“Wait.”
Sid caught Dante’s arm, and Dante reeled back before his brain caught up with thedon’t touch meinstinct he couldn’t shake. He stumbled back, colliding with a wheelbarrow behind him. The clanging metal was unnaturally loud, and Dante cringed as it seemed to echo in the deserted yard. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Sid held out his hands in clear surrender, one shaking in a way that was unique to him, twitching to its own beat. “It was my fault for lunging at you.I’msorry—for grabbing you, and for hassling you about dinner. Fuck, I’m an idiot. Forgive me? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
Dante took Sid’s outstretched hands without stopping to think about what he was doing or even if Sidwantedhim to. The rain fell around them and on them, saturating their already soaked clothes. Sid’s hair was wet gold, stuck to his forehead.He’s so beautiful.Dante squeezed his fingers, just once, then let him go, grieving the loss of his touch before the sensation had truly left him. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Sid smiled through the thundering rain. “Does that mean you’ll come? Actually, don’t answer that. Just know I’ll have cooked enough for you and your grandad’s aunt, and my door isalwaysopen.”
As had become their SOP over the last few days, he walked away without waiting for an answer.
7
Temperature was Sid’s worst enemy. Too hot and his body went haywire with spasms and twitches. Too cold and ithurt. His muscles bound too tight, and moving his limbs made him groan out loud.
His afternoon in the rain caught up with him approximately six seconds after he shut his front door. He staggered to the shower, dropping his clothes along the way, and sat beneath the hot spray, hugging his knees as the heat workedslowlyinto his tense flesh, thawing him out joint by aching joint. Timing was everything. If he got it right, he’d spare himself a night of discomfort. A minute wrong either way and he was fucked.
Tonight, for the most part, it panned out. He dressed in loose trousers and a festival tee and limped to the kitchen on legs that were pain-free but still misbehaving enough to make him mutter under his breath with every step.Fuck this motherfucking shit.
Negative thoughts weren’t his jam, though, and with Dante on his mind, they were easier to push aside than ever. Not that the prospect of Dante ignoring his dinner invitation filled him with much joy.Damn, this dude. Why is he so complicated?
There were a million answers to that question, and Sid didn’t know ninety-nine per cent of them. Sure, Dante had shared today, but a few bleak, unforgiving sentences didn’t make a person who they were.
Sid opened the fridge and found the soup he’d defrosted overnight and paired it with the proved bread dough one of the kitchen mother hens had gifted him the day before. It was one of the pros of being known as fragile: people gave him food, and even on a good day, Sid never refused.
He shaped the dough and left it to rise again. While he waited, he poured the soup into a pan—all of it, because positive thoughts kept him alive—then he retreated outside with his weed tin and rolled the joint he’d been craving since cold-fuelled pain had crept into his legs. It was gone for now, but he knew a smoke would keep it at bay for longer and help him sleep.Ifhe could skin up anything worth lighting.
As if his treacherous body had heard him, his tired fingers slipped on the papers. He laughed and tried again, but it wasn’t happening. “Awesome.”
Sighing, he kicked his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, ignoring the risk of falling asleep on the porch where the whole world could see him. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, though he could live without Benjamin lecturing him on keeping his weed stash discreet.“I know you need it, Sid, and it’s basically legal, but I don’t want to suffer that conversation every time someone reports you.”
“Hey.”
Sid lifted his heavy lids.
Dante crouched in front of him, hair damp and pushed back from his face, hazel eyes glimmering with amber flecks in the light from the solar lamp on the porch.
It’s dark. Shit. How long have I been out here?
“I don’t know.”
Sid blinked. “What?”
“I said I don’t know how long you’ve been out here. Did you fall asleep?”
“Um...” Brain fog descended on Sid, hard and fast. Suddenly, he had no idea about anything, let alone what he was doing slumped on the wooden deck of his porch with an unconstructed spliff in his lap.
Dante seemed to know it too. He rescued the joint fixings and deftly rolled them into a fat jazz fag. “You want to smoke this? Or I can help you inside?”
“I don’t need help,” Sid grumbled.
“Fair enough.” Dante brought the joint to his lips and lit it, inhaling a deep drag of herbal smoke.
He blew it out slowly, as if teasing Sid with the scent, but there was nothing humorous about his keen gaze as he ran it over Sid. His stare was as intense as the rest of him. And he wasclose—so close Sid could smell the sandalwood shower gel from the gift shop on him. Mixed with the natural scent of a man who worked with dirt and sunshine all day, Dante was pretty much Sid’s wet dream.
If his body was up to dreaming, which today it probably wasn’t.
Dante claimed another pull on the joint, then handed it over.