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At home, he woke enough to climb out of the car and then leaned against me.

“I can do stairs.”

“You can.”

“I don’t want to.”

That honesty felt like trust.

I turned my back and crouched.

“Arms around me.”

He laughed sleepily.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I am stronger than I look.”

“You look enormous.”

“Useful.”

Noah climbed onto my back with care, his injured leg hanging straighter while his uninjured leg hooked around my hip.

I stood.

He pressed his face into my neck.

“Captain.”

“Yes?”

“Do not drop your boyfriend.”

“Partner.”

“Boyfriend when you carry me.”

I took the stairs one at a time.

Inside, I intended to lower him onto the couch.

He tightened his arms.

“Bed.”

“You need medication.”

“Bed first.”

I carried him down the hall.

When I set him on the mattress, he pulled me forward.

I caught myself before landing on his hip.

Noah smiled with his eye closed.