Quin slid in behind him, the heat radiating off him warming Kit down to his toes. A strong hand traced up his bare arm, soothing his muscles.
“That feel nice?” Quin asked.
Kit hummed an affirmative response, craning his neck to give Quin more access. Dutifully, Quin slid his hand up further, thumb rubbing circles above Kit’s spine.
“He didn’t need to remind you to do this,” Kit said lethargically.
“Huh?”
“Rake. His instruction about aftercare.”
“Oh. No, he didn’t need to, but I don’t mind. I think it’s just his way of showing he cares about you.” Quin dug his fingers into Kit’s shoulders, and Kit melted into the mattress. They lay there in a cosy, comfortable silence until Quin spoke again. “They all do. Care about you, I mean.”
Kit snorted with laughter. “Exhibitionism as a demonstration of friendship is verythem.”
“Are you feeling okay about it?” Quin asked.
Kit didn’t need to consider it. “Yeah. It was…hot. Fun. A good distraction.”
Quin’s fingers paused momentarily, and Kit braced himself for another question. But it didn’t come. Relief would, however, only last until morning. Tomorrow, Kit would have to face his past.
Knowing that he’d be facing it alongside his friends and boyfriend, though, let him fall into sleep far easier than he’d have imagined.
It took them around twenty minutes to get to the manor house. Kit sat with his shaking hands under his thighs for the entire drive. When they parked, he stared ahead, dread settling in his gut like a heavy stone dropped in water. He startled when Quin reached out and touched the side of his face, gently turning him around.
“You ready for this?” Quin asked.
Kit didn’t answer immediately, picking through his mind until he came to a conclusion. “Yeah. I don’t think I would have been able to face it a couple of months ago. Now, though? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Quin leaned over and pecked him on the forehead. “Let’s go then. I’ll be with you all the way.”
Kit looked up at Quin, meeting his gaze. “I know you will.”
Quin swallowed, his throat clicking. “Let’s go.”
Kit stepped out of the car, getting his first proper view of the manor in forty years. Quin joined him, and they looked upon where Kit had been imprisoned.
What remained didn’t match Kit’s memories. It had been magnificent in its heyday, with architecture that even Kit had been impressed with: light grey stone covered in crawling ivy; symmetrical chimney tops reaching proudly into the air; grand columns on either side of the entrance standing sentinel; and small balconies on the upper windows with dainty, twisted railings.
But no more.
The entire west wing of the building was destroyed, blackened and burned away, exposing the innards of the house like a deep wound. The front door hung off its hinges, lookingfragile enough that the slightest touch would have it crumbling to dust. All the windows were damaged, some smashed and cracked and others gone from their frames altogether. Neon graffiti blighted the more intact side of the manor, which Kit hadn’t expected. Nobody ever came out to the house back when he’d been kept there, but it seemed it was a secret no longer.
“Bagsy not going into the cellar,” Shaun said, coming up beside them. There was a bright moon that night, disappearing behind the fast-moving clouds that sliced along the sky and cast dancing shadows across Shaun’s pale face.
“Lawrence really thought he was some sort of lord, didn’t he?” DJ said as he slammed the car door shut. “This house has total post-apocalypticDownton Abbeyvibes.”
“It used to be impressive,” Kit said. He was unable to stop from cataloguing every little detail that had changed. The overgrown bushes. The uneven flagstones, disrupted by crawling tree roots. And the smell of decay coming from deep within the bones of the house, as if the manor itself had become a rotting corpse.
“So, where to first?” Shaun asked.
Kit bit his lip as he considered his answer. “His bedroom should have something personal to him. But I can’t judge the extent of the damage, or whether it’s been looted.” He pointed at the graffiti. “Looks like people have been here at some point. So, I suppose we could start with the bedrooms and then head to the parlour in the east wing.”
“What even is a parlour?” Quin asked.
“A reception room,” DJ said. “A fancy living room with art and stuff.” At Quin’s surprised expression—he clearly hadn’t expected DJ to give an explanation—DJ shrugged. “My mum’s always enjoyed period dramas, so I’ve watched pretty much all of them.”
“The real question is, are you more of a Darcy or Heathcliff kinda guy?” Kit said, eager to delay their entry for at least a few moments.
