He heaved himself up, fastened his own seat belt, then turned to Shay. “Ready? I mean, are you sure about this? I can walk you to your hotel room if you want.”
“Shut up, Ollie.”
Okay, then. Ollie fought a smile as he started the engine and eased the van out of the underground car park. Coming back to the bus to find Shay in such a mess had terrified him—stillterrified him every time he took in Shay’s pale skin and sunken eyes—but the sense that they were on the precipice of something wonderful was carrying him through. It wasn’t the way he’d planned on asking Shay to come home with him, but it was what it was.
“I thought you’d gone.”
“Hmm?” Ollie hung a left, then flicked a quick glance at Shay. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know. Home? Away? Anywhere that wasn’t near me?”
“I took Fred and Khalid to the train station. Why would you think I’d gone anywhere else?”
Shay shrugged listlessly. “Ask me later?”
Ollie had read online that funky blood sugar levels could provoke all kinds of emotional symptoms, but he’d have bet money that Shay’s uncertainty stemmed from Ollie’s yo-yo–like behaviour over the last few weeks. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologise for the dozenth time, but he didn’t. What was the point? He could say what he liked. Onlydoingwould fix this.
If it could be fixed at all.
Ollie drove into north London, keeping a sharp eye on Shay as they crossed the city. He dozed for a little while but seemed to perk up as they neared the nondescript block of flats Ollie called home.
“This is where you live?”
“Uh-huh.” Ollie swung the van into a vacant space in the carpark and dug his spare permit out of his wallet. He slapped it on the dashboard and unbuckled his seat belt. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
“You own it?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. You’re rich.”
“Not really, mate. You coming in?”
Shay nodded slowly.
Ollie slid out of the van, retrieved his camera gear and laptop from the back, checked the most expensive sound equipment was as secure as it was going to get, and locked up.
Shay opened the passenger door. Ollie caught him as he slid out and steadied him against the side of the van. “Give me your bag, I’ll take it.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Shay—”
“Piss off.”
Ollie let him be and took his arm instead, guiding him to the flat’s revolving doors. In the lobby, he led him to the lift, and they rode to the twelfth floor. Ollie’s flat was at the end of the corridor. He dropped his bags to wrestle with the front door and then shooed Shay inside.
He clicked the lights on, grateful that he employed a housekeeper to keep the place presentable even when he wasn’t around. Shay liked things clean and tidy. Even himself. Especially himself. Ollie eyed him as he leaned in the living room doorway. With his tousled hair and rumpled clothes, drooping eyes and translucent skin, he didn’t look like himself at all.
Ollie ditched his bags by the couch and, after a brief standoff, relieved Shay of his. “You wanna sit down?”
“Can I borrow your shower first?”
“Only if you put it back after.”
“Twat.”
“Yup. Come on. I’ll get you some towels.”
