“You okay?”
Jag shrugged. “Feeling kind of stupid, I guess.”
Michael frowned. “Why?”
“Because I could have stopped running a long time ago, but I was too scared to get my facts straight.”
Michael ran his finger back and forth over Jag’s knuckles. “That doesn’t make you stupid. Naive, maybe, understandably ill-informed, but definitely not stupid.”
Jag let out a soft sigh.
“All that matters is that you’re armed with the truth now. You know they can’t hurt you, so if you want to, you can stop running.”
Jag was quiet for a long time. During the weighting quiet, a lump of anticipation formed in Michael’s throat. He did his best to swallow it away so he could speak.
“Do you want to stop running?” he asked.
“Yes.” Jag rolled onto his side so he was facing Michael.
In the dark room, Jag’s features were all fuzzy and monochrome, but he was still stunning. He played with Michael’s tie, his stare focusing on the thin strip of red fabric, which looked black in the darkness that surrounded them, instead of on Michael’s face.
“I was wondering if there was another reason I kept moving from place to place other than fear.”
“Oh?”
“I never really felt as if I belonged anywhere.” He paused, frowning and pursing his lips. “I don’t know if that’s because I was too guarded to let myself make friends or if I was searching for something.”
Jag’s words resonated with Michael. He almost felt they applied to him too. Not in the sense that he didn’t belong anywhere—the club was his home; his dancers were his extended family—but in the sense that he didn’t belong with anyone. He’d been searching for something since he’d lost Edward, a sense of acceptance that he hadn’t found in anyone. Until now. He held his breath and waited for Jag to continue, his hand resting on the young man’s hip.
“I think I was searching for somewhere I could call home,” Jag said.
“And you could call here home?” Michael asked, releasing his breath. “Not right here, necessarily,” he added hurriedly.
Jag laughed softly. “It’s okay. I know what you mean.” He propped his head up on his arm. “And yes, I think it is. That bedsit of yours isn’t as crummy as you made out. It just needs some TLC. The view is gorgeous.” He sounded wistful as he spoke. “I could sit and stare out at it every day and never get bored.”
“I can fix up the place,” Michael said. “I’ve been meaning to do it for ages.”
Michael could just see the upwards curve of Jag’s lips as he smiled. “I love dancing in the club. I’ve always enjoyed the dancing, but most of the clubs I’ve worked in have been shitholes with sleazy bosses and even worse punters. And the competitiveness.” He rolled his eyes, the limited light in the room making the whites of his eyes shine. “It was tiring. Most of the time, I couldn’t wait to move on in the hope I’d find something better in the next town.”
“And you have now?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, I have.” Jag tugged on Michael’s tie. “Then there’s you.”
Michael raked his teeth over his lip.
“The guy who made me break all my rules.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “All of them?”
“All but one,” Jag amended. He let go of Michael’s tie and rolled onto his back again, letting his arm flop over his chest.
Even in the darkness, Michael could see how sad Jag’s expression was.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
Jag shook his head. “No ‘but’. I want this to be my home.”
“So, why the sad face?”
