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Devon was tired, after, and curled up into Burne’s arms, a baby egret getting used to legs and wings. He’d flung the watch somewhere after it’d made more noise. Burne held him close, rubbed his back, played with his hair. Got to know every piece of him, from the knobs of his knees to the smooth flat marvel of his back. Surreptitiously, brushed fingers against his throat.
“I know,” Devon said, “you’re checking. It’s fast, I can feel it, but it’s not too bad. I like you doing that, with my hair.”
His pulsewasfast. Burne kissed him lightly. Went back to stroking his hair. “Want me to make you tea, or anything?”
“No, just hold me. This feels nice. Soothing.”
Burne nodded, and kissed him again, and held him. Devon’s breathing slowed; the butterfly of his heart eased, too. The night spread out like those watercolor paints, flowing, shifting tones.
The scars weren’t visible just now, with Devon cuddled up into him like a contented long-legged lynx. Burne felt the even exhales of breath against his collarbone, and felt his heart fold itself into a promise.
Of everyone in the world, in an incredible chance, he’d been gifted this. Allowed to be here, because Devon Lilian had the kind of courage that’d open up and take a chance and invite someone in. I know you, Devon had said. You know me.
I do, Burne thought. And you know me. You saw me alone on an island, and you wrote to me, and you made me smile.
To himself and the enchanted swirls of Devon’s bed and the soot-fall of Devon’s hair against his shoulder, he made it a vow: I’ll be here. I’ll be here, and you won’t have to be hurt again, you won’t have to be alone on a bad day again, because I’ll keep you safe. I want to do that, for you.
“I can make breakfast in the morning,” Devon said against his collarbone, “I had groceries delivered, and I’m good at all sorts of eggs, from bagel sandwiches to soft-boiled with rice, or we could go out and I could show you a local breakfast burrito spot? It’s been a while since I’ve been, but I did check, and they’re still open and extremely popular.”
Delivery. Not going out, for the shopping. Burne wondered whether that’d meant a less good day, not wanting stress, or simply convenience. He looped a strand of Devon’s hair around one finger, toyed with it, loved the shine and slide. “I can help cook. I’m not great, but I’m not terrible. I can follow instructions.”
“We’ll go out some other morning, then.” Devon kissed his collarbone, a small spot near the front that’d never been kissed before, which discovered that it wanted to be kissed by Devon Lilian always. “I do have some work to do, this week…it doesn’t have to be tomorrow…we talked about that.”
“Yep.” They had. They both had lives, careers, projects in progress. One more way they understood each other. “I’ve got preliminary findings to write up, anyway.”
“You can use anywhere you’d like, except my office. I don’t mean you’re not allowed, feel free to come in if you want, unless I’m in the middle of a call. You’re always welcome. I’m a dreadful office-mate, though. I’m used to working in my own space, and you’ll get me doodling or getting up to turn random objects into models of an idea I’ve had or putting on tropical showers in the rainforest sounds.”
“None of that sounds dreadful. But yeah, I know what you mean.” He found another sleek black ink-swirl to play with. “I share the lab, but I’ve got my own office, too, on campus.”
Devon nodded, hair brushing Burne’s face.
“I can use your guest room, if that works. It’s just getting my notes in some sort of order, for now.”
“Wherever you’re comfortable. We won’t worry about it yet, tomorrow. I’m taking that day off, other than checking email and saying yes to being a judge for an emerging junior architects competition. I used to be young. Emerging.”
Burne poked him. “I’d say you’ve emerged. Those awards, that reputation…”
“It’s actually a competition I won. Sixteen years ago.”
“I love that you’re not modest.”
Devon tried to bolt upright. Dismay scribbled itself across his face, those flawless cheekbones, the parting of his lips. “Oh, no—I meant—that was why they asked! Why me! I’m not—it wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
Burne, laughing, gathered him back in. “I know what you meant.”
“Unfair,” Devon told him, but stretched a long arm and leg over him anyway, holding on. “But I like having you here.”
“I like being here,” Burne agreed, and traced the line of his back, the arrow of his spine, the bones and breath of him, solid and tall and incontrovertibly draped all over Burne’s warmth.
Everything felt warm, for the next four days. Most of the week.
They woke up together. They kissed each other in the mornings, in the endless expanse of bed. They did more than kiss, except the mornings Devon had conference calls. Devon, Burne learned, was a morning person: not an outgoing bouncy sort, but quiet and introspective, up early and doing a few minutes of waking-up yoga on the balcony or in the living room, stretching, wandering to the kitchen and organizing thoughts for the day, over herb-and-fruit-and-flower-scented tea.
He liked that. He liked the routine of it, the lack of demands, the serenity. Burne made coffee and checked departmental emails and thought about his own day, and occasionally watched Devon, who did not seem to mind. Such flexibility. Those poses. Rippling leanness. Definitely a good start to the day.
Devon had bought the coffee for him. And, it transpired, a complicated and fancy coffee machine. Burne looked at it, all shiny and new; looked at Devon. Who shrugged, and said, “I can afford it, and I wanted to? And I can have some, if it’s just a bit, or decaf? But also I hope you know what all those buttons do? Because I do not.”
Burne did not know what all the buttons did. He poked one, tentatively. Devon found the manual.
