He rested his hands on the bed behind him, leaning back. “I lost three weeks of my life to magic in that asylum. I lost countless hours and days after that. When I first got to Hell’s Kitchen, Mrs. B would have to watch me scry and shake me out of it if I went too long. We would’ve given up on the whole antiques shop plan if her clairvoyant sister hadn’t promised us that I was gonna get better control.”

He softened his voice. “So when I say, it wasn’t you, it was magic, I know that all the way down to my bones. Because magic had ruined my life. Until I met you.”

Arthur’s shoulders were still hunched. But finally, he looked over at Rory, really looked at him, with haunted eyes.

“C’mere,” Rory said again.

Arthur covered his face. “Oh Christ, I’m doing it again, I’m making you comfort me when you’re the victim.”

“We’re both victims,” said Rory. “C’mon.”

Arthur huffed. But he didn’t argue. After a long moment, he took the one step to the bed, stopping before he and Rory touched and standing uncertainly in front of him.

Rory reached for his hand and Arthur let him take it. As gently as he could, he ran his fingers over Arthur’s knuckles. The blood was gone, washed off at the manor, but even clean, they were scraped and bruised, and Rory had to push down a surge of anger that someone had turned his kind man into a weapon. “My magic’s in you forever now.”

Arthur hesitated. “Is that—how do you feel about that?”

“I’m so glad,” Rory said, throat tight. “I’m so glad you’re gonna be okay. You asshole, you should’ve told me, I could’ve lost you.”

He pulled, and Arthur let himself be moved, tugged all the way down to the bed next to Rory. Rory put his arms around Arthur’s neck and hugged him tight. “And I get why you didn’t know how to tell me,” he said hoarsely. “But I would’ve kept the link in you forever. I would’ve been happy to. You know that, right? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was never gonna leave.”

“But I didn’t want to force you to stay.” Arthur sounded so uncertain, his hands coming up like they wanted to hug Rory, and then dropping like he wouldn’t let himself. “I didn’t want to be your burden—”

Rory pulled back to look Arthur in the eyes. “Baby,” he said, dropping his voice lower and imitating Arthur’s accent, reaching for Arthur’s words from New York that he was gonna carry in his heart forever, “do I look like a man who feels burdened?”