"That's exactly what you did." Knox's voice isn't harsh. It's the voice he uses when he's being precise, the alpha voice, the one that doesn't waste words. "You decided he was too young and too vulnerable to choose you. You made that decision for him. How do you think that felt for a kid who's probably had every decision made for him his entire life?"
Ezra looks up from his laptop. "What did he say? When you stopped."
"He said it's fine, don't worry about it. And he left."
"Customer service voice?"
"How did you —"
"Because that's what people do when they've been rejected and they're trying to survive it." Ezra's voice is quiet, precise. "I did the same thing to Nico. Three days of the wall, distance, careful politeness, the mask. Because it was easier than admitting I wanted something I was afraid to have."
Nico glances at Ezra but doesn't add anything. Doesn't need to. The weeks of Nico in his booth and Ezra on his stool, the distance and the circling and the slow collapse of every wall between them. We all watched it happen.
"The question isn't whether he's too young," Ezra says. "The question is whether you trust him to know what he wants."
"He's twenty-one —"
"And I was twenty-eight when I almost let Nico walk out of this bar because I was afraid my lion wanted him for the wrong reasons." Ezra closes his laptop. "Age doesn't make you smarter about this. Experience doesn't make you smarter about this. Wanting someone is terrifying at any age. The only thing that matters is whether you show up."
Jason appears in the kitchen doorway, plate in hand. He's been listening, of course he has. "What time's the date?"
"Seven. Lucia's."
"You're running out of time."
"He might not come."
"He might not," Jason agrees. "But you should be there anyway. Because if he does show up, after you stopped kissing him and made him feel like it was about his age, after he walked away because that's probably the only survival skill he has, if he shows up after all that, that's a twenty-one-year-old who's braver than you."
The bar is quiet. Knox's eyes on me. Ezra's. Jason's.
"Go," Knox says. "And Silas?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't apologize for wanting him. Apologize for making him think you didn't."
* * *
Lucia's is small and warm and smells like garlic and bread. The kind of place Jason would approve of, simple, honest, the food doing the work instead of the décor. Twelve tables with white cloths and candles. A bar along one wall with wine bottles stacked to the ceiling. Quiet enough to talk. Loud enough to not be overheard.
I'm at a corner table at just before seven. The waiter brings water and bread and I don't touch either because my stomach is a knot and my hands won't stay still. I've positioned myself facing the door, safety position, the same way Devin sits in the café, and I watch every person who walks in.
It's after 7. He's still not here.
He's not coming. Of course he's not coming. I told him his age was a problem while I had him against a wall, and he heard what every foster kid hears when someone pulls away. You're not enough, you're too much trouble, this was a mistake. I know that's what he heard because Robin told me about the interview where his hands shook, because Margaret told me she lets him stay because she sees what he needs, because I counted twenty-two minutes of sleep in a library chair and the way he flinched awake like the world was something that happened to him and not with him.
I should go. Sitting here in a restaurant waiting for someone I hurt is —
The door opens.
Devin.
His hair is slightly damp from the drizzle outside. He's standing in the doorway scanning the room, exits, occupants, threats, and then his eyes find me and he stops.
He looks terrified.
He came anyway.