile with his toecaps, trying to lift the edges, and the space between them got a little wider.

“Reckon I’m more nervous of you now,” he said, “than that night I made a mess outta askin’ you out.”

“I love you,” said Peter.