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I could not have spoken if the building had been on fire.

“Come here,” said Lex.

I lay down.

He pulled my arm around him and burrowed against my chest, and for a while neither of us said anything at all. I heard his heart slow. I felt his breathing even out. I felt the dawn come up over the birches and the light slide across the bed, a long clear yellow. I thought: I would not trade this for the whole of my long life.

“You’re blushing,” I said, some time later.

He was. From collarbone to hairline, the color of a peony, as he tried to put his shirt on the right way round.

“I’m not blushing.”

“Your cheeks are red.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“It is nineteen degrees Celsius.”

“I’m a hot person.”

“You are, in fact, correct.” I reached out and put my palm against his cheek, and he leaned into it before he could stop himself. “Look. It is warm.”

He knocked my hand away. “Don’t be weird.”

“I am not being weird.”

“You’re being tender. It’s freaking me out.”

“I apologize. I shall try to be less tender.”

“Good.”

“I will attempt to be merely enormously tender.”

He snorted and shoved me and I let him push me back against the pillows and I said, “I have an idea.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You have not heard it.”

“I can tell by your face.”

“I would like to take you to the shower.”

His mouth fell open.

“Not for—” I raised a hand. “Not necessarily for that. I mean to say: you are sore. I saw you wince when you sat. I would like to take care of you. I would like to wash your hair and dress you and feed you breakfast. It is on page one hundred and twelve. It is called aftercare. I have been waiting all night.”

“I can dress myself.”

“I know.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“No. You are a hockey player. I would like to treat you like one. It is a specific and very fine thing.” I stood, holding out my hand. “Please. Allow me. I have nobody else to do it for.”

He looked at my hand for a long moment. The mockery went out of his face. He stared at it, and I saw him wrestle something, and lose.