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He looks at me and raises a single, warning eyebrow.

“I’ll have toast” I’m not sure how I managed to make and eat my toast angrily, but I did. I didn’t sit down, I just leant against the side and watched him. Doing absolutely nothing. Like when you go to the zoo and you’re waiting for the lion to roar or do something awesome and he basically tells you to fuck yourself and sunbathes instead.

“Your dick is still out” I helpfully suggest

“I know”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He just shakes his head.

“Here in civilisation, we usually cover our private parts except in private places. We even wrote laws about it” I offer, like a helpful gentle parent. And he looks at me deadpan. He certainly did not enjoy my tone there.

“Why don’t you get dressed?” I genuinely enquire

“No clothes”

“There are clothes upstairs. Would you like me to find you some?” he doesn’t answer, so I just answer for him “No problem, I’ll get you some clothes” but he has gone back to being a statue already.

It’s only when I get to my bedroom I realise that there’s absolutely no way this six-foot-four brick house of a man is going to fit into anything Dan wears. So I’m going to have to improvise. Dan’s dressing gown that might do it. I justify it to myself that Dan would rather another man wear his dressing gown than be walking around with his dick out. Though admittedly that’s like picking if you want your hands broken with a brick or a hammer, the answer really is neither.

Really unconvinced I grab my hoodie, it’s one of those blankets with sleeves, designed for cosy nights reading, or being warm enough for you to put the bin out without actually having to get dressed. It comes down past my knees and is hugely oversized, it’s the whole thing. But we’ll try the dressing gown first.

If ever there was an exercise of futility, it was trying to get this man into Dan’s dressing gown. It wouldn’t even wrap around his shoulders. I didn’t look at the front, but if anything it would’ve left exposed the only bit we actually need covering. That means the hoodie it is. I grab it from the stairs and grimace so hard I squint as I hand it to him, hiding from his reaction.

He doesn’t react. He just puts it on, it barely covers everything. It won’t cover everything if he sits, bends, or moves in any kind of not completely pencil-straight way. But at least he’s not naked. I take it in and I can’t do it to him.

Six foot probably four. Built how he’s built. Massive Viking looking scars and ink, hellfire and blind fury. In a pink pastel hoodie with cupcakes on it. I’ve humiliated him, I can’t do it. It’s also my hoodie and I didn’t realise quite how precious I was about it.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous, no… give it back… I’m sorry”

He looks me dead in my eye, turns and just walks off to the living room and I just about hear him groan as he sits himself down. Stubborn bastard. He’s almost funny. Almost. He clearly thinks he’s funny. I think? Maybe. “Are you familiar with eating?” I mockingly mimic to myself with a stupid face, granting myself a smirk. A smirk which is quickly slapped away when the doorbell app chimes again. I don’t even have to check. It’ll be Harry the Harbinger of Hostility, Hitmen and Hurt.

“Morning love” with a cheek-to-cheek kiss, never fails to make my skin crawl “how are you holding up? I brought groceries” he offers cheerily whilst waltzing himself uninvited into my home yet again. Once the dumb-enough one and the smart-enough one follow him through I shut the door and roll my eyes. Give me strength. After a heartbeat or two it occurs to me. Why has he brought groceries? And why are the lads carrying bags. It sure as shit isn’t because he thought “this man requires 100,000 calories per day so I should restock her fridge”.

“Where is he then?” Harry claps, rubbing his hands together

“Where is who?” I answer like a smartarse

“You’re not smart enough to be funny, Sawyer” he spits at me, I don’t get chance to retort or recoil to it before he’s walked himself into the living room and restarts his charm act. But he seems to be getting the same monologue-if-you-want kind of responses. Harry increasingly introducing more and more faux-chuckles, and his voice getting just a touch higher the more he monologues.

“There he is! How you getting on big fella? Ooft, don’t you look a tit… don’t worry, I’ve got you some nice clean clothes. Rough night, sorry about that, didn’t think it would go like that. But I brought some gifts” and he starts emptying stuff from one of the bags. Books, games console, various other bits. He doesn’t know what will stick, so he’s throwing as much shit at the wall as possible.

Eventually, the big fella breaks his silence with one word.

“Why?”

Harry clears his throat “so, bit of a change of plans, it’s not a problem we’ve got it handled… but you’re going to have to sit tight here for a while. It’s very hot out there” Harry is almost tripping over himself at this point.

“That wasn’t the plan”

“Yeah, I know, mate, but…” Harry doesn’t get to finish his sentence, for the first time since I met him

“This isn’t what we agreed, Harry”

“I know, I know, but it’s how it’s gone. It’s out of my hands. We’ll see you right, haven’t we always seen you right?” saved by the bell Harry’s phone rings “I’m sorry mate, I’ve gotta take this…” and then he does that thing where he cups his hand over the receiver and waves himself off.

On his way out, receiver still clasped, “Keep him here and happy. Whatever you need to do, don’t let him leave” his eye contact tells me just how serious he is and like always they’re gone like smoke.