The next morning, Lucian approached Sebastian's room carrying breakfast, a towel, and the determination of a man who had decided the previous afternoon had never happened.

Sebastian opened the door before he knocked.

“Morning, Lucy.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You've answered to it for eighteen years.”

“I'm evolving.”

“Into what?”

“A person who doesn't tolerate your nonsense.”

Sebastian glanced at the breakfast tray. “Then why did you bring me pancakes?”

“Because the physical therapist said you need food.”

“Did she specify heart-shaped pancakes?”

Lucian looked down. One pancake had accidentally folded into something resembling a heart. He promptly covered it with a napkin.

“Eat.”

Sebastian did, without another comment. His silence was almost more annoying than teasing.

The therapist arrived at ten. She checked Sebastian's mobility, adjusted his exercise plan, and reminded both men that recovery would be uneven.

“Some days will be better,” she said. “Others won't. Don't force anything.”

Lucian wrote it down in a notebook titled SEBASTIAN: INSTRUCTIONS FOR SURVIVAL.

The therapist saw the cover and smiled. “Is that his care plan?”

“It's a list of reasons he's impossible.”

Sebastian, seated nearby, said, “It'll need a second volume.”

After she left, Sebastian tried to stand too quickly. Pain flashed across his face.

Lucian was beside him immediately.

“Slowly,” he said, putting an arm around him. “You heard her.”

“I heard.”

“You just don't listen.”

“Neither do you.”

“I'm adorable. It's different.”

Sebastian looked at him. “That is unfortunately true.”

Lucian missed a step.

He was beginning to suspect Sebastian enjoyed making him forget how to walk.

By afternoon, Sebastian needed help getting ready for a shower. The therapist had approved limited movement, but bending remained difficult.

“I can call the home-care nurse,” Sebastian said.

“No.”

“Lucian.”

“I said I'd help.”

“You don't have to do everything.”

“I know. I want to.”

That quiet answer seemed to catch Sebastian off guard.

Lucian fetched clean clothes and laid out towels. He had learned to ask before touching, to move carefully, and to watch Sebastian's face for signs of pain.

It was strange, becoming competent at something because another person mattered so much.

At the bathroom doorway, Sebastian hesitated.

“Last chance to call someone else.”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “You're acting like I've never seen a shirtless man.”

“Have you?”

“That's none of your business.”

Sebastian's eyebrow rose. “Interesting.”

“Stop being interesting and sit down.”

Lucian helped him onto the shower bench and adjusted the water temperature. Steam clouded the mirror, softening the harsh white light.

When Sebastian turned slightly, Lucian saw the scar along his lower back.

He had noticed it before, but never like this. The pale line interrupted the skin in a way that made the old accident suddenly, painfully real.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Even before I messed everything up?”

Sebastian was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

Lucian's stomach twisted. “You never told me.”

“You had your own life.”

“That's a terrible excuse.”

“Probably.”

Lucian reached toward the scar, then stopped. “Can I?”

Sebastian nodded.

His fingertips brushed the skin beside it. Sebastian's breathing changed, only slightly, but Lucian noticed.

“I was such an idiot,” Lucian whispered.

“You were fourteen when the accident happened.”

“And twenty-one when I made it worse.”

“Those are two different mistakes.”

Lucian's eyes burned. “You keep making excuses for me.”

“No. I expect you to take responsibility. I also expect you to stop punishing yourself forever.”

That was unfair. Sebastian wasn't supposed to be kind when Lucian was trying to stay angry with him.

Lucian set the washcloth aside and pressed his palms to his eyes.

“Don't cry in the bathroom,” Sebastian said gently. “The floor is slippery.”

“I'm not crying.”

“You're making a convincing impression.”

Lucian laughed wetly. Sebastian reached for the towel, and Lucian helped him dry off without another argument.

Before they left the bathroom, Sebastian caught Lucian studying the old scar again.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” he said.

Lucian wrung out the washcloth. “That you never asked me to be grateful.”

“Gratitude isn't what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

Sebastian considered the question. “For you to be safe. And happy, if possible.”

Lucian shook his head. “You always say things like that when I'm not prepared.”

“Should I make an appointment?”

“Yes. In writing. Forty-eight hours' notice.”

Sebastian smiled, and Lucian felt the tension in his chest ease.

The afternoon continued with small tasks. Lucian helped him walk to the window, brought a fresh glass of water, and argued about whether a ridiculous detective show counted as quality television.

It was ordinary work, unglamorous and repetitive. Yet when Sebastian thanked him without teasing, Lucian felt prouder than he had after winning his last art competition.

He was learning that care wasn't a grand declaration. Sometimes it was remembering the water temperature and knowing when someone needed silence.

Later, in the bedroom, Sebastian sat on the edge of the mattress while Lucian helped him into a clean shirt.

A button slipped through Lucian's fingers. He tried again. Sebastian waited, unusually still.

“I'm getting good at this,” Lucian said.

“You are.”

“I know where all your medicines are. I know how you like your pillows. I even know which shirts you hate.”

“Most of them.”

“Exactly.”

Lucian looked up, triumphant and embarrassed at once.

“I've seen every inch of you by now. We're the closest people in the world.”

Sebastian's expression became unreadable.

“A hired nurse could have seen just as much.”

Lucian froze.

He knew Sebastian was teasing. He knew it. Yet the words found the tender place he'd been trying to protect.

“That's not the same,” he said.

“How isn't it?”

“Because a nurse would go home.”

Sebastian's teasing vanished.

Lucian stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, careful of his back. His cheek rested against Sebastian's shoulder.

“Then I'm not leaving. I'll be your nurse forever.”

For several seconds, Sebastian didn't move.

Then one arm came around Lucian's shoulders.

“You have classes,” he said quietly.

“I can go to class and still come home.”

“You have an entire life ahead of you.”

Lucian tightened his hold. “Then you can be in it.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly.

Lucian's eyes were still wet, but the familiar urge to hide had disappeared. He liked being held. He liked that Sebastian didn't rush to let him go.

His hand drifted along Sebastian's side, resting near his waist.

Sebastian glanced down.

“Lucy.”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Lucian looked at it and immediately went pink. “I was checking whether your shirt was tucked in.”

“Of course.”

“It isn't.”

“Tragic.”

Lucian attempted to move away. Sebastian let him, though his smile made it clear he wasn't fooled.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Sebastian murmured. “Keep touching me like that, and I might kiss you.”

Lucian's fingers curled against the fabric.

He wanted to say, You keep threatening that. He wanted to say, Maybe I wouldn't mind.

Instead he straightened the shirt collar and announced, “Your buttons are crooked.”

Sebastian looked down. They were perfectly aligned.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “you'll have to stay and fix them.”

He checked the time and realized his next class was approaching. Sebastian noticed him glance at the clock.

“Go,” he said. “I'll be fine.”

Lucian hesitated, then collected his bag. At the doorway, he turned back.

“You'd better not try to walk downstairs without help.”

“I won't.”

“And drink your water.”

“Yes, nurse.”

Lucian smiled despite himself. “You're lucky I'm so generous.”

Sebastian watched him leave with an expression Lucian couldn't quite read.

Lucian stayed longer than necessary.