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Something in Harrison’s chest eased. “That sounds considerably less poetic than the drumming version.”

“Aye, well. Don’t get used to it. That were a one-off.”

“Shame. I was rather impressed.”

“Fuck off.”

Harrison smiled. “There he is.”

The alarm screamed beside the bed again.

Jake groaned, rolled onto his back and slapped blindly at it until it stopped, then sprawled straight back across Harrison as though leaving the bed required considerably more commitment than he currently possessed.

Harrison put an arm around him.

Warm. Heavy. Familiar already.

For a few seconds neither of them moved, and the ease of it felt almost absurd after everything they’d just been talking about.

Then Jake lifted his head and kissed him, slow and sleep-soft. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that their noses almost touched. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

Harrison’s smile faded.

He dipped his forehead to Harrison’s. “Whatever’s going on in there. When you’re ready.”

Harrison looked at him for a long moment. There was so much he could say. So much he still couldn’t.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “When I can.”

Jake held his gaze, then nodded. No pushing. No questions. “Alright.”

And that, somehow, made Harrison want to tell him more than any amount of asking might have done.

But Jake finally dragged himself out of bed, ruffling both hands through his already chaotic hair as he yawned hard enough to stretch his whole body with it. And Harrison watched him wander round the tiny bedsit, half awake and gloriously unselfconscious, tripping over a guitar cable, swearing at an amp, nudging aside a drum pedal with his foot before disappearing into the bathroom, scratching absently at his stomach. Harrison breathed out a smile he couldn’t suppress, absurdly fond of the sight of Jake Whitton stumbling half-naked around his disaster of a bedsit.

He had to force himself out of bed after that, and by the time he’d gathered yesterday’s clothes from across the floor, pulling himself back into his suit, Jake emerged from the shower, towel wrapped low around his waist, steam drifting from his skin while damp curls hung messily down to his collarbone and around his neck.

Christ.

Harrison couldn’t help it. He gazed at him. Taking in warm skin and sleepy eyes and the ridiculous beauty of him standing there in morning light and shower steam as if Harrison had somehow imagined him into existence.

Jake smirked.

Then a knock on the door broke the moment.

Jake pointed at him. “Stay back a sec.”

Harrison stepped aside while Jake tightened the towel around his hips and cracked the door open to peer through.

“Ted?” Jake frowned. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” Teddy’s voice sounded thin through the gap.

“I just got out the shower, mate.” Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Need to be on site soon.”

If Harrison hadn’t been standing there, Jake would have already opened the bloody door. And Harrison hated that he was the reason he hadn’t. Less than five minutes ago they’d been lying naked together discussing trust and jealousy and whatever the hell they were becoming.

Now Harrison had to hide from a thirteen-year-old.