While he drinks, I crouch down and rummage under the sink until I find Lorraine’s little pink fan, the one she keeps for when she gets overheated while cooking. I plug it in on the counter, angle it toward him, and turn it on low. The soft whir fills the quiet kitchen as cool air brushes over his damp skin.
Kit watches me with wide, slightly glassy eyes, like he can’t believe I’m doing any of this.
I step closer, brushing wet strands of hair off his forehead with my fingers. “Come on,” I murmur, guiding him toward one of the kitchen stools. “Sit down before you fall down.”
He obeys, climbing onto the stool with clumsy movements. I keep one hand on his lower back to steady him, then grab a clean dish towel, dampen it with cool water, and gently press it against the back of his neck.
“You’re okay,” I say quietly. “I didn’t leave you. I just laid you in the living room because you were out cold, and I didn’t want to disturb you by carrying you upstairs. That’s all.”
Kit leans into my touch, resting his forehead against my chest with a small, miserable sound. I wrap my arms around him, holding him steady while the little fan blows cool air across both of us. My robe has fallen openslightly, but I don’t care. Right now, the only thing that matters is the warm, drunk boy in my arms who somehow manages to make me do things I never do for anyone else.
After a few minutes, Kit nods against my chest and mumbles sleepily, “Okay… I feel better now.”
His voice already sounds clearer, the wine haze beginning to lift. He sighs softly and pushes away from me, sliding off the stool. I watch as he turns the small fan off on the counter, then wobbles slightly on his feet, lifting a hand toward his face like he’s about to rub his eye… completely forgetting about the fresh scar. I catch his wrist quickly before his fingers can brush the sensitive area. Kit blinks at my hand, then looks up at me with a small, confused frown.
“Be careful,” I say quietly.
“Oh… right,” he mutters.
“You know I’m a busy guy, right?”
Kit tilts his head back to look at me. “Yeah?”
I let out a low, deep laugh. “I’d like to go back to sleep.”
He nods quickly, blushing harder. “Sorry.”
“Come on.” I turn and start heading out of the kitchen.
When we reach the bottom of the grand staircase, Kit pauses awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Should I…?”
I grin, unable to resist. “Oh, so you can talk to my mother about havingchildren, but you can’t sleep in bed with me?”
Kit’s eyes go comically wide. His lips part in pure mortification as the memory of his drunken conversation clearly slams back into him.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are your ribs okay?”
He shrugs, still looking embarrassed. “Getting there…”
I gesture up the stairs with a tilt of my head. “Well, come on then. Hurry up.”
Kit blushes even deeper but starts walking up the stairs in front of me. I follow close behind, yawning wide. I already run on very little sleep as it is, and I don’t appreciate being disturbed in the middle of the night… but because it’s Kit, and because he’s been drinking, I’ll let it slide tonight.
We finally make it back to the bedroom. I close the door behind us with a soft click, the rest of the house quiet now. Kit moves carefully toward the bed. I watch him for a moment before stripping down to my boxers and sliding in on my side. He lies down on his back beside me, cautious because of the healing wound on his face. The size difference between us has never felt more obvious than right now, my much larger frame taking up most of the bed while he looks small and delicate next to me.
I want to pull him against me, wrap my arm around his waist like I usually do, but I stop myself. The lastthing I want is to cause him more pain. So, I settle for lying on my side, facing him, one hand resting on the mattress between us.
I yawn deeply, exhaustion settling into my bones now that he’s finally here where he belongs. I close my eyes, ready to drift off again.
Then, softly in the dark, Kit whispers, “Soren?”
I open my eyes. The room is dim, only faint moonlight coming through the window, but I can just barely make out the outline of his face.
“Yeah?” I murmur, voice rough with tiredness.
He’s quiet for a long second, shy and hesitant like he always gets when something important is on his mind. I wait.
“What…” He swallows. “What did you mean? When you said… you love me?”
