Flight of Icarus Part 1
Title: The Flight of Icarus
Rating: NC-17
Group/Pairing: Ryo/Koyama
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
Warnings: Sex scene and violence
Summary: AU in which Koyama has a magical burden that ends up saving Ryo.
Notes: This is a remix of snoozing_kitten's Hymn of Lazarus written for cycle 6 of jefic_remix and originally posted here (Part two here). Thank you to carmine_pink for the beta ♥.
--"It is impossible to change everything but even a little is better than nothing. Someone just has to reach out to you the way someone has reached out to me."- -
~Natsuki Takaya
At the age of four Koyama Keiichiro believed himself to be a tough boy and his mother to be a bit of a baby, because whenever he was hurt it would take only a hug from his mother and he got over it but his mother would act as though she was the one in pain and spend the rest of the day being overly protective of him.
At the age of eight he had reformed his opinion to believe that his mother was an angel because had seen her put a hand over his grazed knees and heal him within moments.
At the age of nine he realised that his mother might not be an actual angel. He also started to wonder if he was a little bit of a demon. It had happened after he'd tried to help with dinner and ended up spilling boiling water on his hand. It was only a small wound but it hurt so much worse than anything he'd ever felt before; even ice didn't make it stop. He suffered through it for ten minutes while his father kept the rest of the family away from him. Keii hadn't understood why his father was so determined that they shouldn't touch him, didn't understand why he felt the need to point out that 'pain was an important learning tool' and 'Keii-chan would certainly never make that mistake twice'.
It wasn't until his mother forced herself forward and wiped the tears from Koyama's eyes that he realised. With the first touch of her fingers against his skin, the pain eased, but as his tears dried up, his mother's bloomed and her breath caught in her throat. The burn disappeared from his skin along with the pain but his mother spent the rest of the night pale and pained in a way that she couldn't explain. After a long conversation with his parents, Keiichiro came to understand that each time his mother had healed him; she had taken his pain from him and endured it herself. He also learned that it only worked with him and she had no control over it.
At eleven and a half years old, Keii broke his leg falling out of a tree in his neighbour's yard. His mother had wanted to carry him inside but he wouldn't let her. It didn't matter if he was hurt but if she couldn't walk then she wouldn't be able to work and everyone knew that his mother's job was a great source of happiness for her. And so he dragged himself inside and lay down on his bed, determined that he wouldn't even let a doctor touch him. He'd done enough tests to know that it wasn't his mother; it was Keii who could transfer his pain, regardless of who he touched.
His parents weren't happy about his leg staying untreated but there wasn't much they could do about it. Keii suffered through the pain for two more days before he just couldn't do it anymore. With his mind in a pain-addled state he dragged himself across the room and opened the cage of Puffin, his pet hamster. Ten minutes later he walked out to the kitchen and sobbed as he handed over the lifeless form of his adored pet. His mother said nothing as she wrapped him in her arms and told him that no matter what, she was relieved that he was better.
It took four years for Keiichiro to stop lying to himself about that day. In his mind he told himself that he'd just wanted comfort from his furry little pet; that he'd never meant to hurt Puffin. But ultimately he knew it was a lie.
Just shy of his sixteenth birthday, Keii was cornered by a group of 'tough kids'. He'd grown up with most of them and didn't honestly consider that they might actually hurt him. He had no fear as he returned all of their taunts and threats with laughing insults. That didn't last long before the leader, a guy that used to play bento swapsies with Koyama just a couple of years ago, threw the first punch. The four of them all threw a couple of punches each before each of them began to pull back.
Keii looked up at them with blood on his face, his lip split and his torso throbbing with the promise of bruises. He had never in his life encountered this kind of abuse. He knew these guys, remembered them when they all wore silly kindergarten caps and smocks. It had never occurred to him that even the meanest of thugs had been innocent children once. At that very moment teenaged Keii felt that the whole world was stupid and unfair and that maybe, just maybe, he had the right to be unfair to others in return.
When the next fist crashed into him, Keii grabbed at it, refusing to let go as it was yanked away. He heard a scream and the arm he held began to jerk around wildly, trying to escape. Keii didn't look, he just sat clear and calm and memorised the pattern of the pavers below him until the boy, Yamada, slumped down onto them, face a mass of bruises and white with shock. Keii let go and wiped the blood from his unharmed face as he stared into the eyes of the bully before him. Nobody said a word as he picked himself up and walked away but the terror in Yamada's eyes would haunt him forever.
He didn't go back to school after that. He just started working in the family restaurant and avoided going out as much as possible. His family never asked why. They all just accepted that something had happened that day that he'd come home stained by blood, without a scratch on him.
Less than a year later his mother died unexpectedly. There was no reason that anyone could find. Even the doctors were stumped. The autopsy report said that she showed all the signs of having been in an abusive relationship on the inside but had never shown any signs in her outer appearance. "As though she'd been beaten up from the inside out over almost two decades", was how they described it. That doctor ended up with an entire chapter in a text book about mysterious diseases. Keiichiro ended up with a fear of human contact.
He tried not to let the truth of it get to him but deep down he knew that all those cuts and bruises and grazes that she insisted on helping him heal might not have shown up as anything but a wince on her face but the damage had been done.
His mother had died slowly and without complaint because he wasn't strong enough to keep her away when he was hurt.
He moved out the day after the funeral. Left without a note or a goodbye; just packed up his life and walked out the door. He did odd jobs here and there as the years passed, no longer using his given name; there was no one he would risk getting close to now. Eventually he found a simple job where he was unlikely to draw attention or injure himself. He rented a small apartment upstairs so there was no commute to interfere in his avoidance of the human populace as a whole.
It was a simple, lonely life but Koyama found solace in it. He allowed himself to take joy in all the simple things in his life in hope that it would keep him contented and ease the pain of loneliness that permeated the life he had made for himself. He spent his days working in a flower shop that smelled like heaven and let him hide away from any unsavoury creatures. For the most part his customers were women looking to buy birthday bouquets or young men out with intentions to woo someone special. There were funeral arrangements too but they were mostly handled by funeral directors who rang in requests and didn't stop to chat when they picked up their orders.
There was very little to dislike about this job. Koyama found it almost cathartic to tend to the small lives of his potted plants. Taking pride in his skills with the exotic plants in the greenhouse out the back but his true love was for the simple unassuming plants that grew strong and healthy in any condition and shone happily in their bright friendly colours.
Occasionally there would be a trowel accident or a heavy pot that was destined to land on Koyama's big toe and with the little accidents came Koyama's discovery that a plant was just as good as a pet hamster but without the guilt of stealing a life. Cut flowers healed small injuries but anything that drew blood needed a plant that still had its roots firmly embedded in lush soil. Weeds worked best, strong and tough and full of determination to exist, but there wasn't much cause to find weeds in the little flower shop.
There were small weeds in the greenhouse, rearing their determined little heads up out of the soil at every given opportunity. Koyama found that he could take their energy simply by concentrating on it; the stolen life force tingling through the hand that touched it but without some way to use up the stolen energy Koyama would end up giddy, literally high on life. It worked best to kill the weeds and transfer the energy into the plants that were there to be cultivated and sold. In fact it worked so well that the little flower shop became known, to those in the industry, as the best place to find exotic or out of season flora.
Koyama continued to experiment with his little skill, determined that to know was to be able to have some sort of control over it. Some days he would sit and wonder how things would have been different if he'd killed weeds to heal his childhood cuts and bruises rather than letting his mother take them on. But that line of thought always made him hate himself in a way that he couldn't fully face and so he put it out of his mind and thought of other things. He thought of gerberas and liliums, roses and daisies, orchids and hippeastrums until he was content with his life again.
Over time he allowed himself to build up a friendship of sorts with the man who is both his boss and landlord. Smiling and exchanging pleasantries. He spent their time together talking about horticulture and hedging questions about his past. It wasn't until his twentieth birthday came around and his landlord presented Koyama with a large shoe box covered in air holes that Koyama realised just how familiar they had become. Familiarity was the one thing he'd been so very determined to avoid but when he opened the box to a gorgeous little white and chocolate coloured kitten, he couldn't find it in himself to refuse the gift as he'd originally planned.
And so it was that Koyama admitted to himself that he had a friend and a pet. A pet he was determined to keep safe and hold in higher regard than his own wellbeing. He named the cat Nyanta and he loved Koyama as fiercely as he did, somehow sensing just how much he needed someone to talk to and confide in, quickly sealing their bond as family. That and the fact that a flower box of violets healed his broken leg easily and without a trip to the vet that time when his kittenish curiosity resulted in a stack of ceramic pots falling on top of him.
Koyama wasn't sure that it would work; transferring life from a plant to an animal, but it did. He healed and he preened and he loved Nyanta all the more. For days after Koyama wondered if Nyanta enjoyed lying in the sun too much or showed any signs that he had done the wrong thing but as time passed he realised that everything was just fine and he let himself relax, finally able to convince himself that he was only moving energy and not the soul of the life he drew upon.
Time drew on like that, days passing into weeks then months then years with no real relationships with human beings beyond a professional camaraderie with his boss and a slightly co-dependent relationship with his cat. It was far from the ideal version of life but it was the best he could hope for. His refusal to allow himself human contact slowly grew from fear to phobia that grew in strength with the passing of time. By the age of twenty-three he found himself cowering from human touch altogether, so much so that he began to avoid working in the shop front for fear of having a customer touch him accidentally. For the most part his work gloves provided him with a perfectly legitimate layer of protection but he was expected to take the gloves off when working the register (for hygiene reasons) and so it came to be that Koyama began to cringe at the sight of money.
He knows he's getting worse as the years roll on. He wonders if it's simply growing with time or if it just feels worse the more desperate he gets for human touch. He longs to reach out and grab someone, just to feel their skin, despite being horrified by the idea. He wants a shoulder to lean against after his second bottle of beer on the weekend, a palm pressed against his face when he doesn't feel well, arms tucked tight around his body to warm up winter nights. He wants contact and comfort but all he has is a sweet cat who pins the blankets down as he snuggles into the back of his knees to sleep.
But that all changed one night when Koyama woke up to Nyanta moving abruptly. Koyama watched through the dark as Nyanta's ears pricked and he hissed at the window. A cry of pain answered the cat and he scurried to hide in the wardrobe, peering out at his owner as if he expected Koyama to go out and get rid of whatever had spooked him. Koyama slipped out of bed and peered through the window down to the street below. There was a group of men, young by the look of them. Two were holding up another man who was receiving the beating of his life. He was sagging badly; probably already unconscious and still the fists flew at him. One of the men hitting him picked up an old discarded umbrella from a trash collection point and started using it like a baseball bat. Koyama winced as the broken metal spikes lashed at the man's form. He couldn't just stand and watch. He flipped the light on and grabbed a pair of shoes, pulling them on as he sped out of his apartment and hurried down the stairs.
By the time he reached the shop downstairs the thugs had dropped their victim and were strutting down the street together as though pleased with their work. Koyama didn't stop to worry about them seeing him. He ran out of the shop front and checked the man over. He was broken, bruised and bleeding; his breathing was irregular and shallow. There were strange spots of bloating over his torso, assumedly from broken bones or internal bleeding. He probably wasn't going to last long enough for an ambulance to do any good. The sight of it was too much for Koyama. There was nothing he held in higher regard than the wellbeing of others. He had given up his family and his happiness to keep others safe and then those bastards just walked by and took someone's life for nothing more than an evening's entertainment.
Without thinking Koyama ran back into the shop, hurrying to the back and returning to the street with a flatbed trolley. It was usually used for moving large pots or several little ones and it wasn't really big enough to fit an unconscious man but, with a little effort, it was enough to get him inside. He went a little too fast and stopped a little too suddenly, jolting the man badly enough to tumble off the trolley and roll to a stop on the cold concrete floor of the backroom. Koyama cringed at the awkward landing but didn't have time to stop as one of his long arms swept up a half dozen potted plants from the bench and dumped them down next to the body. He hesitated then, worried that he was playing god, but then there was no point to him having this skill if the fates never wanted him to use it and with that he touched the first plant and sucked it completely dry of life.
He didn't stop to watch the way the petals went from lush and colourful to dry, shrivelled brown things, he just turned back to the man before him pressed a hand into the bruise above his heart, pushing the life back out of his hand and into the man. He worked in a blur, not thinking just doing, until the man regained himself enough to groan. He thrashed about at first until the pain it caused stopped him. Koyama moved to the daisies then, somehow hoping that using a cheerier plant would help to relieve the pain painted across his face.
As he regained consciousness Koyama pulled back, wondering if he should keep going or let the man get his bearings first. When the pain left the man's face and only discomfort remained, Koyama slowed down. What he had already done had been exhausting to say the least. He had to acknowledge that he had probably used a fair bit of his own energy along with the lives of the dozens of decimated plants that littered the storeroom floor.
Koyama took a moment to realise that, while still in need of more healing and time, the man's life was no longer in danger. He sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. He'd never done anything like this and the moral implications were only just catching up with him. He moved to the other side of the room, made himself a cup of tea with shaking hands and moved back to sit next to his patient of sorts. He looked like he was in the prime of his life, strong shoulders and calloused fingertips hinting at a manual job but skin that would rival even the best looking idols.
He let out a groan and Koyama almost dropped his tea. He set the cup aside and ignored the images from old zombie movies playing through his mind as he grabbed up a dustpan and started clearing up the spill of soil, mind now on the practicalities of clearing this up and figuring out how to explain the destruction of so much stock when his boss opened the shop in a few hours time.
Soon enough the man rolled as though trying to get up and started mumbling about not being dead yet. It took him time to figure out where he was, confusedly running blunt fingered hands over his body and looking around bleary eyed and dazed.
Koyama pressed him back down onto the ground, unsure how much damage still remained or if it was safe for him to be wandering around. He looked up at Koyama and flexed his hand, mind probably remembering things that would be better forgotten.
Koyama apologised to him, for what he wasn't quite sure; the uncomfortable floor, the fact that he'd had to go through something like that and live to remember it or for taking choice of survival out of the man's hands and effectively playing god.
"Are you okay?" he asked as his hands trembled along the man's skin, trying to feel if he needed more plants even as he came to realise that this was a person, alive, conscious, and warm.
He made to answer, a crease on his unbruised forehead, only to stop short and ask what happened instead. Koyama couldn't feel any dragging energy as he checked the man over and he took it to mean that he was alright. Koyama pressed his hands over his vital organs and thanked the universe that he was alright.
"Do you want some tea? You look uncomfortable," Koyama offered, helping him sit up, "I'll go get some tea."
A strong hand gripped his fingers as the man refused to let him leave, demanding to know what had happened to him. He asked to be told and Koyama couldn't refuse him an explanation.
He tried to be vague about it but no matter how you word it, people don't just fix someone who's on the brink of death in a room without any sort of medical supplies.
The man had dealt with more than his fair share of unpleasantness for one night. Being deliberately obtuse in explaining things didn't really seem fair and so Koyama agreed to the demand to 'show him', picking up one of the healthy flowers and draining it of energy. Dark eyes followed his hand as he put his fingertips to the leaf of another, already withered plant. The plant filled out, withered, paper thin foliage thickening almost imperceptibly until the colour slowly seeped back into the plant seemly speeding up the process as the vibrant yellow took to the petals leaving them with a cheery flower before their eyes.
"You fixed me?" he asked, eyes still on the plant.
"Yeah," Koyama answered simply, eyes flying to the scattered mess of plants when the man tried to look up at him, "I'll get the tea." He got up, escaping to the other side of the room. Other than that night with his parents and the burnt hand, Koyama had never discussed this with anyone and he had no inclination to change that fact.
"I'm Ryo. Nishikido Ryo." The man explained from his seat on the ground. Koyama looked back over his shoulder, relieved that he wasn't trying to pursue the issue.
"Koyama... Keiichiro." His own name felt foreign on his tongue.
They were like new co-workers at first introduction, overly polite, awkward and far too curious about one another. Koyama waited long enough to make sure that he was okay before excusing himself and loading the withered stock onto the flatbed trolley. There was a field not too far away where he could revive the used plants with the energy from the weeds that plagued the area where the local kids used to play baseball.
Ryo wasn't letting him go that easily though, insisting on coming along; offering to help. If their positions were reversed Koyama had to admit that he would want to do something to repay him. And so it was that Koyama found himself in a field at three thirty in the morning with a newly resurrected man handing him dead plants and repacking them into the car once revived. There were questions as he worked. Ones that he answered honestly despite keeping up his guard.
By the end of it Koyama was ridiculously thankful for the help, exhausted by his lack of sleep as much as the night's events. Maybe it was the excessive transfer of energy, maybe it was just stress but by the end of the night, as dawn slowly seeped across the sky, Koyama found himself more than relieved when Ryo took his keys and urged him into the passenger seat.
Originally he'd intended to drop Ryo off and get the stock back into the store before the manager woke up and came down to find things out of order. He didn't have a shift until the afternoon, enough time to at least ease the bone weary feeling that was dragging him down. But his plans changed when Ryo drove up to the shop and eased the car down the alley to his parking spot out back. He found himself offering Ryo a place to rest, partially because he wanted the help getting the plants back in their place, maybe a little because Ryo looked as worn out as he felt, but mostly because after so long alone, Koyama wasn't quite ready to let go of him while the memory of his skin could still be felt against Koyama's fingertips each time he closed his eyes.
Once everything was back in place Koyama dragged himself up the stairs with Ryo just a step behind him, talking quietly as they passed his manager's apartment on the second floor and continued up to the next level and into Koyama's home.
Koyama left his new friend in the entrance way, slipping out of his shoes without a thought and heading straight for the bedroom. Nyanta greeted him at the door with a curious yowl but Koyama was just too tired, stepping over him and crashing onto the bed.
His alarm woke him far too early and Koyama reset it for just before his shift. He spared a thought for the man he had invited into his home and settled more comfortably into his pillow as a soft snore echoed through his little apartment from the direction of the lounge room. He was alright. He was alive. He was still here.
When he got up for real later in the day, Koyama found himself staring at his sleeping guest far too often as he made himself presentable and polished off the last of the cereal.
His work day was filled with thoughts of the man upstairs. One minute he was thinking about the simple feel of a warm living breathing human that he'd encountered the night before, the next he was debating with himself over the ethical issues involved in bringing someone back from the brink of death. Thought after thought flooded his mind and his boss looked at him strangely each time he caught Koyama staring at nothing a little too hard.
Logically he knew that it was sort of the same thing that a doctor would do; whatever necessary to save the life they were responsible for. But at the same time Koyama hadn't used science, he'd used some indescribable skill. Was that fair? Was it right?
He'd looked these things up in the past, generally whenever his thoughts went back to his mother or even Puffin. There weren't many documented cases of anyone coming back from the dead unless you counted reincarnation or Jesus. And zombies. But Ryo wasn't a zombie and Koyama wasn't a god. And even Jesus had left the reanimation of humans as a last resort. As far as Koyama could remember he only did it twice. Once for Lazarus and once for himself. That had to mean it was at least slightly frowned upon, right? It made Koyama think of Icarus and his attempts to reach the heavens before he'd earned his place there only to be thrown back down to Earth. He just couldn't figure out if what he had done was right or wrong, selfish or charitable. Was he Icarus, the second messiah or the equivalent of a mad scientist on his way to filling the world with the walking dead?
When his break came around he hurried back upstairs. No one had come down so Ryo had to still be up there. He walked in to find him nosing around in the cupboards. It should have been an invasion of privacy but instead it was just a cute reminder of what he used to do whenever his sister wasn't home. There was nothing to find and he had no interest in stealing her things but there was something so interesting about other people's things. Koyama couldn't help but be delighted at the reminder of that particular bit of human nature.
Ryo jumped and hit his elbow in surprise when he realised he wasn't alone. Koyama smiled at the look on his face. Maybe human contact wasn't the only thing he'd been missing. Maybe it was basic human interaction.
Ryo complained about the contents of the cupboards as though that was why he was going through things and Koyama let it slide, thinking his lying face was somewhat cute. He picked up his wallet and held it out to Ryo. The way the dark young man hesitated made Koyama think that he had definitely done the right thing in helping him. He opened the wallet and took the money out, handing it over to the stunned man and hurrying back downstairs. Technically his break wasn't over yet but the look on Ryo's face clearly said that he was a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened so far. The least Koyama could do was give him a little space.
When his shift was over and the shop was closed up for the night, Koyama made his way back up the stairs, still a little too tired and promising himself an early night. Halfway up the last flight of stairs a gorgeous smell wafted down to him and seemed to pull him the rest of the way to his apartment door. Inside he found a properly set table with two plates of proper home-cooked food.
"Let me guess, you don't cook?" Ryo asked as he put down a tea towel, obviously amused by the look on Koyama's face.
"Nope," Koyama affirmed trying not to remember the memory of his last kitchen accident or the way his parents had explained thing to him afterwards. Instead he focused on the contrasting yellow omelette and bright red sauce. It was quite possible he'd never seen anything so beautiful, "Can I eat it?"
"You're an idiot," Ryo grumped, "Of course you can eat it. I made it for you."
Those had to be the best words ever uttered. He settled in for the first home-cooked meal he'd had since he'd walked away from his family all those years ago.
Ryo grumped at him throughout the meal but somehow Koyama understood it as a type of defence mechanism. He was obviously the kind of person to be awkward around new people and apparently unused to compliments as well. That or he didn't know how to react to someone who had pulled him back from the brink of death.
Koyama tried not to look too ecstatic about the food, swallowing his mouthful and reaching for the tea. But instead of the tea, his knuckles brushed over warm, soft familiar skin and Koyama pulled back in a hurry, half-scared that he'd hurt the man before him, half-scared that he would grab at that hand and never let go. Apparently last night's events weren't enough to lessen either his fear of touch or his desperation for it.
Koyama pulled back from the table, apologising as he grabbed at Ryo's abandoned tea towel to sop up the tea he'd spilt. The retreat didn't work, Ryo following him and gripping at his shoulder.
"Don't." Koyama pulled back, avoiding the contact.
"Can't you control it?" he asked, pressing closer and moving his thumb off the shirt, pushing almost painfully into the hollow above his clavicle.
Koyama held back a sob and wondered just who he'd let into his apartment. Honestly he wasn't scared that the man before him wouldn't stop, he was more scared that he would ask for more.
"Yeah." But I'm out of practise and there's always the chance of an accident. I don't trust myself.
"Then what's your deal?" The hand left him as Ryo stood back and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked annoyed and Koyama couldn't blame him really. This was an insane situation to find yourself in.
"I just don't like it," he explained and looked away. Ryo didn't react, just stood and stared at him. Waiting. Koyama sighed and gave him a slight explanation of what had happened to Yamada. 'I killed my mother with her own kindness' seemed like a bit too much. So he used Yamada, emphasising the part where he hurt his childhood friend, "I hurt him."
"This doesn't hurt," Ryo countered, stalking Koyama back against the bench and clamping down on his wrists like a pair of human handcuffs, "I'm fine."
"That's because I'm okay."
"Then we're both okay," Ryo pointed out. Koyama knew that the thought was logical but he'd been ignoring it for so long that hearing it aloud kind of hurt. "Oh for fucks sakes don't cry."
Koyama glared at him for that. This was a big scary thing for him. There was no way to fully explain what this was doing to him. Still, he didn't want to make Ryo leave just yet. To be honest he kind of wanted to cling to him until the world ended just so he wouldn't be alone.
Ryo let go of one hand and his other slid down to lace their fingers together.
"I'm not going to cry... Are you okay?"
"Fine. See?" Ryo's free hand closed against Koyama's elbow gently.
Koyama agreed but his nerves were on tenterhooks and he couldn't take much more of this without his heart threatening to explode. He asked Ryo to let go and, finally, he listened. Ryo looked disappointed as though he thought Koyama was going to do something huge in reaction to his little intervention. Koyama was sorry to disappoint him but if they didn't part soon he would certainly do something memorable, like throw himself on the man before him.
Instead he resumed his meal while Ryo cleaned up the spilt tea himself. Koyama was too distracted to notice how rude it was of him to let his guest not only cook dinner but clean up his messes too. He'd have time to be horrified later; right now his mind was so full it felt like his thoughts were stuck in a traffic jam, going nowhere and achieving nothing.
They finished their meal in silence. The radio was on but Koyama's mind wasn't registering it. It wasn't until they had finished eating that they spoke again.
Koyama may have pulled him back from the brink of death but that didn't mean that Ryo didn't have a life. One he was probably anxious to get back to. Koyama offered to drive him home, regretting the words before he'd even said them.
Except Ryo claimed there was nowhere for him to go. He'd been kicked out of his place. Koyama wondered where his things were. Could it be that he was unable to go back? Was last night not an attack on a random passerby but a deliberate crime against Ryo specifically?
Ryo cleared the table and began washing up. Koyama got up, instinctively following him the few steps across the room.
"Ryo. I think... I mean..."
"I'll go after I do the dishes. Don't worry."
"No," he reached out stopping just short of feeling the warmth of the shorter man's back, "I want to say... you can stay here."
Part 2