They lock onto the very visible bulge and I have to take a step away before I’m able to meet his eyes.
Which are flared, his pupils dilated, a slight blush at his cheeks.
“You’re at least partly to blame for that,” he tells me drily.
“The, er, collision or the state of your dick?” I’m not in control of my tongue either as the words drip off my tongue.
“Both.” He gives me a wry grin. “Partly thanks to hearing you moaning all night. Partly because I’ve apparently been fucking conditioned to get hard at the scent of shower gel.”
“Ah.”
He shakes his head ruefully. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak this morning. Not enough sleep, too little caffeine means I have zero filter.”
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask gently. There are dark smudges under his eyes and he looks less gray than yesterday, but not by much.
He smiles tiredly. “A couple hours. Not enough to get through today, but what can you do?” With an awkward grip on his towel, he gestures to himself with his free hand. “I’m, er, going to get dressed.”
“Clothes. Right. I’m gonna... put coffee. Get coffee on, I mean.” I’m a bumbling fool, barely able to string the words together and not in any coherent order. But Fabian’s bare chestis rightthereand I haven’t been so close to him in so long, I can’t tear my eyes away.
He gives an awkward nod and then shifts around me, heading inside his bedroom and shutting the door with a firm click.
That sound breaks through my stupor, and I mentally shake myself.
I’m a damn pervert.
Padding into the kitchen, I set about preparing a pot of coffee, filling the kettle with water for Fabian’s tea and digging around in the freezer until I find some bread to toast. I can’t handle anything more complicated this morning. Ro’s the cook around here and I’m far more used to blearily grabbing whatever I can find than creating the elaborate breakfasts he always puts together with a smile.
My chest hurts at the thought I could have lost that. So many little things I’ve taken for granted.
Not anymore, though.
Once I have a massive mug of coffee in front of me and a thick slice of toast slathered in butter and honey, I pull out my cell phone.
Time to check if what Ember said was true.
I’m guessing from what he said, I’m not being heralded as the savior of the city.
What I don’t expect to find, though, is... nothing.
I flick through local news sites, searching for anything about the Solstice Ball, or the zombies, or the chaos downtown. There’s nothing. Not a single mention. I then take my search broader, like that’s going to make a difference.
But when the Arcanum Herald has a story about the Spring Festival, something not happening for months, as its top news story, it becomes clear.
All records of what happened have been wiped clean. As though the night never happened.
It was just my own personal nightmare, a fever dream.
If I hadn’t already heard from Ember, I might be doubting my own grasp on reality.
I’ve been frowning down at my phone for about five minutes when Fabian strolls into the kitchen, making a beeline for the screaming kettle. Whoops.
Once he has a steaming cup of tea in front of him, he drops onto the stool beside me and jerks his head toward my phone screen.
“How bad is it?”
I shake my head, pulling apart the crusts of my toast until they’re a mangled mess and my fingers are sticky. “There’s nothing. I can’t even find anything on the Nexus fires. It’s like last night was a perfectly normal evening where nothing out of the ordinary happened.”
He hums thoughtfully, his thigh pressing against mine as he peers over my shoulder at my screen. “Interesting. I’m guessing the Archarcans paid a lot to bury the story.”
