Lainey’s laughter eased some of the tension, only for the sight of Florian walking through the park to bring it right back.
“Doctor’s waving for me, Lainey.I’ll be in touch.”
Christ,Declanstilllookedsofragile.Gaunt was one thing, the fucker was always gaunt, but lying there, propped up by pillows, he seemed half transparent.About to fade away.But he was breathing.Antonio kept telling himself that, as he closed the door behind him and slipped into the room.
Declan was still breathing.
“See, in my world, you’d at least get pudding and bad TV,” he said, as he approached the bed.“Mind some company?”
“Company would be lovely,” Declan said, in that increasingly familiar rasp.“Specifically yours.I daresay it’d trump pudding and bad television.”
He held out a hand, fingers wiggling, an invitation Antonio was relieved to take as he sat on the side of the sluagh’s bed.Cool dry skin, and the hum of contentment that went with it.
“Heard the doc say you’ll be fine in a couple of days.”He ran his thumb over Declan’s knuckles as he spoke, a better fidget than any tattoo or bracelet.“With any luck Calloway had the sense to drop the fucker who attacked you in a pit of spikes.”
The lack of bitterness when he said Calloway’s name surprised him.Not forgiveness.Fuck that.But if the idiot hadn’t done what he’d done, before and now, Antonio wouldn’t be sitting here, his hand in Declan’s.
“Calloway?”Declan asked, genuine confusion in his voice.“I saw only the wall, the shinigami, and the smoke.”
Right.Seeing through glamour was Antonio’s own special treat.
“I think he made the wall.”
“Lie with me, and tell me what happened?”Declan tugged at Antonio’s hand and added, “Mind, I won’t be upset if you don’t wish to speak of it.”
What a fae phrase.Lie with me.Antonio’s lips quirked as he kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed, trying not to think of Declan’s boots, dissolved by the thick, oily smoke.Two pairs in a week, both of them decades old, and Antonio knew what it felt like to lose something you’d held onto.
“C’mere, Murderpunk,” he said, stretching out an arm for Declan to curl against.He wanted to drag Declan to him, hold him tight.But that seemed like a bad idea, the memory of blood still to fresh in Antonio’s mind.“Don’t gotta worry about me getting my back up.Know it’s an ask, not an order, coming from you.”
Declan tucked in close, head pillowed against Antonio’s chest.Close, where Antonio could feel him breathing.Feel that he was whole.Nothing soft about the bastard, like cuddling a pile of sticks, but it felt good all the same.
“This is not a situation where I’d be bossy.Freely given affection only.”
“Maybe heal up a bit first.About now, not sure you could give orders to a potato.”He pressed his face to Declan’s hair, breathed him in.Wanted to just keep breathing him.Hearing him breathe.“Not much to say about my side of shit.Managed to talk some sense into Calloway.He was– He’s just a kid, still.Hero in some story no one’s telling.Think he’ll back off now.”
“And instead, you are the hero of ours,” Declan answered, with a huff of laughter.“Did you convince him with your muscles?I recall a distinct lack of shirt.”
Hero.Antonio didn’t laugh so much as exhale, a huff of amusement into Declan’s fine hair.Declan’d been the one doing the fighting.All Antonio had done was resist the urge to shake Calloway until his teeth fell out.
“Flexing solves more shit than you’d think.”Antonio stroked down Declan’s side as he spoke, memorizing him.Reassuring himself again and again that the man was in one piece.Not hurt.Not dead.“But nah.Stupid, probably, but I showed him my ink.You talked about it being me telling my own story.Thought if I could get him to read it, see it came before you, maybe he’d stop thinking you’d somehow messed with my head.”
“It’s not stupid.It worked from the sound of it.”Declan kissed Antonio’s chest, there near his heartbeat, and Antonio sighed with it.“Enough for him to drop what I presume was his glamour and take the shinigami with him.Were I in his shoes, it’d turn my heels as well, and I am significantly less soft-hearted than he appears to be.”
“It had to work.”Antonio’s voice went a little tight.“I would’ve done anything to make him listen.”
“You’ve a way with getting your points across.”As he spoke, Declan’s fingers traveled in absent patterns.Antonio imagined them leaving trails of purple ink.“Very evocative.I’m grateful for it.And you.”
Antonio shook his head.He hadn’t done much, and he wasn’t going to pretend like he had.Talked.That was all.Sent Calloway away crying, and if he was meant to feel bad about that, he didn’t.
Forgiveness was good for the soul, they said.But Antonio’d given his away, so that was Declan’s problem now.
“I didn’t think he’d listen,” he confessed.“Been arguing with him in my head too long.Always losing.”
“Aye, I know that game.I did the same with Everil.”
Fucking kelpie.But Antonio didn’t say it, just nodded.“I thought Calloway waseverythingwhen I was a kid.Guess I never stopped seeing him that way.”
“Why would you?When you’re young and your world is very small, someone bigger or stronger or brighter than you takes up an immense amount of room.”There was an ache in the bond as Declan spoke, his own hurts mingling with Antonio’s.Leather and smoke.“They take all of that space with them when they abandon you, and what was once a small world is even smaller with a huge rip in it.It’s not as if we have any way of measuring that space against them as we grow if they aren’t there.There’s just the tear, and our mind fills it in accordingly, even if the world is huge at that point.”
