“I quit my job.” Rory hugged himself tightly. “I called this morning and left a message for Mr. Baker, told him I’m not coming back.” He shrugged, and there was nothing easy about the gesture when he looked tense enough to snap. “I, uh. I got a little savings from Mrs. B, so I’ll be okay for a few weeks. But, um. I don’t have a job now.”

Arthur’s heart did a funny flip. “Teddy—”

“I mean, I hated that job. Worst I ever had. It was gonna pay my bills, though, so I don’t know what I’m gonna do without it.” He hunched further into himself. “But supposedly I’ve got this boyfriend who says I can ask him for help. Or at least, I hope he isn’t gonna let me starve—”

“Christ, get over here.” Arthur didn’t wait; he reached for Rory, snagging his wrist and tumbling him down into the covers. “Oh, baby, you’re shaking.”

“I don’t know why this is so hard, it’s just a job,” Rory said plaintively, unusually pliant as he let Arthur hold him tightly. “A really awful job. The worst job. I can find another—probably—aw, Ace, what if I can’t find another job?”

“If I could remind you that you are surrounded by people who care about your well-being—”

“Maybe I could work at the Magnolia.” Rory buried his face against Arthur’s chest. “Jade’s too sweet to leave me on the street.”

“Um, excuse me, I don’t intend to leave you on the street.”

“But I’d be great at bootlegging, I could make her lots of money. Or I could wash all the dishes for Zhang’s family.”

“You could do all of that. But working and making money is not why any of us want you around.” Arthur scooted down the bed to see Rory’s face, reaching for his glasses so they could both be comfortable. “You’re very brave.”

“Oh sure,” Rory said, with heavy sarcasm, as he tilted his head to let Arthur pull his glasses off. “That’s why I’m falling apart over quitting a bad job.”

They were nearly nose to nose on the mattress, the borrowed dressing gown bunching under Rory’s chin. “It’s understandable,” said Arthur. “America traps the working class in wretched positions because they are desperate for a wage and afraid to quit.”

“Oh, how would you know, you Fifth Avenue prick,” Rory muttered, but not meanly. “You’ve never had to ask for help.”

“Please. I inherited help.” Arthur kissed him once, Rory’s mouth trembling under his. “I had wealthy parents, wealthy grandparents, and a trust fund before I was born. Through no effort of my own I was given a safety net, while you’ve worked since childhood and still walk a tightrope without one.”