"Please."
So I do. Slow and careful, letting him set the pace. His hands fist in my jacket, pulling me closer. He kisses like he reads, all in, completely present, nothing held back. When we break apart, he's breathing hard.
"Okay, that was way better than birthday drinks," he says.
I laugh, pressing my forehead to his. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'd take this over Murphy's every day for the rest of my life."
"That can be arranged."
We stay like that for a while, him warming up against me, both of us looking at the lights. His phone buzzes occasionally, Tyler, but he ignores it. My lion is rumbling, low and constant, a purr that starts in the chest and doesn't stop. Not a roar. Not a claim. Just a steady warmth that says: this one.
I'm listening.
"I should probably go back," he says eventually, not moving.
"I can take you wherever you'd like."
He tenses slightly. I feel it through the jacket, through the warmth between us. The hesitation.
"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to," I say.
"I know." He's quiet for a moment. "It's a shelter. On Madison. Haven House."
He said it. Out loud, to me, without me asking. I could tell him I already knew, the first night, the rain, following him home. But that's not what he needs right now. He needs this to be his choice, his timing, his story to tell.
"Okay."
"I'm saving for an apartment. A few more weeks and I'll have enough for the deposit."
"That's good. Having a plan."
"You don't think it's —" He swallows. "You don't think less of me?"
"No." I tighten my arms around him. "I think you're twenty-one years old and you have a job and a plan and a timeline and you read better books than anyone I've ever met. That's not less. That's a lot."
He turns his face into my neck and breathes there for a moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright but he's not crying. Holding it.
"Can I take you home?" I ask.
"To the shelter?"
"To wherever you want to go."
"The shelter's fine. You can take me to the actual door. I don't need to hide it from you."
The ride back is different. Devin's relaxed against me, his grip comfortable rather than desperate. His arms around my waist feel like they belong there. When we pull up outside Haven House, the rainbow flag is illuminated by the porch light, and the building looks warm and decent and still not enough for him.
He climbs off, hands back the helmet.
"Thank you," he says. "For the rescue. And the ride. And..." He looks at the building behind him, then back at me. "And for not making it weird."
"It's not weird."
"It kind of is. You're in your thirties and a lion shifter and I live in a youth shelter."
"And you're the person who gave me dragons and told me Guy Gavriel Kay would destroy me and you were right about both. That's the part that matters."