“That bad?”
Shay sighed and forced himself to sit up enough to meet Ollie’s gaze. “It’s not that bad, actually. I’ll have to nudge my insulin levels for a little while longer, but I’m over it. I can feel it.”
“Good.”
“It’s not good if it means you’re kicking me out of your bed.”
“You’d rather be ill?”
Shay stuck his tongue out, hoping Ollie had heard what he hadn’t said. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“In the morning?”
“Nah. It’s afternoon, mate.”
Ollie could’ve told Shay anything, and he’d have believed him. And with zero clue of how much time had passed since his one-handed blood test, Shay repeated the process, and for the first time in what felt like a week, his levels were within a range he didn’t need to worry about.
“I’ll make some breakfast in a bit,” Ollie said.
“You have food in your house? Wow. I’m impressed. When I go home after a tour it’s to the bread I forgot to throw out and some rancid milk.”
“I have a housekeeper. She knew I was probably coming back this week, so she left some stuff in the fridge. I have a pretty well-stocked freezer too. I was brought up on batch cooking.”
“That sounds amazing. I ate boiled ham and potatoes every Sunday for my entire childhood.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh, I know. But once I discovered curry, I was a goner.”
“Well, I don’t have any curry stashed away, but I’ve probably got something spicy enough to make up for it.”
On cue, Shay stomach rumbled.
Ollie laughed. “Okay. I’m going to grab a shower, then make some breakfast. You want coffee?”
“No, thank you. Is it okay if I get up and nose around your flat?”
“Of course.”
Ollie rolled out of bed with a grace it was impossible to have on a cramped bus. There was a T-shirt on a nearby chair. He hesitated. Shay wanted to tell him it was okay to reach for it and cover up, but Ollie left the room before he could speak—without the T-shirt.
His back was less scarred than his front. As he got further away, Shay couldn’t see them at all. And then he was gone, and the shower turned on, and Shay suddenly felt alone.
I miss him.
How the fuck did we even get here?
No answers were forthcoming from his subconscious, so he got up and ventured out of the bedroom. Ollie’s flat was half the size of the house Shay owned in Derby but somehow seemed to have more character. He had artwork on the walls, bookshelves heaving with books, and photographs too. Lots of photographs.
Shay peered at one of a much younger Ollie, all skinny and short-haired, fresh out of school, and then another when he’d clearly been a student. Uni life had suited him, if the wide grin Shay didn’t recognise was anything to go by.
“I thought I was happy then.”
Shay jumped and threw a glance over his shoulder. “You weren’t happy?”
“Not really. I was in a toxic relationship with a bloke who broke my heart. And got me hooked on ciggies, the bastard.” Ollie came up behind Shay and picked up a different photo frame. “I was happy in this one—it was just after I got my first BBC contract.”
