Rory turned, putting his back to the side railing so he and Arthur faced each other from opposite ends of the balcony. “You’re keeping secrets from me about your aura? That’s my magic in there. If I did something to you—”

“You didn’t,” Arthur said quickly, almost urgently. “Not like that.”

“Then like what?” Rory demanded. “Why do you keep these things secret from me? Did I do something to make you think I can’t handle your bad days, or your past? Look what happened when you kept secrets about Hyde.”

Arthur winced but said, “This is different.”

Rory swore under his breath. “I bet it’s not different,” he said tightly. “I bet you’re just always going to find some excuse not to involve me when things get rough for you.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.

Rory ran a hand through his uncovered curls, the beautiful cap he loved that Arthur had bought for him still safe in his room. His anger and irritation were being drowned by hurt. “All that stuff you said, back in New York—that you’re here for me, that you’re gonna stick around—that meant something to me. But it was bullshit, wasn’t it.”

“Teddy—”

“No, Ace.” Rory was shaking his head. “I need to face it. Maybe you’re slumming, or maybe you feel sorry for me, but I’m not your equal, and you’ve never seen me as one.”

Arthur stared in shock. “That is not true—”

“I can’t trust your words when your actions tell me different,” Rory said. “And how am I supposed to trust someone who doesn’t trust me back?”

Arthur looked like Rory had hit him. “How can you say I don’t trust you?”

“Because you keep telling me I can come to you for help,” said Rory, heart aching in his chest. “But now it seems like you need help, and you won’t come to me.”

A tense silence fell.

After several moments, Arthur abruptly turned, the railing against his stomach, his gaze going to the street four stories below. Staring down at the cars and sidewalk, he was still wearing his tuxedo, like something out of a dream against the backdrop of the Paris night.

Rory leaned on the railing, drained and hurt. Maybe this was it, the moment Arthur woke up and left him for someone better than a bastard from Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe Rory had just sped its coming up.

Except Arthur hadn’t left. He was still staring into the street, fingers wrapped around the railing of the tiny balcony.