At home, he woke enough to climb out of the car and then leaned against me.
“I can do stairs.”
“You can.”
“I don’t want to.”
That honesty felt like trust.
I turned my back and crouched.
“Arms around me.”
He laughed sleepily.
“You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I am stronger than I look.”
“You look enormous.”
“Useful.”
Noah climbed onto my back with care, his injured leg hanging straighter while his uninjured leg hooked around my hip.
I stood.
He pressed his face into my neck.
“Captain.”
“Yes?”
“Do not drop your boyfriend.”
“Partner.”
“Boyfriend when you carry me.”
I took the stairs one at a time.
Inside, I intended to lower him onto the couch.
He tightened his arms.
“Bed.”
“You need medication.”
“Bed first.”
I carried him down the hall.
When I set him on the mattress, he pulled me forward.
I caught myself before landing on his hip.
Noah smiled with his eye closed.
