“He asked me point blank if I was in love with you.”
Noah froze. He couldn’t feel his breath; his pulse roared in his ears. The metal keys dug into his palm.
“Anyway, he knows where he stands now.”
Noah stared at Wade, absorbed the picture, the vast green-hued sky behind him, counting down from ten.
He wanted to hear Wade say it again.
He wanted to blurt out his love in return, like a child who couldn’t hold in a secret for two minutes.
“H-here’s a thought,” Noah said, not carefully at all. His mouth was running off with him. And—and he needed to let it.
Dark, sparkling, hopeful eyes landed on him.
“How would you feel if we moved all” —he gestured to the Mustang— “this to Barton cottage?”
“Asking me to move in with you?” Wade murmured, teasingly. Had he thought Noah had meant just for tonight?
Or did he, too, need to hear it again?
“I am asking you to move in with me.”
Wade pushed off his Mustang and unclenched Noah’s grip around the car key. He blew over the deep indentations on his skin and his lips combed his fingertips.
Noah caught him under the chin and kissed him fiercely. “Is that a yes?”
Sense
~Zach~
“Oh God, I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying. It’s just a temperature.”
“The worst illness man has ever contracted!”
“A slight temperature.”
“Where’s the love, Noah? We might never see one another again.”
A deep laugh. The room was hazy, curtains shut, Zach’s eyes half glued together with sleep. Still, he made out Brandy’s solid form perched at the end of his bed. “Is he always like this when he’s sick?”
“Pretty much, yes. Good luck?”
Wait—Good luck?
“Noah. Noah! Come back here.”
A no-nonsense set to his shoulders, Noah made his escape. “Brandon’s staying, he’s taken the day off.”
Oh fuck. Check his temperature again. It was bound to bust the thermometer. He couldn’t . . . around Brandy, like this? Sweaty and pale and smelly and gross.
Brandy shifted at his feet, cocking his head, looking at Zach far too closely.
“Noooooah. You’re killing me.”
Noah’s laugh grew steadily more distant. “I’m having a romantic breakfast with my boyfriend. Who’s moving in, as an FYI.”
This cracked through Zach’s layers and layers of illness. “Finally!” he called out. “I was beginning to despair.”
The front door closed emphatically, but Zach imagined Noah’s playful scowl as he took his boyfriend by the hand. Breakfast and a romantic walk amongst the penguins.
“Gosh. They sorted it out.”
“They did. Yes.”
Zach was so deep into his obsession, he was placing emphasis where there was none. He fancied he heard ‘They did. Yes.’ Like it would be their turn next. His and Brandy’s.
“Fuck.”
“Are you in pain? Do you need something?”
Brandy squeezed his leg through the blankets and Zach startled upright, fingering his temples to stop the room spinning. And maybe to curtain his clammy face.
“Don’t look at me. This isn’t pretty.”
Quite abruptly Brandy jerked his fingers an inch up his calf. Calculating eyes focused even more.
“You care if I think you’re pretty or not?” Brandy said, slowly, like he was tasting those words for the first time. Or, like, because he thought Zach needed slow and clearly enunciated, what with him being all delirious. On his death bed and all.
I want you to like what you see.
Zach threw himself back against the pillows.
I want you to cast boundaries aside and take me as your lover!
Oh, God, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to make a fool of himself, throw himself at Brandy, runny nose and all.
And then he’d die when Brandy turned him down, telling him gently he only wanted to be friends—and it would be gently, because he’s kind like that. And how dare he be so kind turning him down? Everyone knew the kinder one was dumped, the worse it was. It meant you really were losing something good.
“Dammit, Brandy.”
“What?”
“Don’t be so nice. You can say I look like the wreck of the Hesperus. You can spill out all your terrible thoughts about me.”
“None of my thoughts about you are terrible.”
Zach threw an arm over his face. “You’re making this worse.”
“What, worse?” Brandy whispered, like Zach might be battling a headache or something. Which he was. Just one all Brandy-themed. “Should I make tea?”
“You should go to work.”
Brandy drew back a foot. “Oh. I thought you’d . . .”
Zach stiffened. Was that disappointment, or was he imagining this, too?
“I don’t love the idea of you looking after yourself.”
Why was he making up narratives in his head where Brandy liked him back? “What do you think will happen? I’ll accidentally tumble down the cliff while scouring the bushes for boysenberries?”
“Are you thinking of scouring the bushes for boysenberries?”
“They are a superfood, you know. Might bring me back from the dead and all that.”
“Then yes, I am afraid you’ll tumble down the cliff.”
“And you’d rather be here to, what? Catch me?”
“To stop you scouring in the first place.” Brandy paused. “But I’ll catch you if I must.”
