Cooper nodded as if he’d simply respect that decision rather than challenge it, and somehow that was so much worse than if he’d kicked the chair over and fought back. Peter inched closer to the door and the pain of Cooper’s resignation burned across his skin.

Voices further down the corridor came and went.

Doors opened. Others closed.

A minute passed, or maybe longer, when Cooper cleared his throat. “Reckon holdin’ hands is underrated.”

Peter looked up, startled that he’d managed to read his heart so deeply. And it was true. Although nothing could beat feeling Cooper’s kiss, kissing was still a whole lot of wanting and needing and trying to make two separate things turn into one. Holding hands when all else failed? Well, that always put you back together again.

Cooper’s fingertips reached for Peter’s. Peter took his hand, and the pair of them stood in the room with the missing carpet tile for a moment, neither one of them feeling the need to say anything further.

11

The apartment above the Lone Star was strange. The main room had a bay window at the front overlooking Mainstreet with a kitchenette in the back corner and two other doors leading off to the bedroom and bathroom. The entire apartment was clad in wood panelling to give the illusion that it had been built of something sturdy. But unlike the thick timber of the tree houses back home, the panels were as thin as cardboard and the walls behind just plaster. Peter rapped his knuckles across the panels and felt the hollow space of the apartment next door just behind them. Nothing could disguise the fact that you were only ever inches away from your neighbour. Someone could be standing there on the other side from you looking back, right now. And the missing furnishings didn’t help.