Chapter Text
Then:
Sometimes Bull wondered if Dorian was seeing someone else.
“Hey, what time do you finish work tomorrow?” Bull asked.
Dorian was at his dressing table (a piece of furniture Bull hadn’t known existed prior to meeting him), carefully fixing the ends of his moustache. He was so focused on his own reflection that it was easy to lean against the doorjamb and take him in. He was always self-conscious about Bull watching him put himself together. Bull could only manage it when he was distracted, which was a pity, because he liked seeing Dorian put his face together. The whole process seemed to make Dorian happy.
There weren’t many things that made Dorian happy.
“I’m not sure,” Dorian replied, once he was finished with the wax. “The Dalish exhibit is unveiling soon, and we’re still finalizing the details.”
“I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat, just us. Go to that Orlesian place you like.”
“I’m not sure.”
“They’re open late, I could get a table at nine.”
“I said I wasn’t sure,” Dorian said, voice turning snappish.
They locked eyes through the mirror, and there was something angry and skittish in Dorian’s expression. He was sitting, legs pressed together, arms folding. Closed off.
“Sorry,” Bull said. “I’ve just missed you this week.”
Dorian took a deep breath, and then pushed himself up from his table. He met Bull in the doorway, which Bull hadn’t moved from. Experience had taught him that it was better to let Dorian come to him, most of the time.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian said. “That wasn’t fair. I’ve just been… stressed.”
“It’s alright,” Bull said, raising a hand so he could lightly trail a knuckle down Dorian’s cheek.
It wasn’t alright, but what could he do about it? Dorian had been sensitive for weeks. He always seemed to know when Bull was keeping something from him, but he was terrible at articulating it, and Bull wasn’t exactly keen to encourage personal development that could potentially get Dorian tried as an accessory if he fucked up.
“Make the reservation,” Dorian said. “I’ll make it work.”
“Sounds good,” Bull replied.
Bull was arrested the next day.
Then:
Dorian visited him twice while he was on remand. The first time didn’t last very long, because it very quickly devolved into Dorian shouting at him. Bull had been ready to take it, but the guards hadn’t agreed. They’d very nearly had a problem then, because the guards had been a bit rough with Dorian, and Bull hadn’t liked it.
During the second visit, Dorian asked for a divorce.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Bull asked.
“I don’t see what sort of relationship we could have with you in prison.”
“Ok,” Bull said. “Ok, then.”
“Not even going to fight me on it?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do. I made a mistake. Not my place to tell you how to feel about it.”
Dorian was clenching his fists under the table. Bull could tell. It was there in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his arms.
“Why did you do this, Bull?” Dorian asked.
Because I got burned by the Qun, and you were happy about it, Bull thought. Because we started out with me throwing money at you, and you never learned to budget even after four fucking years of being poor. Because I wanted to bribe you into being happy, and you never called me on it. Because I was bored.
“It’s the thing I’m good at,” Bull said.
Dorian was quiet for a full minute.
“The museum fired me,” Dorian said. “Once my visa is cleared, I’m leaving Ferelden. I can’t find work here.”
All Bull could think was no.
“Good luck,” Bull said. “Where are you going?”
“Orlais,” Dorian replied.
“Nice this time of year,” Bull said.
That was the last time Bull heard Dorian laugh for three years.
Then:
“Ma’am… Viv…” Bull said, body hunching over the prison phone with it’s tiny, tiny cord. “I need help. I really need help.”
“Bull,” Vivienne replied. “What is it?”
That told him how bad he sounded. If Madame de Fer wasn’t calling him out on his informality, expensive kid gloves on and all, then he really sounded like shit.
“Dorian’s coming out your way.”
Bull could hear her answering snort, even though she’d clearly held the phone away while she did it.
“I know you don’t like him,” Bull said. “But they’ll eat him alive out there.”
“I don’t know why you care,” Vivienne replied. “He left you, in your hour of need.”
“Part of the Game.”
“Do not draw baseless comparisons, Darling. You know better.”
“If he has a job, he’ll be ok,” Bull replied. “I need him to be ok.”
Vivienne sighed, quietly.
“Alright,” she said, after a pause. “For you.”
“Thank you,” Bull said.
Then:
“How’s Bastien?” Bull asked, during their weekly call.
“We’re trying a new treatment,” Vivienne said. “It’s done very well in trials thus far. We’re… hopeful.”
“I’m happy for you. Still some difficult shit, but I’m glad you’ve got options.”
“Thank you, Darling,” Vivienne replied.
“Anything else new?” Bull asked. “You know I live for gossip.”
“Bastien’s son was accepted into the academy.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m thinking of getting the bathroom done.”
“Ma’am, just tell me, please.”
“That man has been seeing someone.”
Bull closed his eyes and breathed deep. Well, he thought. There’s the last nail in that coffin. Dorian had always been focused in his affections. If he had someone else, then Bull had lost whatever tenuous grip he might have had on Dorian’s devotion. Dorian had only ever managed one romance at a time, and hadn’t ever wanted different. Sex, maybe, depending on his mood and prior agreement. If Dorian had gone from being with people to seeing people, then they were done, completely. Dorian had moved on.
“I’m happy for him,” Bull said, and it was mostly true.
“It’s Gaspard de Chalons,” Vivienne replied, with gentle empathy.
And with that Bull sat up in his metaphorical casket and ripped the god damn lid off.
Then:
If, when Dorian moved on, it was going to be with someone who loved him. Someone who wouldn’t hurt him, or exploit him. Someone who wouldn’t use all of Dorian’s very poorly hidden vulnerability against him.
So, Dorian wasn’t going to move on with Gaspard de Chalons. That wasn’t happening.
Bull planned.
Then:
In the back of a van, in Nevarra, Bull said something he’d never thought he’d say.
“Dorian, I don’t think we should have sex for a while.”
“What?” Dorian asked, drawing away from where he’d been desperately sucking on Bull’s neck.
He was straddling Bull’s lap. It had taken a while to figure out what to do, with them both in handcuffs, but they’d managed to fit Dorian’s arms around Bull’s shoulders by looping them over one horn at a time. It meant Dorian wouldn’t be able to pull away quickly, which was probably a good thing, because Dorian found physical contact reassuring but liked to spite himself when he was upset.
“I don’t think we should have sex for a while,” Bull repeated.
“Let me off,” Dorian replied.
“I still want you, you know I do,” Bull said.
Dorian stilled for a moment, his pique visibly fading as he seemingly remembered that they were necking in a counterfeit IIA van, and, not to put too fine a point on it, both sporting erections.
“Oh,” Dorian said.
“Because we are really good at that,” Bull said.
“Mm,” Dorian replied, shrugging.
“Even that first time.”
“Mmmm,” Dorian replied, in an entirely different tone.
“Not even like talking’s the issue,” Bull said. “But communicating…”
“Ah,” Dorian said. “Yes.”
“So, maybe we should hold off. For a while. On sex.”
“You have a point. Alright.”
“Thank you.”
They looked at each-other, ardour cooling into something companionable. The van took a corner too quickly, and Bull had to hold on tighter so Dorian didn’t fall sideways and take Bull’s head with him. They wound up pressed chest to chest, Dorian relaxing into him with a sigh. It was nice.
“I do love you, you know,” Dorian said.
“I know,” Bull said, not willing to tell Dorian that he’d been sincerely starting to doubt.
A little bit later:
“So, Bull,” Dr Kinloch said. “Let’s talk about how you’re feeling today.”
Dr Kinloch liked to talk about feelings, which was great, because Bull liked talking about his feelings too. Some of them.
“Feeling pretty good,” Bull said. “Had a good weekend, played poker with the boys, worked on the garden with Dorian.”
“Those sound like some very good things. Did anything happen this week that you found challenging?”
Dorian went out with Yenaan and I spent the entire night irrationally worried they were going to talk about me negatively, and I’d wake up the next day with him having left me again. And he snapped at me for putting his jeans in the dryer accidentally.
“Not really,” Bull said.
“Nothing made you angry or upset?”
“I don’t rile easy.”
“That doesn’t mean nothing bothers you; it’s healthy not to be happy all the time.”
“I feel fine,” Bull said.
“Alright,” Dr Kinloch said, worry lining her brow.
When Bull looked away from her, he saw Dorian hiding his face in his right hand, his breath hitching just enough that he could see.
“Dorian?” Dr Kinloch asked. “Are you ok?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine,” Dorian said, blinking like something had been in his eye.
“Would you like to tell me how you’re feeling today?”
Dorian opened his mouth, and then paused for a moment, lips parted. He pursed his lips gently and shook his head.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Dorian replied. “I’d like to leave it today, if I may.”
“Dorian…”
“He doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to,” Bull said mildly.
Dr Kinloch raised a brow at him silently and stared him down. It didn’t quite work, Bull found it difficult to be intimidated by someone who charged a tonne of money to speak softly at him. There wasn’t anything Tamassran about Dr Kinloch.
“I’m unhappy,” Dorian said, breaking the quiet. “And I need to think about why, or I’ll say something I regret.”
Bull breathed in, and held. Bull breathed out.
“Maybe you could try writing it down first?” Dr Kinloch said.
“I’ll try,” Dorian replied.
Bull breathed.
And a little later than that:
“Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me,” Dorian said. “Because nothing ever bothers you, and I can’t stand feeling like I’m using you and giving nothing back.”
The paper in Dorian’s hand was crumpling. Bull could see that it was hand written, Dorian’s elegant script uncharacteristically messy, bits and pieces crossed out and written over. Bull wanted to comfort him, but he knew that wasn’t what Dorian needed.
“Sometimes I wonder if you love me or if-“ Dorian’s voice cracked. “If you feel like you have to stay, because of Gaspard, and everything that happened. If you’re settling, because I’m more of a wreck without you than I am when we’re together.”
“That’s not true,” Bull said, softly.
“It is,” Dorian replied. “I know you kept an eye on me, when I left for Orlais.”
Maybe it was a little true, but not for the reasons Dorian thought.
“I love you, Dorian,” Bull said. “I used to think I’d go mad without you and Krem.”
“Bull…”
“Now I know I’d get by, because I had to,” Bull said, cutting Dorian off. “But I hated it. I was going to bite my tongue for the rest of my life, if you met someone better for you and moved on, but instead you met Gaspard de fucking Chalons and I made you miserable all over again just to get his fucking claws out.”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Dorian said, turning his head away.
“Maybe we need to talk about it,” Bull said. “At least eventually.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, because thinking about it makes me feel like I’m your favourite chess piece, and I hate that.”
Bull felt like his heart was falling, in part because he could see exactly where Dorian was coming from.
“And when I’m feeling scared and upset, I treat you like shit,” Dorian said. “I know I do, and I hate that too. I hate the way I make you feel when I’m upset with you.”
And he could see that, too. Far more clearly than he wanted to.
“What do you need?” Bull asked.
Dorian laughed, and it was wet and it was horrible, and Bull regretted ever hearing it.
“I need… I wish I felt like I gave you something that you couldn’t get from an ornamental fish,” Dorian said.
“Fuck, Dorian…”
“Please don’t make a sex joke.”
They both laughed at that, a little, and then Dorian started to cry, a little, and Bull wanted to cry a little too, but it wasn’t that easy for him. They went to bed early, Dorian curled around him, Bull holding on, all the while feeling like he was drowning.
Now:
“How’s Bastien?” Bull asked, during their weekly call.
“Not well,” Vivienne replied.
Now:
“I think you should go,” Dorian said, while they were making dinner.
Bull almost cut another of his fingers off, right on their marble cutting board.
“To see Vivienne,” Dorian clarified, gently.
“How’d you know?” Bull asked.
“I read the papers, Amatus,” Dorian replied.
“Oh yeah,” Bull said. “Sometimes I forget she’s kind of a big deal.”
“She’s the court enchanter of Orlais, and the long-term romantic partner of the Duke de Ghislain…”
“I met her in a professional capacity,” Bull said, shrugging.
Dorian raised his hands into the air, looking up as if entreating a higher power. Bull chuckled. He liked it when Dorian was being warmly hyperbolic.
“Only you,” Dorian said, once he looked back down.
He was smiling though, and he sounded fond.
“Will we lose this,” Bull gestured between them, “if I leave now.”
“Even if the answer was yes, I’d still think you should go,” Dorian said. “But I don’t think so.”
“That’s not incredibly reassuring, Kadan,” Bull said.
“All I mean is that your life isn’t just the part that has me in it,” Dorian replied. “And that’s as it should be.”
It was a strange sensation, to still find Dorian so surprising and so predictable, all at the same time. Dorian remained a study in contrasts, self-centred and giving, emotionally delicate but still enduring. Understanding when Bull didn’t expect it, and exacting in much the same way. He’d never figure it out if they didn’t talk about it.
“Bull, we’ve had problems for years,” Dorian said. “They’ll keep for a few weeks, but you won’t have this time again.”
Something clicked into place.
“Oh,” Bull said.
“I think you would regret it, if you didn’t,” Dorian said.
Bull put the vegetable knife down on the kitchen bench, and wiped his hands on a tea towel. When he was done he closed the distance between himself and Dorian, and put his arms around him. Dorian curled into him easily, letting himself be held. Bull closed his eyes and enjoyed it.
“I will miss you,” Dorian said. “Terribly.”
“Ha,” Bull replied.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dorian said.
Now:
At the departure terminal they kissed so long someone called security on them and Bull almost missed his plane.
Now:
“Honestly,” Vivienne said. “There really was no need for all… this.”
Vivienne’s entryway was full of yellow roses, flowers she pretended to hate the colour of, but secretly quite liked, their symbolic value included. Problem was, Bull hadn’t bought them.
“Could make rose syrup out of them,” Bull offered.
Vivienne’s nose twitched. He could almost hear her consider the idea. She liked rose syrup, but she also liked floral arrangements and hated cooking things.
“No,” Vivienne replied, sounding ever so slightly disappointed. “That would be plebeian.”
“What would the neighbours think?” Bull asked.
“They’d think it was time to make rose syrup,” Vivienne said lightly.
“It’s good to see you, Ma’am,” Bull said.
Vivienne smiled at him, and even if she looked like she was tired, she still had that little bit of Tamassran in her. In adversity unbowed.
“I could say the same, Darling,” Vivienne replied.
She hugged him, in full view of the doorway, something she once would not have allowed. Her heels were so tall that she could hook her chin over his shoulder.
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” Bull said.
“I’m just checking you didn’t bring that man with you,” she replied.
Bull laughed so hard he almost knocked her over, and then he had to apologize (though honestly, he suspected she was only pretending to mind).
Now:
“Look who it is!” Bastien said.
Bastien had always had the voice of an orator, the kind that carried across a room and out the door. Bull could still hear that quality, underneath the quiet rasp he managed now. He’d always looked older than Vivienne, but he’d never looked old before. Seeing him in a hospital bed, in his own living room, was an unexpected shock. Bull had never seen anything half as utilitarian in the Duke’s home, before.
“Hey Bastien,” Bull said. “Good to see you.”
“If you’ve come to duel me for Vivienne’s affections, I might be able to do next Thursday,” Bastien replied.
“Don’t like to pick battles I’ll lose,” Bull said.
“You’re both ridiculous,” Vivienne said, settling herself lightly on the edge of Bastien’s bed.
Bastien smiled up at her, taking one of her hands between his and kissing it. Vivienne looked at him with a softness Bull never saw her extend to anyone else, one she let few people even witness. Bull was always somewhat blown that he was one of them.
“Would you be able to get me a glass of water, my love?” Bastien asked.
“Of course, my darling,” Vivienne replied.
“Thank you, dearest,” Bastien said.
Bull waited until Vivienne was out of the room before expressing an opinion.
“You two are gross,” Bull said, taking the armchair next to Bastien’s bed.
“We’re delightful,” Bastien replied.
Bastien had a tired, smug smile on his face. He clasped his hands over his chest as Bull settled himself, and if he looked unwell, at least he seemed in good spirits, and comfortable. Bull was fairly sure most hospice patients didn’t rest on 1500 thread count sheets, in a nest of ergonomic pillows.
“Did you bring the item?” Bastien asked, out the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t have to whisper, she’s not even here,” Bull said.
“Indulge a poor, old man’s dream of espionage, would you?”
“You’re trying to manipulate a person you know used to be a spy.”
Bastien held his hand out.
“Fine,” Bull replied. “Here it is, the ‘item’.”
Bull pulled a small figurine from his pocket, and put it down on Bastien’s palm. Bastien smiled brightly, tapping the thing on the nose, so the top wobbled.
It was a Mabari bobble head.
“Can’t believe you found one,” Bastien said. “They were limited edition.”
“Asked a friend for help,” Bull replied.
Zevran had been… amused enough to assist him.
“Vivienne hates these things,” Bastien said, warmly. “She thinks they’re juvenile.”
“They’re not?” Bull asked.
“Most men in my acquaintance like to hit tiny balls with long sticks,” Bastien replied. “At least I outgrew the phallic stage of my development.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Bull replied.
“Seriously?” Vivienne asked, stopping in the living-room archway, glass in hand.
“Look, my love!” Bastien said. “I’ve named him!”
She had to turn away so she could pretend she wasn’t laughing.
Now:
Bastien retired early that night, but Bull found himself jet-lagged and full of energy. Vivienne indulged him, in spite of being a morning person.
“It was good of you to visit,” Vivienne said. “I hope you don’t think I was being dramatic on the phone, Bastien’s been doing much better these last few days.”
“Hey, I’m glad to come and spend some time with you both, it’s been overdue,” Bull replied.
“Mmm, it has,” Vivienne said.
They were sitting on one of the lower balconies of Vivienne’s home, overlooking the garden. The summer sun had yet to fully set, so they settled themselves on the outdoor settee and watched the sky turn the colour of fire. They were close enough to the coast that they got a cool breeze coming in, taking the edge off the lingering heat. It was beautiful.
“You doing ok?” Bull asked.
“Darling, I am always better than ok.”
“Ma’am…” Bull said. “You know what I mean.”
Vivienne sighed, resting her left hand over her heart for a moment, whether intentionally or not. She looked away from the gardenias, back towards Bull.
“It’s been a trying time,” she admitted. “I think Laurent is in denial, he hasn’t been as present as I’d like him to be.”
“It must be confronting,” Bull said. “I imagine…”
Bull tried to think about his Tama becoming sick, and old. Under the Qun she’d be cared for, but… well. He didn’t want to think about it.
“It’s not unexpected, it was difficult when we lost Calienne, but he scarcely coped when Nicoline passed,” Vivienne said.
Vivienne closed her eyes tightly for a moment.
“Ma’am?” Bull asked.
“I’m being maudlin,” Vivienne said, annoyance creeping into her tone. “I wish Nicoline was here. She understood.”
“I’m sorry,” Bull said.
“Not that I don’t appreciate you, Darling…”
“It’s different,” Bull said. “I get it.”
“It is… good to know someone outside the Game, I value your perspective,” Vivienne said. “But I do miss her. She was my firmest ally, other than Bastien.”
Bull, having known Vivienne for longer than either of them would admit, knew that sometimes that last little addition had not been quite true. The Duchess had always had an eye for nuance that the Duke lacked. Bastien maintained that he’d loved Vivienne from the moment they first spoke, and more and more for every word thereafter, but it had taken longer for him to become her partner, truly. Nicoline had watched them both, carefully and silently, for about a month before deciding that, yes, they would be in alliance from that point on.
A bit like a cat, really; accepting a new member of the household only after casing them out.
“You got anyone you trust, out here?” Bull said. “Aside from Bastien.”
Vivienne gave Bull a very dry look. Her silence was telling, but only to an extent. Vivienne did not trust easily, which was to her credit in high society. Bull had only earned it after knowing her for years, and showing her some uncomfortably genuine vulnerability. Vivienne’s social circle was immense, it had to be, but a person could enjoy another’s company without giving them anything that could hurt them. She’d mastered that art in her teenage years. Friends were not all she had access to, though.
“Have you seen your folks lately?” Bull asked. “Might be nice to have some of the old guard in town.”
“Whenever my mother comes to visit, she knits me something,” Vivienne said, direly.
“Sounds nice to me,” Bull replied.
“She uses acrylics,” Vivienne said.
Bull couldn’t quite keep the grimace off his face, and though he’d never tell her, neither could Vivienne.
“That’s nasty,” Bull said.
Vivienne raised her hand as if entreating the maker. It was an utterly un-Orlesian affectation, and one she did not normally allow. Bull wondered if it was the topic of discussion that inspired it, or if it were his company. Perhaps both.
“And how are you, my darling?” Vivienne asked.
“Never better,” Bull replied.
Vivienne caught Bull’s eye and held it. Her expression was soft, her lips together and curved ever-so-slightly downward. Bull felt a reflexive burst of shame.
“Please stop doing that,” Bull said.
“Doing what, my dear?” Vivienne asked, not moving her head even a little.
He had to lock every muscle he had to keep himself from hunching over, trying to look smaller.
“Being Tamassran at me,” Bull said.
“But I’m not a Tamassran,” Vivienne said, lightly.
“I’m worried that Dorian and I won’t work it out,” Bull said, words falling out where he hadn’t wanted them to.
Bull turned back towards the sunset, purple now working its way through the pinks and the reds. He heard Vivienne inhale quietly, and then sigh.
“Bull…” Vivienne said.
“I know you’ve never liked him,” Bull said. “But I-“
“That’s not true,” Vivienne said, cutting him off.
“What?” Bull asked.
He turned back towards her, and found her looking at him with so much dull annoyance that he found it reassuring. She only ever looked like that when she was about to admit something she considered extremely distasteful, for the benefit of someone else.
“He and I,” Vivienne’s lip curled. “get on. For the most part.”
“You don’t though.”
“I disapprove of a great many of his choices,” Vivienne said. “Not least of which is walking away from you, and I hardly condone how he became the kept man of Bastien’s horrible old son in law.”
And ah, Bull had thought they’d all silently agreed not to mention that particular war. He’d certainly tried not to think about it, and how they’d all been one marriage away from sharing a broken family tree.
“I’m still waiting for the ‘but’, Ma’am,” Bull said.
“However, I think you know that if I truly objected to his existence, he would cease to.”
Bull didn’t open his mouth, because he wasn’t sure what to say. Vivienne allowed him the pause, contenting herself with watching Bull think things over.
“Why?” Bull asked, unsure of what he was asking, or how Vivienne would answer.
“That is something you should ask him,” Vivienne replied, gently.
“Won’t that be interesting…” Bull said.
Bull hated to admit to confusion, to not knowing something so vital about the relationship between two people that he thought of as his people. Both held in that little sphere of care and surveillance that he carefully maintained. He’d been too long out of the world, to have missed so much and never caught up on it, even after months spent on the outside of a prison cell.
Vivienne placed her hand down gently over his, and Bull’s breath caught, in spite of himself. She very kindly pretended not to notice, her thumb running gently across his skin.
“You are a very dear friend,” Vivienne said. “I want you to know that.”
“Viv…”
“I have a soft spot for people who care about you.”
“Oh…” Bull said.
“Oh,” Vivienne replied.
“Dorian has trouble trusting me,” Bull said.
“Then you should know, Bull,” Vivienne said. “That when you have known someone for long enough, it is very easy to tell when they lie.”
Bull felt a chill run through his blood.
Vivienne was half-right. There were things she did not know about him, that only a few people knew, living deep in the heart of the Qun. He’d remade himself once, into a layered man, built up like a set of nesting dolls. Most of that hadn’t lasted past being disavowed. Couldn’t, with nothing to sustain it. He’d settled in to the remains of his cover uneasily, far too used to being ten people at once to make living as one a simple thing. There were parts of him hidden so deeply that not even Vivienne could know about them.
Although, from the firmness that had appeared in her eye, maybe she had a broad idea, if not specifics. It wasn’t the oldest lies that mattered, but the newest ones.
“Oof,” Bull said. “Don’t take it easy on me…”
“I only coddle fools,” Vivienne replied.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you calling me Viv before,” Vivienne added.
“That’s my allotment for the year,” Bull said, turning his palm so he could hold Vivienne’s hand between his.
“I’ll allow it,” Vivienne said.
She kissed him on the forehead when he retired, and if it felt like absolution, it also felt like home.
Now:
It was late in Orlais, but still a reasonable hour in his and Dorian’s corner of Tevinter. Bull unlocked his phone, and let his fingers hover over the contacts button.
He wasn’t sure what to say. Vivienne’s fine. Bastien’s better than expected. I already miss you.
I want you to miss me too.
I don’t think that speaks well of me.
Bull hit the button, then scrolled down to Dorian’s name and hit call. The phone rang twice before Dorian picked up.
“Bull,” Dorian said, and it sounded like relief, in his voice.
It was like something inside him went loose and easy, just to hear Dorian say his name that way.
“Hey Kadan,” Bull said.