There was a stirring under the blankets next to him.
He forced himself to push the comforter away, forced himself to ignore the unpleasant sting of cold air on his damp skin. It didn’t matter if he was already calming; he’d never been able to sleep after that dream and he needed to get up and go where his fears wouldn’t wake Rory. He started to stand from the bed—
A warm hand touched his arm. “Arthur?”
Arthur hesitated.
Rory gazed at him through half-lidded eyes.“Dove vai?”He tugged gently. “Resta qui, tesoro, c’mere. Come back.”
Arthur melted. He let himself be drawn down to the bed, back beneath the warmth of the covers. Rory burrowed closer, shifting until he was half on top of Arthur, a leg over his hip, arm stretched out over Arthur’s heart, covering the scars on his chest.
Rory tilted his face up and pressed his lips to Arthur’s jaw in a long, soft kiss.“Luce dei miei occhi,”he murmured. “You can sleep, I got you.”
Got me from what?
Arthur wanted to ask what that meant, what had happened. But Rory was a warm, comforting weight, draped over him like another blanket, and miraculously, Arthur’s eyelids were growing heavy.
He fell asleep before he could say anything more.
Arthur didn’t wake again until the faint light of dawn was coming through his bedroom windows and Rory was wriggling out from under his arm. He made an unhappy noise. “It’s early.”
“And some of us gotta get up early to get back to our jobs in Hell’s Kitchen.” The bed dipped as Rory climbed out, then hesitated at the side of the bed. “Could I first—if you don’t mind—could I use your—”
“I really hope you’re about to saybody.”
Rory snorted, his small smile appearing for a heart-stopping moment. “Shower.Hot water’s better than magic.”
Magic.Arthur reached out and gently caught Rory’s wrist. “What happened last night?”
“What d’you mean?” Rory looked genuinely puzzled. Did he not remember?
“I woke you.”
“I don’t think so,” Rory said, still looking blank. “Did I say something nuts in my sleep? You gotta ignore it, Ace. I’m a scryer, half of what comes outta my mouth is bunk.”
Arthur hesitated.
“Or was it something else?” Rory’s expression turned concerned. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Arthur almost had. Unease began to creep over him. To have his own nightmares, so close to John’s—but no, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. “I didn’t get to tell you about my brother last night,” he said. “John is having strange dreams that I think may be magic. It may have unsettled me, stirred up bad memories.”
Rory’s warm brown eyes stayed on him. “You want to talk about it?”
What exactly was Arthur planning to do, tell an innocent twenty-year-old about his old war hallucinations? Traumatize Rory with the horrible story behind Arthur’s scars? He shouldn’t be putting any of this on Rory’s shoulders, not now, not when Rory had to get to work and Arthur hadn’t even asked Jade or Zhang if it was possible for his dream to be related to John’s.
“Thank you, but I’m all right.” He let go of Rory’s wrist. “Shower’s all yours.”
He closed his eyes and let himself linger in bed, soaking in the sound of Rory moving around his normally silent flat: footsteps on the wooden floors, running water, opening and closing doors. He sat up when Rory returned to the bedroom, dressed in fresh clothes with his wet curls in loose ringlets, humming to himself as he packed up his messenger bag.
Arthur raised an eyebrow as he recognized the tune. “‘The Man I Love’?”
Rory went slightly pink. “Jade’s sister was singing it last night, remember?” he said, a little too fast. “She sings everything good.”
“She does.” Arthur gestured at the bedroom door. “I have all of Stella’s records.”
Rory’s eyes lit. “You do?” He scampered off down the hall.
A couple of minutes later, Stella’s voice drifted out of the phonograph through the flat, and Arthur had to smile. He reluctantly climbed out from under the covers and got a dressing gown, deep navy velvet with a quilted silk collar and cuffs. He followed the music to the study, fastening his robe while he walked, and found Rory standing by the table, paging throughThe Mark of Zorro.
