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“Poet.”

He gasps, rough and unguarded, feeling the gravity in my voice. His eyes close, his fingers tighten around me, and a shudder tears through him. “I’m going to come.”

“Look at me.” I slide my hand along his jaw. “Look at me.”

Poet’s eyes flutter, but they stay open.

I fuck harder onto him and we both groan. We both seize and pulse. We come, together, and once again, I am a different person when it is over.

Breathing hard, I ride it out, milking his climax and mine. Then I fold myself in half to kiss him before I ease us apart.

I am shaking. But for once it is not my blood sugar. Not yet, at least. It is all me. It is all him. But I cannot let him move to clean us up. “No.” I hold him down. “Let me do it.”

He allows it, watching me through hooded eyes that are somehow wide awake at the same time. “I feel like drinking.”

I come to the side of the bed and help him sit up. “Gin?”

“Hell yeah.”

Works for me. I descend the stairs in front of him, so I will catch him if he stumbles.

He doesn’t. If anything, he is steadier than he has any right to be, but I am here for it.

“There’s gin in the back shed.”

“Elderflower gin?”

“First harvest from the hedgerows. I need to sell it, but I keep forgetting it’s there.”

“I will get it.”

After reminding him to send messages to his family, I step out into the night to fetch the gin. The air is damp and cool. Clean, as though the earth has reset while we have been inside. Gravel and stone crunches under my feet. I check on the chickens, then fetch the gin from the shed.

The bottle is the same as the one we first shared two summers ago. It makes me smile as I duck inside, but I find Poet frowning at the kitchen counter. “What is it?”

He hands me a slip of paper and gestures to a package in front of him. “We had a visitor while we were fucking, but I can’t read what they wrote. Is that insulin?”

I glance at the package and nod. “I asked Sol to bring me some. This note is from him.”

“What does it say? I can’t make out a word of it.”

“Sol can’t write very well.” I study the scrawl. “He is more literate than any of us, but his brain and his hand cannot talk to each other when he holds a pen. There is a name for it.”

Poet peers over my shoulder. “Can you read it?”

I nod. “He has put food in the fridge and he is telling me to call him if we need anything. He also says thank you for rescuing Dav.”

“I thought he might be mad my barn fell on his dad in the first place.”

“That is not Sol. He believes things happen for a reason as much as we do. I am slightly concerned he managed to deliver this without us noticing.”

“I’m more concerned it never occurred to me you’d run out of medication.”

“I have not run out. And I won’t. Is a precaution.”

Poet hums and takes the gin from me. He uncorks it and takes a swig before offering it to me.

I drink. Endure the burn and smile at the memories it brings back. “It is nice to drink with you.”