"They were in your nightstand," Bells interrupts before they can start fighting again. "Next to the vampire romance novels."
Rafael's face cycles through every emotion known to man.
"Can we just." I hold up both hands, trying to get a grip on the situation before it spirals further into stupidity. "Can we just focus on the fact that you're both okay? And maybe explain why you're literally attached to each other?"
The living room goes quiet.
Rex and Bells exchange a stiff glance.
"He's a flight risk," Bells says, holding up her hand and lifting Rex's automatically with it. It's completely limp and floppy, like he thinks if he doesn't try to fight her at all, it'll be less embarrassing somehow.
"You could have just... asked him to stay?" I ask.
"Have youmetRex?" she asks pointedly.
Rex rolls his eye.
Fair point.
I watch them shuffle further into the living room, moving in awkward tandem because the chain between them only stretchesabout two feet. Bells steers them toward the couch, and Rex follows with the resigned air of someone who's given up fighting.
He looks terrible.
Not just tired. He'shollowed out. Like someone reached into his chest and scooped out everything that made him Rex, leaving behind just the shell.
He saw the comments. He must have. Before he turned off his phone, before he disappeared to the cemetery, he saw what the world is saying about him. There's no way he didn't.
I feel like I'm going to be sick. Or punch someone. Can you punch everyone on the internet? Is there a service for that? Maybe I should check with fucking management.
"I'll make coffee," I say hoarsely, because I need to do something with this energy before I put my fist through a wall. "And breakfast. Rex, you look like death. No offense."
"I'm not hungry," Rex says automatically.
"Wasn't asking."
I head for the kitchen before he can argue. The familiar routine of measuring grounds and filling the reservoir helps settle my nerves. Water boiling. Beans grinding. The rich smell of coffee slowly filling the space.
Behind me, I hear Rafael asking something in a low voice. Bells responding. The soft clink of the handcuff chain.
I pull out eggs, bacon, bread for toast. Crack twelve eggs into a bowl and start whisking furiously.
Furiously enough I completely fucking dissociate.
The eggs are scrambled perfectly. Golden, fluffy, with just enough butter to make them rich without being greasy. The bacon is crisp at the edges, still slightly chewy in the middle, exactly how Rafael likes it. Toast is buttered and stacked. Coffee is poured into mismatched mugs that somehow all ended up in our cabinet over the years.
I don't remember doing any of it.
My hands moved on autopilot while my brain churned through the same loop it's been stuck on for hours. The photo. The comments. Rex's face. Bells disappearing into the rain. The fuzzy handcuffs.
The fuckingfuzzy handcuffs.
Does Raf like to be tied up? Shit, I would… uh…yeah. Better put that out of my fucking head before I get hard in my sweats and everyone notices when I carry breakfast out.
Fuck. Too late.
I do my best to adjust my pants, load everything onto a tray, and carry it out to the living room.
Rafael has claimed the armchair, one leg thrown over the arm, doomscrolling through his phone with his jaw tight and his hair artfully disheveled.