Page 60 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Lachlan looks at him, surprised by how much he loves hearing it. It reminds him that Danya is younger, something that’s easy to forget lately. He sobers all at once. The little flicker of affection stands in sharp contrast to the damp cellar of bad things inside him.

‘Danny,’ he whispers. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘No sorry. We are friends.’

‘I don’t remember what happened.’

Danya sighs, his breath unfurling like a white, ghostly dragon in the icy night. Great chunks of the lake are frozen over, but not fully. Not yet.

‘You want to know?’

‘Yeah.’

‘First, tell me why Charlie Foxtrot thinks we fucked.’ When Lachlan says nothing, Danya gentles his tone. ‘He has not said it, but I know him well. He believes it.’

Lachlan clears his throat. ‘Yeah, well. It’s for the best.’

‘Is that what you think happened?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Lachlan flexes his fingers, willing warmth into them.

‘No.’ Danya warms them for him. ‘Is not what happened.’

Lachlan almost doesn’t want to know.

‘What did happen?’

‘Old man drew blood.’

‘How?’

‘What does it matter? Blood drawn is drawn.’

‘Did he hurt you?’ Lachlan sits up straighter, thinking of the three stab wounds on his side. ‘Like… really hurt you?’

‘I was fine the next day, and so were you.’ Danya frowns, cocking his head. ‘You really don’t remember?’

‘No, nothing.’

Danya gives Lachlan his hands back and wraps an arm around his back.

‘Probably better that way.’

‘So we didn’t…?’

‘No, idiot. We did not fuck.’

‘Are you being sneaky with language?’

‘How would I be sneaky with language?’

‘I just mean, are you saying, like, we did not fuck, when actually we sixty-nined or something?’

‘Mental image of that makes me want to piss laughing.’

‘Better than shitting yourself.’

Danya’s laughter peals out across the lake, and he bends at the waist, pure howling. Lachlan gives up, lets himself smile just a little.