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He pressed a soft kiss into the top of Jake’s hair. “Not falling back to sleep, are you?”

Jake shuffled closer in response, tightening his arm around Harrison’s waist. “No.”

Harrison smiled into his curls. “I think you might be.”

“Nowt gets past you, does it, detective?”

“Should hope not, especially the blatantly obvious with all the training I’ve had.” Harrison stroked his fingers through Jake’s hair again. “And it’s not that I want you awake. I rather like you snoring on me. But you asked me to prod you so you wouldn’t be late, so I’m prodding you.”

“Not the prod I was hoping for.”

Harrison breathed out a soft chuckle.

Jake then cracked one eye open and peered up at him. God. Even half asleep he was devastating. Warm and rough around the edges and unfairly beautiful in a way Harrison felt somewhere physically painful now.

“Have you slept at all?”

Harrison chewed on the inside of his lip. “A little.”

Jake made a doubtful noise then slipped off Harrison’s chest and rolled onto his side to face him. The sheets tangled low around his waist, and he drifted one hand absently across Harrison’s hip beneath them. Casual intimacy. The sort Harrison still wasn’t used to surviving.

“Was I snoring too loud?”

“You snore. That part’s indisputable. But no. It’s not that.”

“The case?”

Harrison met his gaze then, and those eyes were dangerous when they softened like that. Sleep-heavy and sincere and completely open in a way Harrison didn’t know how to handle first thing in the morning. Because Jake looked at him as if he genuinely wanted the truth. All of it. And if this had been simple, Harrison would’ve told him already.

But it wasn’t simple.

It was grief and guilt and London and Chris, and investigations and mistakes Harrison still wasn’t sure he could explain it all to Jake despite Nigella’s prompting that he should.

So Harrison went for honesty without detail. “I’ve got some other things going on too.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Back in London. Nigella called yesterday and… it’s taking up a bit of headspace.”

Jake propped up on one elbow, while tracing absent patterns along Harrison’s hipbone beneath the sheet. “What sort of things?”

Harrison sighed. “Long, complicated things.”

“That some dumbarse roofer wouldn’t understand?” Jake might have been going for jest, but Harrison heard the edge beneath it. Trained investigator or not.

“No.” Harrison shook his head. “Some dumbarse roofer doesn’t need to carry it for me.”

Jake chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip for a moment. “Is it about him?”

Harrison closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Jake looked away and Harrison saw how quickly he folded whatever hurt crossed his face back inside himself. Guilt twisted hard.

“I’m sorry.” Harrison rolled onto his side and dragged Jake to him again, wanting the warmth from his breath, the tickle from his hair, the heat from his body. “I’m sorry I’m not completely here with you. I want to be.” He pressed his forehead to Jake’s. “You’ve no idea how badly I want to be.”

“Then talk to me.”

Harrison stayed quiet.

“Seriously.” Jake rubbed his forehead along Harrison’s. “You can talk to me.”

Christ, Harrison wanted to. Wanted to spill all of it out into the dim little bedsit while the sun rose beyond the windows, hinting at spring trying again with Jake warm beneath his hands and looking at him as if none of the uglier parts would scare him off. But it felt too big. Too tangled. And if he started talking about Chris now, he feared those floodgates would open and drown them both.