It didn’t mean much to Angelo, and the desire to be left alone gifted him a faint surge of resilience. He found a grin from the pit of his miserable existence and plastered it on his face. “I’m all right, mate. Honest. Just had a skinfull.”
Dylan’s fuck buddy didn’t seem convinced, but Angelo had run out of energy to care. He uncurled his aching arms and retrieved his phone and made a show of absorbing himself in absolutely nothing until his would-be rescuer movedon.
Silence enveloped Angelo again. His phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He stared at it, searching for the drive to pick it up and see if the screen was cracked, but nothing happened. The throb in his joints amped up, and nausea crept into his dulled consciousness. He straightened his legs and tried to picture them extended and strong, stretched out behind him as he flew through the air. The scenes that came to him seemed a lifetime ago?—a lifetime that held someone else’sdreams.
“Angelo?”
Angelo blinked. His fatigue-fogged brain had been known to play tricks on him, but never with anything pleasant. He shook his head, and a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh escaped him. As if Dylan would come back for him. As if he’d ever speak to Angelo again, let alone kneel in front of him and take hishands.
“Angelo.” Dylan squeezed Angelo’s hands hard enough to bend the bones. “Seriously, if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to get someone from the club, okay? You can’t stay here likethis.”
The white spots obscuring Angelo’s vision cleared, and he met Dylan’s wide eyes almost by accident. “What?”
“Come on,” Dylan said. “Talk to me. You can’t just sithere.”
Angelo laughed, but the lack of humour in it apparently alarmed Dylan enough for him to scramble to his feet and put his arms around him. The sensation was beautiful, and Angelo leaned into him, chasing down the warmth that skimmed the edge off the cramps seizing his tiredmuscles.
Dylan held him close for a long moment, his fingertips grazing the back of Angelo’s neck with feather-light strokes that almost sent Angelo to sleep, but then he pulled away and took Angelo prisoner with his earnest gaze. “What’swrong? Are youill?”
“I?—?” Angelo shook his head. “I can’tmove.”
Dylan cupped Angelo’s face, his thumbs now working their magic on Angelo’s temples. “Why can’t you move? Do you need anambulance?”
“No! No?—I just?—I need to gethome.”
“Okay.” Dylan released Angelo and stood. He said something that Angelo didn’t quite catch and thendisappeared.
Angelo slumped down, prepared to accept that he’d never been there at all, but then Dylan was back and draping Angelo’s arm around his shoulders and helping himstand.
“There’s an Uber over there. If I help you, can youwalk?”
Angelo honestly didn’t know, but short of spending the night on the bench, he had little choice but totry.
* * *
Dylan unlockedhis front door and manoeuvred Angelo inside. The bedroom was the closest place to deposit him, and Angelo didn’t react at all until Dylan had eased him onto thebed.
He gazed around Dylan’s bedroom with a bewilderment that made Dylan’s heart weep. “I don’t livehere.”
“I know,” Dylan said. “But you didn’t answer me when I asked you where you do live, so I brought you to myplace.”
“You know where I live. It’s on all those forms I filledin.”
“I don’t have those forms. I’m not your guy for that anymore, remember? And even when I was, I didn’t memorise your exactaddress.”
Angelo braced himself on the bed and leaned forward. Dylan wondered if he was going to be sick, but only a shuddering sigh escaped him. Dylan unzipped his boots and kicked them aside and then went to Angelo and took his hands again. “I can call another cab if you want? Get you home? Or you can stay here for the night and I’ll look afteryou.”
“Look afterme?”
“Yes?—if you’ll let me. Whatever’s going on, Angelo, you shouldn’t be by yourself.” Angelo said nothing, and Dylan took his silence as acquiescence. “Lie down, mate. I’ll get you acuppa.”
Dylan retreated to the kitchen and pottered around with the kettle, leaving Angelo to acclimatise. He hadn’t seemed particularly averse to sleeping in Dylan’s bed, but the possibility that he was too fucked up to protest didn’t leave Dylan’s mind. Absently, he brewed strong sweet tea and took it back to the bedroom with a packet of JammieDodgers.
Angelo hadn’t moved and was staring at his feet. Dylan set the tea and biscuits on the bedside table and knelt at his feet again. “Need somehelp?”
“I don’tknow.”
“How about I help youanyway?”
