Page 76 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“I agree,” said Gabriel. “Sorry to ask this, but I have to know… Are you really… are you…?”

“Magic?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I follow in the steps of the witches and wizards who came before, but you don’t have to be able to turn water into wine to love Jesus, you know?”

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

“It would be good though. Water into wine. Anyway—to be a witch, you just have to love the earth, and want to help people, and… believe. And I do believe.” She patted Gabriel on the arm. “Plus, I’ve been around long enough to know a few things, that’s all. And you will be fine.”

“Aren’t you… only about forty years old?”

She sighed. “I am five-and-forty, boy-king, and you should just take the reassurance and be grateful. Stop punishing yourself—the world will do that for you. Go be happy. Or at least a bit less miserable. Goodbye!”

She left. Gabriel sat down by the dying fire and gave himself until the last ember sparked out, and then he went to Arthur’s tent.

It was probably a bad idea. Monumentally bad. Nail-in-the-coffin bad. But his intuition, usually silent, was trying to tell him something, and as it was such a rare occurrence, he thought he ought to listen.

He tried to knock before entering, useless as it was, a couple of dull thunks on one of the tent posts, and then he ducked inside and found Arthur sitting on his cot, still dressed, waiting for him.

“Thank fuck,” he said. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to come.”

Gabriel felt such a warm flood of relief that he stumbled forward without hesitation; Arthur stood up to meet him, and then they both stopped, wary and out of practice, inches away from contact.

“I missed you,” Gabriel said, and Arthur let out a long breath, then bridged the gap, putting one hand very gently on Gabriel’s chest, his eyes following his own fingers.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said very seriously. Gabriel swallowed. They were close enough now that he could smell Arthur’s perfume, see the wetness on his dark lashes.

“Okay,” he said, trying not to disturb the air too much as he did.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up to meet Gabriel’s, and his eyes narrowed, like he was throwing down a challenge. “I wantyouto kissme.”

For once, Gabriel didn’t overthink. He just did as he was told.

He kissed Arthur hard, his hand coming up to touch his jaw, his hair, anchoring him; Arthur let out a tiny, heady gasp, fisted his hand in Gabriel’s shirt, and Gabriel remembered… everything.

How his whole body justmeltedinto Arthur’s at the slightest encouragement; that the kissing made him loose and happy, a giddy high, leaving him breathless and almost laughing; how Arthur would always pull at him, ruining his collars and hems, bending everything out of shape, in his efforts toget closer, touch more, until not even air or light could come between them.

He was doing it now, running his hands over the lines of Gabriel’s shirt, and it felt so good to be touched—like that, by Arthur—Gabriel could have cried. Arthur kissed him hungrily for a few seconds more, pushing everything else out of Gabriel’s head, and then he broke away, removed his hands, and put a painful two feet of distance between them again.

“Just…” he said, his chest heaving. “Wait. A second. It might be… it might be too much, too soon.”

“Okay,” Gabriel said. He’d do anything Arthur said at this moment, entirely at his mercy. Besides, he was feeling overwhelmed too. He went to sit on the bed, and Arthur sat down next to him, and they stayed there until their breathing had slowed somewhat.

“Lie down with me,” Arthur said. “I’m tired, I need somesleep. But— I don’t want you to go.”

Gabriel did, gladly. The bed was small, narrow; they had to be very close together, lying on their sides facing each other, knees bent and touching.

“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” Arthur said seriously, and Gabriel nodded.

“That’s all right.” It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. But Gabriel wasn’t going to push his luck.

“But it means a lot that you… listened. Came here.”

Gabriel’s hand twitched toward Arthur’s face, and then he stopped, and said, “Can I…?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, closing his eyes.

He traced Arthur’s face from forehead to cheekbone like a child discovering clay, watching Arthur’s expression go soft and weightless. Then to his jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the soft stubble there. He touched Arthur’s mouth, gently,and Arthur sighed against his fingers, his brow furrowing, like he was concentrating very hard on something complex and important.

When Gabriel went to take his hand away, Arthur’s shot up lightning-quick, held him by the wrist and kissed him there, on the soft meat of his palm, while Gabriel watched in breathless wonder.