Chapter Text
Day 1
“Are you shitting me! Mick! Wake up! Brian! C’mere!”
It was a Saturday morning and all I wanted to do was sleep. I was in the middle of finals week, finally had a two day break, and intended to spend as much of it in bed as I could. Leave it to Keith, who did zilch all day, to ruin that.
“Shut up!” I called back, pulling the covers over my face.
From the other room I heard Brian join in: “Oy! Mick! You should hear this.”
I ignored him. However, Brian’s shouting covered the sound of Keith approaching, light-footed, to the side of my bed. He ripped the covers away.
“Keith!”
“It’s serious,” was all Keith said. He dropped the blanket to the floor and turned back to the living room.
I grumbled, stood, and pulled on the nearest pair of jeans from the floor. I wrapped one of the blankets around my shoulders and shuffled to the living room.
Keith and Brian were hunkered around the old radio, a castoff from my mum that weighed in at about three tons. Brian was smoking, Keith, holding his knees loosely to his chest. They were encircled by the perpetual filth of our apartment. Papers, old dishes, ashtrays, old dishes that had become ashtrays. Dirt from never removing our shoes inside the flat.
“What in bloody—” I started to gripe.
“Shh! Listen.”
I pointedly stood, rather than joining them on the carpet.
“Repeating for our listeners who have just tuned in. This is a stay-at-home order, mandated by Prime Minister Macmillan.” The audio quality changed to that of an arena, and Macmillan intoned, “For the safety of our country…in these trying times…I am asking all British citizens to do their part. Wash your hands. Keep your distance for others. Please, shelter in your homes and do not leave, excepting necessary errands. We will get through this together. But only if we all work hard, together.”
“What the bloody fuck.” I sank to my knees.
“Told you!” Keith said, proudly.
“What about university? My classes?” I looked from Brian to Keith. Brian pointed to the radio.
It was back to the original announcer. They went through primary and secondary schools first, a never-ending list. It brought back memories of waiting impatiently for an announcement of a rare snow day. Finally they got to universities. “The following universities have canceled their classes until at least 5 May...” I waited through the long list, until he got to “L.” There it was: “London School of Economics.”
“Well, there you are then!” Brian said, slapping me on the back. “Looks like our little Micky is in with us for good.”
I scowled. “This is terrible news!”
“How could that be!” Keith asked. “’Ey, pass me a fag.” Brian tossed him the pack. “Mick, give us a light.” There was a decrepit matchbook by my hand, with only two bent up strikes left.
“Takes a village to light your fucking cig.” I passed it too him.
Keith took a few meditative puffs, then went on. “How could this be terrible news? You’ve been moaning about finals for weeks!”
“It’s not about school! What are we going to do? We’re all shit poor and now we’re all stuck in here together, all day, every day, in this dump?”
“We’d better go out for groceries,” Brian said, jumping to his feet in his frenetic Brian way. The boy would literally jump to his feet from a sitting position. “Michael, put on a shirt, you’re indecent. Keith, go get all your and Mick’s money. I’ll go out.” Quintessential Brian to take charge, and pretend like there was any decorum to be had in our filthy apartment—filth of which he was the greatest contributor.
“I’ll get my own money!” I said, but Keith was already hurrying to our shared room.
I found him shaking my school bag upside down. “Hey!”
He was catching the coins that fell out like golden rain, laughing manically. “I’m rich! I’m rich!” He ran back to Brian in the living room.
“You are both wankers!” I found a T-shirt under my bed that looked moderately clean. “We need a list, don’t just send Brian out with all the money, he’ll wind up with useless shit!”
“Yee of little faith.” Keith shook his head at me in mock admonition, but he knew I was right.
“Right, fine,” Brian said. “Mick, write a list, you’ve the best handwriting anyway. Keith, you shall adorn me for my important quest.”
“Right away, sir.” Keith saluted him and tore off to our room again.
“Right, right.” I sat on the slouching couch and set pen to paper. Brian had collected all the money from the three of us in a little change purse he’d likely nicked from some bird. I counted it out, coins
rolling all over the place, and tried to figure what we could afford. Flour was essential, milk wouldn’t last us long. If we’d had a telephone I would have rung my mum, asked her what they stocked up on in wartime. Powdered milk? Sugar, of course. Cigarettes. Beans! Canned tomatoes and green beans and things.
As I wrote, Keith reappeared and dressed Brian in a coat, a mismatched set of winter gloves. He plopped a floppy hat atop Brian’s head, and tied a scarf around his nose and mouth. He stepped back, saying, “I dub thee Sir Brian, Knight of the Apocalypse.”
Brian snatched the coin purse and list from me. He read through it, nodding at each item. Then he headed for the door. “I hope that we shall meet again someday, dear brothers, if not in this earthly life, then in the next.”
Keith gave him a mock stoic salute. I chucked a balled-up sock at him, but he closed the door and it bounced off that instead.
I sat back in the couch, sighing. The Prime Minister’s announcement didn’t come entirely out of the blue. We’d known the flu was spreading globally, we’d seen it in the newspapers and on the radio, but I hadn’t thought it would get this bad or this serious. I never expected universities to close here, even as I’d heard it happen in the states and other countries. Two days ago everything was relatively normal. “D’you think school will really close?” my classmates and I had asked each other. “Nah, not a chance.” Just yesterday I’d taken one of my last finals, gone out with some friends to the pub after to celebrate. Now there was nothing to do but sit on the couch and stare at the opposite wall.
Day 3
All things considered, Brian had done an adequate job. He’d had to stand in long lines for the meagre selection of food we could afford. He’d managed two packs of cigarettes, some powdered milk, a dozen eggs, flour, sugar, several bags of beans, and some canned vegetables. We were promised via radio that the grocery stores would remain open. On the third day, the three of us sat, filling out the government assistance forms that had been dropped at every door. Keith and Brian were both smug because they could file for unemployment despite having not been employed. I received a letter from my mum who sent best wishes, and a little cash.
“Thank you, Eva!” Keith said, kissing the envelope.
It was a drizzly day. We put on a record, made weak tea, and basked in the strangeness. I worried about running out of money to pay the heating bill, not that it was ever warm in 102. We were all wearing bulky jumpers, drinking weak tea. Brian had called me a fascist for making him reuse a tea bag rather than start a fresh one, but I insisted.
Around noon, Keith declared he had made bread before with his mum, when he was little, and set about trying to do so in the kitchen, using already dirty dishes.
“I don’t think you can make bread without yeast,” Brian mused.
“I don’t see that you’ve gotten any!” Keith retorted.
“They were out! You’re going next, it’s a madhouse out there.”
Keith persisted, and his loaf came out like one big, flavorless muffin.
Brian and I fell to the ground laughing when he brought it out, dressed in an apron, supporting the tin with one flowered oven mitt. The loaf had risen far more than bread should, and was puffed larger on one end than the other.
“Look at him! He’s so proud!” Brian roared.
I swept my hands like an orchestra conductor. “Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man—”
Keith set the tin delicately on a table, then took off his mitt and lunged at me.
“The mitts are off! The mitts are off!” Brian shouted, jumping up, ready to referee our fight. Keith landed on me hard, knocking me to the thread-bare carpet.
“Get off! Get off!” I pounded on his back, half wheezing from laughter, half from pain.
“I’m the only one doing fuck all to keep us fed!” Keith yelled, spit flying in my face.
“If you have the flu you just gave it to me!” I said, helpless with laughter. It was impossible to know whether Keith was taking this seriously or not. Most of the time, he and Brian just needed to blow off steam in whatever way they could. It could mean fighting, yelling, playing guitar, chasing each other around the apartment. I was the calm one, next to them. But that bloody loaf, and Keith wearing the apron, I couldn’t get over it.
“Apologize for insulting my loaf.”
“His loaf!” Brian crowed.
Keith raised his head to Brian. “You’re next!” I hoped he’d go for Brian and forget about me, but he refixed his gaze to me. “Apologize.”
For a moment I stared into his face, heat radiating off his body, which was clamped around mine. His knees were vicelike around my ribcage, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. Keith. I couldn’t remember the last time our bodies had been this close. His breath was hot and smelled like cigarettes and coffee. We stared at each other. He must have seen it in my face, that I was noticing his body, that I’d ceased to struggle. With a defiant push he was off me and lunging for Brian instead. I panicked, sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, and shoving backward to lean, casually as I possibly could, against the couch.
“He didn’t even apologize, why are you coming for me!” But it was too late, Keith had Brian is a wrestler’s hold, and they were going at it. I was relieved but mortified. Did Keith know what I was thinking?
It was not necessarily that I’d thought of Keith in that way before. I’d always been aware, since I was a little boy, that I found men’s bodies enticing. I liked how they sat with legs splayed, how they stretched with arms over their heads. How careless boys were with their bodies in ways girls wouldn’t or couldn’t be. I liked boys’ shoulders and their calf muscles. I understood why the Greeks made so many statues. The male form was beautiful, more beautiful than most were willing to acknowledge. But all the same, I knew I liked girls too. They were often easier to talk too, funny and perceptive, and striking in their own ways, and if I was only allowed to love them, then that was fine. I’d figured.
Sometimes I still looked at men. Sometimes I thought they might be looking back. But I didn’t really think about Keith. I’d known him forever, he was mate and flat mate, and it was dangerous to take it any farther than that. Wasn’t it?
Day 7
Keith hadn’t said anything that night. Not after he and Brian finally laid off each other, not after we ate part of his muffin loaf, not at bedtime, when we were alone in our room. I was scared to undress in front of him, lest he think I was trying to signal something. I was scared he wouldn’t undress in front of me because he suspected something. But there was nothing unusual. I slept in jeans. Keith stripped to his shorts, careless, and got into bed.
Since then I made sure to not look at him for too long, not sit right next to him if I could help it, go to Brian’s room first if I was bored.
And we were all dreadfully, dreadfully bored.
The first few days had been alright, doing what we would do on any weekend. Listen to the radio. Listen to records. Brian continued to teach me harmonica, Keith sat by the stereo, copying riffs on his guitar for hours. He and Brian should have been better at adjusting to our new life, as they’d spend most of the day at home, but they were just as restless as I.
“We were still able to go out!” Keith said. “It wasn’t like this.”
The three of us were lying around the living room on day seven, listening to the radio but all sick to death of it.
Keith broke the silence. “Fuck it.” He got to his feet and went to the kitchen. A moment later we heard water running.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“I’m cleaning this fucking shit-tip!”
Brian and I looked at each other in alarm.
“Keith! Keith are you okay!” We ran to him.
“Do you have a fever, mate,” Brian asked, trying to put a hand to Keith’s forehead.
“Are you off your rocker?” I asked.
“Leave me alone, you’ll thank me.”
“Now don’t let the pandemic drive you to become some bourgeoise clown!” Brian said. “Think about who you are, Keith. We’re better than this!”
It was also impossible to tell when Brian was upset and when he just wanted to make a fuss. Probably he didn’t give a rat’s arse that Keith wanted to clean, but maybe he did. Brian did take the most pride in our filth. He was the first to reject society, especially high society. Sometimes I wished he’d chill out, make a nice cup of tea and read a book.
Brian and Keith stood practically nose to nose for a moment. Keith said, “Go out and get groceries. Take Mick’s mum’s money. We’re practically out of everything already.”
Brian squinted his eyes, unblinking. “Fine,” he said, finally, and went to get Mum’s letter.
Outfitted in cloves and a scarf, he set off. He’d protested before that Keith or I was going next, but by now we were all dying to get out. Keith knew I’d be less trouble staying in than Brian.
Keith rolled his eyes as the door closed behind Brian. “God, can’t stand him.”
I laughed, surprising myself.
“Roll up yer shirt sleeves, Mick-Mick. We’re getting to work.”
We used two far-gone shirts as rags, and found some dish soap, sudsing down all the dishes, drying them on a bath towel, stacking them neatly in the cabinets.
“You know Brian’ll just ruin the lot of this,” I said. Honestly, I preferred order. I liked cleaning things, I’d just lost the taste for it. After a bit you get numb to mess, you think it’ll never be recoverable so you stop even thinking about it.
“Nah, it got to him sometimes too, he’d just never admit it.”
Keith and Brian seemed to understand each other in a way I couldn’t. They were both more devoted to the music than I was. I loved it was much as they did, but I was still in school, still trying for a real career. They’d lashed themselves to it. They were ready. I was unsure. Probably from all those hours of being alone in the flat together they’d bonded in some irrefutable way. Of course, Keith and I had known each other as children, we were close in a way Keith and Brian, and certainly Brian and I, were not. But sometimes Keith’s and my bond seemed more unspoken. We were unquestionably there for each other. We needed each other, I believed, but we didn’t tackle or play or stay up all night with heads bent over guitars.
“I know you’re sad to not have school anymore,” Keith said, in a softer tone. I looked up. “I know you were close to your degree, and it was important to you.”
I shrugged. “It was, I mean, it is. But there’s nothing to be done.”
“I know you think Brian and I are ridiculous.” Keith half smiled, but looked hurt, too.
“No, no. Well, I mean, sometimes. Because you are. But you believe in this so much. I wish I felt as sure.”
We were standing by the sink, now clean of dishes, and, if not sparkling, pristine compared to an hour ago. The kitchen itself was straightened, the discarded dishes from the rest of the flat were washed. Keith had even made his bed, attempted to sort his laundry. We’d put records back in their sleeves and stacked them in a crate. We collected rubbish and found the bin and a bag for it.
“Remember when we were just sprogs? Who wouldda thought, one day we’d be house bound together?” He winked.
I rolled my eyes, but smiled back.
“You never apologized for my muffin-loaf, though.”
“I—"
In a flash he grabbed both of my shoulders, surprisingly strong, shoving me against the cabinets, rattling the freshly washed dishes. Our eyes were nearly level, he looked at me, hard.
I lifted my chin, realizing this might be what I wouldn’t have thought possible. Was this Keith coming on to me? Or did he just want to fight? He wasn’t usually aggressive with me, just with Brian, or occasionally to me if Brian was there and they were both riled up.
“You couldn’t even call that a loaf of bread,” I said, staring back. His eyes looked brown, but I knew they were green-gray.
We stood there. I thought maybe Keith wasn’t sure what to do, he’d reacted on instinct and now was stuck. We stood so close, barely breathing. My mouth was dry but I couldn’t swallow. Slowly, he raised his hands from my shoulders. The tips of his fingers brushed my cheeks, and then the front door was kicked open. “Help me with these bags you wankers!”
Day 14
Had I imagined it?
I barely slept the night of the Cleaning Day. Keith didn’t pay special attention to me, he went about shelving the groceries Brian brought. And he was right, Brian made a lot of noise, but we knew he was pleased with how decent the place looked. I even saw him eat a piece of toast, and clean his own plate when he was through.
Terrified of having to undress in front of Keith or vice versa, I went to bed early that night, but I didn’t fall asleep. I pretended to be when Keith came in. I listened as he shuffled around, jumping out of his trousers, the belt buckled clinking. He got into bed, and fell asleep with a sigh.
I didn’t let myself dwell on it after that night. Maybe he’d been about to punch me, maybe he’d been having a laugh. We were in too close proximity all day, and for possibly the coming months at this rate, for me to allow myself speculation. That would only lead to bad things. One day we would get out of here, and I’d move on. There were cute girls everywhere. I’d be fine.
We listened to the radio broadcasts saying things were worsening. Patients flooded hospitals, nurses and doctors exhausted themselves, the public worried. Keith and I kept in regular correspondence with our mums to make sure everyone was doing okay. Inside 102, things were claustrophobic but fine.
By week two, I was emotionally spent. I’d lived with Keith and Brian for six months, but I’d been gone most of the day. It was exhausting to be in close proximity at all hours, even when we weren’t talking. Brian never seemed to tire of it, though he had his own room. Some days Keith pointedly turned his attention to the record player, cranked the volume up loud, and seemed to dissolve into the music. If we asked him a question, he either pretended not to hear or really was lost to another dimension.
By week two, I started going to bed at 21:00, just to have the room to myself for a bit. I’d also taken to drawn out baths, and sitting on the john much longer than necessary, just to put a little space between us all.
Day 17
I was into my third night of reading peacefully in bed when Keith barged in at 21:45.
“Oy! I thought you were sleeping!” He acted as though this was a crime.
“I was about to sleep,” I lied, reaching for the light.
“Aw, keep your socks on, I’ll go back out. Just can’t stand Brian at the moment.”
It turned out Keith had a domestic streak, and though Brian had been dedicated in the beginning, he’d stopped washing his dishes or maintaining any sort of order. His room was disgusting as ever, while
Keith and I tried to keep roaches from infiltrating the living room.
He had his hand on the door knob when I said, “’S okay. You can stay, I was just getting a little peace. But, you know, I understand.”
"He was taking the piss for writing me mum—him! He has two bloody kids! Don’t know if he even knows whether Pat’s alive or dead, and he’s acting like I’m a patsy.”
I waved my hand. “He’s full of it, he’s just trying to hide that he’s worried by picking on you. It’s what he does.”
“Whatever, I’m sick of it.” He strode over to my bed. “Shove over.”
I was now sitting up in bed, leaning against the wall. I was already undressed, wearing only my shorts, with the blankets pulled up and a sheet around my shoulders. It was spring, still often damp and chill
in our room. Reluctantly I moved over so Keith could hunch onto the bed, his back arched to the wall. He looked haggard. His hair needed a wash. I wanted to touch it. I thought about washing his hair, cupping the top of his head to keep water from running in his eyes.
Surely I was losing my marbles, I’d never thought these thoughts about anyone before. It was the proximity undoing me.
Keith pulled a half-smoked cigarette from his shirt pocket, and found our lighter on the windowsill. He shook it a few times; there was barely any fluid left. With a few snaps he lit it, took a puff, exhaled, and tilted his head against the wall.
“I hope our fucking government cheques come soon.”
“Yeah.” I was pretending to half-read my book. It was too strange for Keith to be sitting next to me when I was near naked. Had he ever done this before? Probably he had. And I’d never thought about it because I wasn’t two weeks into quarantine.
“Want a drag?” He held out the cig.
“Sure. Ta.” I took it from him, fingers brushing, and inhaled. “Smoking in bed is really quite nice,” I said. Keith held out our only real ashtray, one that had belonged to my father. I tapped the ash in. “When I’m rich, I’m going to start each day and end each day with a smoke.”
“Lofty dreams.” Keith took the cigarette from my fingers, finished it, and stubbed it out. “Doris is going to drop off a sourdough starter for us tomorrow. Since we can’t get any yeast anywhere.”
“You’re going to be such a good mummy some day.” Then I remembered what Brian had said, how he’d made fun of Keith for being too soft. I regretted it, but Keith took it in stride.
“And you’ll be such a good daddy. Home from the office just in time for dinner. Kiss the kiddos on the head and send them to bed.”
“Yes, a perfect end to my boring fucking day at the office, sitting at a desk, wearing a tie. Can’t wait to mow the lawn on Sundays after church.”
“You know you’re headed for that.”
I didn’t look at him. He was staring straight ahead, though his body was relaxed as always.
“I’m not headed for anything.”
“Well you will be, soon as this is all over.”
“I don’t know what I want to be, okay?” Now I did look over. “I’m trying to figure it out. I’m the older brother. I’m trying to be practical.”
Keith looked back at me. Our faces were maybe six inches apart. Keith’s hair lay lankly in his eyes. It was growing out, not that any of us could afford a proper haircut even before all this. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” His breath was all cigarette and ash. “You can do whatever you want, it’s your choice.”
We were so close. I gripped my book, my hands dampening the pages. My throat was sandpaper. I swallowed, trying not to make it obvious, sure Keith could read my face, sure he couldn’t know what I was thinking. If he knew, there was no way he’d sit this close to me, especially when I was shirtless, would he?
As if in a dream, he reached out and ran his thumb over my collar bone. I froze. Didn’t breathe. I watched his eyes, which had fallen to my chest.
“Keith.” It came out as a whisper, too breathy. I cringed internally. But if Brian found out, he’d kick us both to the curb, I was sure.
Keith snatched his hand away. “Sorry.” He said it gruffly, like he wasn’t really sorry, like he was reasserting his masculinity. Like he didn’t care.
I knew in an instant he would pull away, flee to his bed or out the door. I wanted to touch him. Before he could stand, I reached out a shaky hand and put it to his cheek, so lightly I almost didn’t feel it. Then I did feel it, it was scratchy where mine were still smooth.
“How often do you shave?” It came out before I could think.
Keith grinned. I felt like I would be sick, from euphoria and also terror.
“I s’pose every other day. What about you?”
I let my hand drop from his face. “I dunno. Maybe every week or so.”
“Just for those tiny baby hairs, though,” he said, squinting at me in a smile.
I rolled my eyes, though he was right. “What do you know about it.”
“I know I’m five months younger than you!” His eyes glinted.
“That’s right young man, respect your elders.” Words came from my mouth, the usual retorts I would give him. I wasn’t thinking, I was blabbing whatever surfaced first. All I could think was that a moment ago my hand had been on his face, and he hadn’t run, and he hadn’t sworn at me. He was still sitting here right in front of me, our faces still so close.
“Look at that,” he said, gesturing to my bare chest. “Hairless as a newborn babe. Compared to—” He lifted his T-shirt, showing me the dark hairs that bisected him in a fuzzy line, leading down below his waistband. I instinctively reaching out to touch them, gently coarse, and his skin was warm. But then I tugged the shirt down. I didn’t want to explain it was because, what if Brian came in? I didn’t want to name what this was, lest it frighten him away.
“You’ll be a hairy old man one day. You’ll be waxing your fucking back.”
“Show me your armpit.”
“What? No!”
I clutched the sheet around me tighter, which only made Keith laugh. He pulled it from my shoulder, and extended my arm above my head. I didn’t fight him. I was mesmerized that his hand was holding just below mine, that his eyes were on me, my body. “Baby blond fucking hairs,” he whispered, sticking a finger in my armpit. I managed a quiet, “Stop!” but I was laughing. Keith was laughing too, nearly giggly in the way we used to be as boys.
“Don’t show me you fucking armpit, I don’t need to see more of them than I already do.”
“Oh, don’t you!”
He was fixing to pull his shirt off, hands on the hem, and I yanked it down. Our faces were so close now.
“Show me your legs,” I said, weakly.
He looked right in my eyes. For a moment I thought he would lean in, or I would. Slowly, he brought his leg to his chest, and rolled up his trouser leg. There was his shin, covered in dark hair.
“Come on, then.”
I swallowed again. Keeping the blankets tactfully around my waist, I withdrew one leg from the comforter, proffering it to him. He ran the back of his hand up my leg, against the grain. My who body lit up. I could feel all the blood rushing to one place. I looked away.
“How is your hair so blond when this is dark?” He reaching a hand to touch my fringe, and I shivered.
There was a knock on the door. I jumped about a foot, tangling all of my limbs back under the blankets. Keith bounded to his feet and across the room. I fumbled for my book. Setting it in my lap, I focused on the unreadable words.
Brian was outside the door. “Oh, I thought I heard voices.”
“Yeah, turns out Mick was still up.”
I glanced at Brian, trying to look uninterested.
“I wondered if my harmonica was in there, I’m thinking up a new part for something.”
“Mick?” Keith asked, scratching his head. His right trouser leg was still halfway hiked up, I saw, but there was no way Brian would notice.
“Oh, uh, on my table.” My bedside table was about two feet away from where I sat. Probably I could reach it without exposing myself, but I was horrified to think what Brian might see if I wasn’t careful. Keith sprinted over, fetched the harmonica, and handed it to Brian.
“Night,” he sing-songed. If Brian thought anything of this, he didn’t say. His face betrayed nothing.
Keith snapped off the light. For a moment I sat in the dark, letting my eyes adjust. I felt cold and hot. Hot where Keith had touched me, cold that it was over, maybe for good. Who knew what that was, how Keith felt about it. But then there was a weight beside me.
“Time for bed,” Keith said. “Shove over.”
“I don’t think you should,” I whispered. There was no way to lock the door.
“Shut it. I’ll get up before it’s light.” I knew he wished he didn’t have to explain these things to me. I repositioned so I was lying down, and stuck close to the wall, so Keith would be on the outside and could maneuver more easily. His head thumped next to mine on the single pillow. It was a narrow bed, made for just one person, but we could fit. The low food store was keeping us skinny was ever.
In the dark, Keith reached out to touch my belly. There was hair there, it was just light and fine.
I turned on my side, to face him, unbreathing. His hand moved to my back, the ridges of my spine. I touched his bare arm, feeling the bone where his forearm met his upper arm, protruding, but dull under the skin. The bed jostled, Keith’s weight lifted, then came back down. When I reached out again, I felt that he’d taken off his shirt. His spine didn’t stick out like mine, but formed a lovely indent all down his back. I traced it with my fingers. He sucked in a breath, softly. I moved my fingers up, finding a sparse patch of hair on one of his shoulders.
“Told ya you’ll be an old hairy man,” I said, softly.
I didn’t wait to see if he’d kiss me, I turned my back to him. His hand found my stomach again, and pulled me against him, warm to his chest. I could tell that he’d fallen asleep, almost as soon as we’d reconfigured. His breaths were long and deep, and I tried to match them, willing myself to sleep.