Chapter 8

Calum stared after Brix, watching through the tiny window as he shifted sacks of animal feed around with more force than seemed necessary, and his stomach churned again. The idea that he'd somehow annoyed Brix made him feel sick.

Actually, it scared the shit out of him, and his head began to spin, anxiety crushing his chest.

Maybe Brix had read whatever Rob had written about Calum on the internet. Maybe Lena had lied and shown him anyway, or he'd found it of his own accord. Trashing people online was one of Rob's favourite things to do.

Fuck them, Cal.

Swallowing bile, Calum recalled every hateful post he'd ever seen Rob write—Twitter, Instagram…and his head spun harder, cold sweat beading his skin.

"Hey." Brix waved a hand in front of Calum's face. "You look like someone just killed your dog."

"I don't have a dog."

"Your pops not got that golden retriever anymore?"

"Hettie?" Calum pictured the time his parents had visited him in Camden with his father's hearing dog. "She died years ago. My dad's got a Labrador now, a black one, I think. Barney."

"You think?"

Calum shrugged. "I haven't seen them in a while, and my parents don't do technology."

He didn't add that Rob binned any post that wasn't his. What was the point? Whatever had driven Brix into the shed seemed to have faded, and Calum wanted to keep it that way.

"Pub, then?" Brix said.

Calum nodded and ducked back inside to grab a wallet empty of anything except a basic debit card, trying not to think about what that meant, hanging onto the fact that having fuck all money was weirdly liberating.

It's not liberating. You're fucking broke.

The unavoidable truth sent Calum's pulse to his ears again. If he could pull regular sittings at Blood Rush for a while, he could make the payments on his loans and give Brix rent, but what would happen when his time was up? Even if he found a studio to take him, where would he live? How would he live without Brix?

"Shittin' hell, mate. You coming or not?"

Calum jumped.

Brix was right there, and Calum dug deep for a smile.

"Sorry. Away with the fairies."

"Are you fuck. Fairies are fun. You can tell me what's really bothering you on the way."

On the way turned out to be a windy walk inland to the Sea Bell, a dilapidated pub that was packed with ruddy-faced local men, clutching jugs of ale and shouting along with the band of fishermen holding court by the front bar.

"Shanty Boys," Brix shouted over the booming folk song. "All the clans up this coast have a lad or two that sing. It's local lore."

"It's what?"

"Lusmoores, Bosankos. Penroses and the rest. We're primordial residents. Been here as long as the ocean. Hear that?"

Calum listened to the sea hymn being sung by men who looked no more like choir singers than Brix did a primary school teacher. The song was loud, and reminded Calum of the music Brix played at Blood Rush, without the heavy metal and bagpipes. "I like it."

"Good. Cos you'll hear a lot of it round these parts. What you drinking?"

"Whatever you're having."

Brix nodded and said something to the barmaid. Two mugs of amber ale appeared a moment later. "From the brewery up the road in Rock Down.

Calum took an experimental sip, and then another, deeper swallow. "I like that too."

"Course you do. I remember you drinking Guinness by the bucketload. Always knew there was an ale-swiller in you somewhere."

"What else did you know?"

Brix leaned closer, their bodies already wedged together by the crowded bar. "That one way or another, you'd be in my life forever."

Someone shouted Brix's name, saving Calum from drowning in Brix's electric gaze.

Pulse pounding, he downed more beer, seeking solace in his pint glass until something warm bumped his leg.

He glanced down to meet the warm gaze of a border collie. The dog was attached to a bright-red lead. Calum followed it, expecting to see a burly fisherman, but instead, he found himself face-to-face with Lee, the last person he'd expected to see in a pub like this. Though, to be fair, with her Doc Martens and grungy green beanie, she didn't look out of place.

Calum scratched the dog's ears and grinned at Lee. "Who's your friend?"

"Rocky. I stole him from my sister for the day."

"Why?"

"She's a cunt."

"Hey." Brix leaned around Calum and socked Lee's arm. "She's trying, remember?"

"Yeah, trying to be annoying."

"You're pretty annoying yourself. Give peace a chance, gal."

"Dick." Lee scowled and turned away. Calum wondered if she might storm off as abruptly as she'd arrived. Calum had grown used to the edgy banter between Brix and Lee, but this seemed different, like she'd meant her muttered insult. But Brix's answering silence spoke a thousand words, and after a protracted moment, she turned back and offered Brix a sheepish grin.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. But you can make up for it by looking after Calum while I go find my dad."

"I don't need looking after." Calum knocked back half his ale. "I'm fine on my own."

"I know," Brix said. "It's Lee needs watching. Last time she was in here, she throat-punched my uncle."

Lee's glare returned. "Did not."

"Did so. Just stay with Calum and behave yourself."

Brix pulled Lee's hat over her face and walked away, shouldering through the cramped bar until he disappeared entirely.

Calum looked back at Lee and raised an eyebrow. "Why did you punch Brix's uncle?"

"Because he's a lecherous prick. Don't be fooled by Brix. He's the best bloke in the world, but the rest of his family are wankers."

It wasn't the first time Calum had heard whispers of Brix's family being trouble "Are they that bad? Really?"

Lee rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that boys will be boys shite. Brix's uncle isn't some dozy old man who doesn't know how to talk to women. That's the point. He didn't see me as a woman. He called me a little poof cos I'm the only trans person he's ever met in his life."

"Oh." Calum stared at Lee, taking in her elfin features and youthful skin, all marred by a defensive belligerence that told him she was waiting for him to say something totally fucking stupid. "Erm . . . Well, maybe he's a bigger cunt than your sister then."

A pause stretched out.

Then Lee laughed. "Yeah, okay. You might be right about that. Still think you should buy me a drink, though."

Whipped, Calum bought more beer, a handful of vodkas for Lee, and a couple of whiskeys with the last scrapings of cash in his account. "Find me somewhere we can talk."

Lee clipped Rocky's lead to her studded belt and relieved Calum's tray of a few glasses. Then she led him around the bar to a quiet-ish corner he hadn't seen. She dumped the drinks on a sticky table, then dropped into a tatty leather armchair, tucking her feet beneath her.

Watching her, Calum necked a whiskey and then pulled a stool to the table, before pinching one of Lee's vodkas. "I didn't know you were trans. I'm fucking sorry if I've put my foot in my mouth these past few days."

Lee tilted her head. "You haven't. Why would you think that?"

Calum shrugged, no sensible answer coming to him, and his silence drew Lee forward.

"You're not always wrong, you know."

"I'll take your word for that."

"I suppose that'll do until you learn to take your own."

Calum drank more beer.

Lee laughed. "You're so cute."

More beer.

"Damn." Lee shook her head. "I really am bad at being nice. Are you more comfortable when I'm an arsehole to you? Or are you just more used to it?"

Calum's glass was empty. He set it down, searching for words. Finding them. Discarding them and starting over, while Lee relaxed, as if the everlasting wait for someone to connect their brain to their voice box was normal to her.

Eventually, the truth came to him. "It's me, not you. I'm not used to being around good people. I don't know what to do with myself when you say nice things to me."

"Sounds like someone else was the problem then. Not you." Lee scratched Rocky's ears. "But I get it. Before I came here, I had one amazing friend, but he's kinda wild, so I was pretty feral when Brix took me in."

They'd made a considerable dent in their drinks. Calum got up and nodded towards the bar. "Hold that thought."

"Only if you let me pay."

Calum took Lee's debit card and loaded up again. Back at the table, he let curiosity win. "Tell me how you met Brix?"

Lee claimed her vodka and kicked back in her seat. "The friend I was telling you about…he disappeared for a while. When he came back, I'd left home and wound up down here, sleeping on the beach at Fistral Bay. He knew Brix could help me, so he brought me to him, and I'm still fucking here."

"Did he give you a cuppa and bed for the night too?"

"Me and everyone else." Lee smiled into her drink. "He collects us like his hens. Life support we don't know we need until we wake up one day and realise we're still breathing. He gave Lena half the shop, you know…when her and Kim were about to go under. Stopped Kim from offing himself, I swear."

"Lena and Kim are definitely together, then? I get mixed messages from them."

"They're bonded, I guess, but they both have other people too. They live on that commune out near the farms. Into all that free love and stuff."

That explained the vibe Calum hadn't deciphered between Kim and Lena. "What about Corey? Brix save him too?"

"Yup, from whatever weird shit he was up to before he came to Blood Rush. Brix saved us all, and I'm glad of it. Means no one looks at me like I'm a skank."

"So that's why none of you looked at me that way either. Used to it, eh?"

Lee shrugged. "We're used to Brix taking care of people. I've never seen him with anyone like you, though."

"Like me?"

"Like he is with you," Lee clarified. "He's so chill when you're in the same room. That Lusmoore edge fades, you know?"

Calum hadn't been around Brix enough the past few years to judge. He filed Lee's observations away and pressed her a little more. "How did you end up this far south? You don't sound Cornish."

"Derby," Lee confirmed. "Dead-end village near the Peak District. Got run out of town when I told my dad I wanted to transition. It was the last straw for him after I'd been outed as the village gay."

Calum snorted. "Bet you weren't the only one."

"Yeah, but it was obvious with me. I was never exactly masculine, you know? I might as well have worn a sandwich board and rung a fucking bell. I couldn't believe how shocked my parents were when I told them. I'd lived with it so long in my head, it didn't feel weird anymore."

"How old were you then?"

"When they found out I was into lads?"

"Yeah."

"Fourteen. I got caught watching gay porn online and my dad beat the shit out of me and convinced himself it was a phase, and I never admitted to being gay, which made it easier for him to push it under the carpet. I like girls too, though, and everything else."

"Me too." Calum gulped ale to disperse the lump in his throat. "What happened next?"

"Nothing for a year or so, then all the gender stuff started fucking with my head. So I told a teacher at school and they forced me to tell my parents."

Grim dread took hold in Calum's gut. He knew where Lee's tale was going.

"My dad threw me out on the spot." She pulled a face of forced nonchalance. "Said I'd done it on purpose to embarrass him. I sat on a table outside the post office all day, thinking he'd calm down, but then the village idiots came after me with bats and pipes. He'd paid them fifty quid to chase me to the coach station the next town over."

"Jesus." Calum blew out a breath. "How long ago was this?"

"A few years. It took me a month to wash up down here in my sister's neck of the woods, though. I tried London first, but it wasn't for me—just like Saint always said."

"Saint?"

"My friend. You'd like him, if he ever stayed still long enough to meet anyone new. He's as clever as Brix."

Calum believed Lee's friend was as amazing as she said he was, but it was hard to imagine there was anyone in the world quite like Brix. I love him. As a mate, obviously.

Obviously.

Reading his mind, Lee downed the last of her vodka and picked up Calum's pint. "Brix is a good boss and a good mate, by the way, in case you were worried about how working for him is going to affect your friendship. He cooked me dinner every night when I had my boobs done."

"No, I brought you dinner every night. Never said I'd cooked it all." Brix appeared at Lee's shoulder and eyed the detritus of the drinks Calum and Lee had put away. "Seems like I've got some catching up to do. Your sister's here, though. Want me to take her Rocky?"

"Nah, I'll do it."

Lee and Brix disappeared, Brix to the bar, and Lee to the car park to deliver Rocky, the world's quietest dog, to her sister.

Brix returned first, laden with enough whiskey and vodka to make Calum's eyes water. "Lee been telling you her life story?"

"About a saint and a white knight." Calum belatedly realised how drunk he was. "You're the white knight by the way."

Brix scoffed. "Hardly. She's just never understood how far her friends will go to protect her."

"What does that mean?"

Brix drained one of the whiskey glasses. "Put it this way, you wouldn't want to be one of the idiots up north who beat her with a pipe."

"You…?"

"No." Brix shook his head. "I gave her a tattoo gun. But the other bloke she's talking about is the most dangerous fucker I've ever met. And I've met some dangerous fuckers."

Lee came back as Calum absorbed that, her trademark scowl firmly in place. "Are we ditching this shithole, or what?"

Brix necked another whiskey. "To go where? The Slug and Lettuce? No fucking chance. I'm too old for that, luv. So is Cal."

"Not as old as you." Calum shot Brix a hazy glance. "Definitely too drunk, though. I need a kebab."

Brix laughed. "In Porth Ewan? On a Sunday? Dude, you can't even buy a bag of sugar after nine o'clock."

Calum frowned. "I don't want any sugar. Where's the bog?"

Brix pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "By the dartboard."

"Ta." Calum hiccupped and stood. The warm rush of too much booze swept over him, but instead of the black shame of the rum on the train, this buzz was good—really good—and the long-neglected devil in him wanted to drink a hell of a lot more.

He found the gents' and relieved himself, staring in the cracked mirror as he washed his hands. His eyes were bloodshot from a bellyful of ale and whiskey, but for the first time in days he felt human.

Lucky me.

Calum returned to the table to find Lee getting ready to leave.

"She's off to the chav hole," Brix explained. "Wants to drink bubble-gum vodka and listen to bad house music."

"Nice." Calum tried to hide his distaste, but failed as Lee rolled her eyes and punched his arm.

"I'm going to meet my missus, thanks very much. You're just jealous, both of you, cos you ain't getting any."

Brix looked away, gathering their empty glasses into a neat stack. Calum shrugged. He hadn't had sex in months, which made sense now he knew for sure that Rob had been getting fucked elsewhere.

Cos you weren't man enough to do it, remember?

The lull in Calum's bad mood evaporated. He reached for his drink and downed it, feeling the warm ale gurgle into his stomach. Suddenly, stumbling back to Brix's cottage and passing out in his borrowed bed seemed like the best idea he'd had all night. Preferably without ever waking up.

Sensing the shift, Brix stood and pulled Lee's hat sideways. "Who are you meeting? Just Vicky?"

Lee righted her hat. "And her brother. We're going home together. Don't go all mother hen on me now. You've had all night."

Brix made a face and pulled the hat off entirely, stuffing it in his pocket. "Whatever. I'll walk you to the dirt hole, then I better get Mr Pisshead home."

"Hey." Calum rose, but coherent thought abandoned him as he shrugged into his coat, and the moment passed.

They took their glasses to the bar and left the pub, stepping outside into the cold night. Calum shivered, feeling it more than he had up on the cliffs. "Where are we going?"

"Home," Brix said. "With a quick detour on the way. That cool?"

"Yeah, I'm cool."

Brix chuckled. "Yes, you are. Coolest motherfucker I've ever known. You're the only one don't know that shit."

Calum took a breath.

Brix tapped a finger to his lips. "Shh. Come on."

They set off in the direction of the seafront, Lee between them, though she was definitely the least drunk.

"You got hollow legs?" Calum wove around a drain cover. "I'm pissed as shit over here."

"It's the air," Brix murmured, sageness lacing his deep voice. "You'll always get arseholed quicker by the sea if you're not used to it."

Lee laughed. "What's your excuse then? You're as twatted as him."

"I'm not used to drinking. I'm a good boy, remember?"

"Old git, more like." Lee poked his side. "You should see him and Kim, Calum. They look like hooligans, but they'd rather make jam with the old ladies than come out with the rest of us."

That wasn't the Brix that Calum remembered, but he knew there were better ways of having fun than pissing it up every night. "I like jam."

"Good," Brix said. "And you, squirt . . . watch your lip. You know Kim don't drink, and you know why. Everyone's got their shit. They don't need you mouthing off about it."

"Yeah, yeah." Lee stuck her tongue out, less offended by Brix's reprimanding than she'd been in the pub, and they reached the seafront without incident.

Lee hugged Brix. "I'll text you when I'm home."

"You'd better. No scrapping, yeah?"

"Yes, Dad."

Lee pulled back with a smirk and skipped inside.

Calum watched her melt into the crowd. "Think she'll be okay?"

"I reckon so." Brix's hand brushed Calum's elbow as he guided him back the way they'd come. "I heard a rumour that friend of hers is back down south. He'll take care of her, even if she doesn't know it."

Calum was too drunk to dissect that. So he went with the obvious. "Doesn't seem to stop you worrying, eh?"

Brix turned his gaze to the distant sea. "Not much does when you're as old as me."

"You're thirty-three."

"So? My granddad didn't make fifty."

"Don't mean you won't make a hundred. Is this why you don't drink much? Cos it makes you morbid?"

"Hmm? What? Oh, yeah, sometimes. Just can't handle my beer." Brix grinned, but it fell flat. Calum held his gaze for a long moment, until Brix shivered against the cold wind. "Come on. I need my bed."

They drifted back to the cottage. Brix let them in and tossed his keys on the side. "There's a spare set in the drawer by the fridge. Take them so you can get in when I'm not about."

"Why? You going somewhere?"

"Not often, but you don't want to be stuck with me all the time, do you?"

Or perhaps Brix didn't want to be stuck with him.

Jesus, Cal. You're as interesting as my nan's couch sometimes.

"Thanks."

"No worries." Brix yanked his boots off. "Actually, now I think about it. I won't be around tomorrow for a while. Will you be okay going to the studio on your own?"

"I'm not in till two."

Brix laughed. "Ah, that's right. You have Rubi?"

"That's what it says in the diary, next to a note that says viking shit and no contact details, so I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."

"It'll work out."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Trust me, it will. You're gonna have the chillest afternoon ever."

Calum believed Brix for no other reason than he was Brix. "Where are you going tomorrow? Anywhere nice?"

"Nope."

Okay. Calum considered the pensive frown that had cinched Brix's brows. "Is it bad that I feel like another drink?"

Brix raised his gaze from the floor. "You'll think so in the morning, but there's some of my dad's scrumpy around here somewhere if you're brave."

"Scrumpy? Is it worse than what you gave me in London?"

"Definitely. Can't remember a thing if I have too much of it."

"Sounds like my kind of drink."

"Does it?" Brix opened the door to the cellar and ducked inside, reappearing a moment later with a plastic container of what looked like piss. "What do you want to forget?"

"Nothing specific."

"Ah." Brix nodded like Calum's nonanswer made sense. "Wanna forget who you are for a while, eh? I get that."

"Doubt it," Calum said. "Seems to me that you've got everything in place down here. Ink, mates, family. The perfect life."

"Nothing's ever perfect. All that shit you just said . . . it's a perception. You can't count on anything 'cept yourself, and even that's a bonehead idea." Brix opened a cupboard, retrieving glasses that were smaller than Calum expected for cider drinking. "Now sit the fuck down. You'll want to be on the couch for this."

Calum followed Brix to the living room and sat on the sofa. Brix claimed the other end and opened the scrumpy.

"Me and Abel used to call this Scrumpty-Dumpty when we were kids. I drew a drunken egg as a logo, and we sold it at the bottom of our drive every summer. My dad let us keep half the money."

Calum leaned forward and accepted a tumbler of amber cider. "Who sells it now?"

"No one. Abel's banged up, remember? And my dad doesn't make so much these days. Too busy spending all his dosh on the horses."

"You've never told me why Abel went to prison."

"I know." Brix took a long, slow swallow of cider. "I never told anyone back in London, cos it felt like if I kept quiet, it wouldn't be real, even though Abel was closer to me there than he is now. Stupid, eh?"

"Not really. You can be right next to someone and worlds apart."

"True that. I guess it depends how deep you bury your soul, and how deep the person beside you is prepared to go looking. What do you make of the scrumpy?"

Calum took Brix's abrupt subject change at face value and let Abel Lusmoore go. He reached for the cider and took a drink. Instant fire burned down his throat and set his insides alight. "Fucking hell."

Brix laughed, his dark frown all but gone. "My nan used to say it was like swallowing sunbeams, but my dad didn't make it as strong back then. These days, he sets a batch to brew, then forgets all about it till the barrel's about to blow."

Calum believed it. He took another swig, absorbing the roiling heat. It reminded him of another heady burn, one he hadn't felt for?—

"Jesus. It's got you already."

"What?" Calum opened his eyes to find Brix watching him, amused. "I'm okay."

"Oh, I know you are. I remember the look on your face right now. Means you're gonna fall asleep smiling."

"You think? I haven't done much of that lately."

"You'd be surprised. I reckon you smile most when you don't know you're doing it."

Calum sat back, prepared to take Brix's word for it, but Brix jumped up with more grace than Calum could ever hope to have and went to the cabinet by the window. He pulled out a battered photo album Calum hadn't seen in years and brought it to the couch.

"Proof," he said by way of explanation, his words heavy and slurred, like his own skinful had caught up with him. "Let's find us happy."

Curious, Calum forced himself upright and scooted along the couch. In his drunken stupor, he overshot and bumped into Brix, who didn't appear to notice, or feel the jolt of electricity where their knees touched.

Damn.

Must be the scrumpy.

Fuck it.

Calum took another deep swallow. "Show me the happy."

Brix gulped more scrumpy and opened the album, flipping forward a few pages until he came to what Calum recognised as Brix's converted warehouse flat in Camden, the scene of many rowdy parties. Calum couldn't count the long summer nights he'd spent on the balcony, talking, drinking, smoking, all to the soundtrack of whatever music Brix had been in the mood for back then.

"Makes me want a spliff," he murmured—a whisper, really.

Brix sighed. "Me too, but I gave up the smokes, and the weed. Gotta be clean, believe it or not."

Calum reached for his drink, trying to ignore the irony, and keep the question out of his eyes as he gazed at Brix for a deepening moment.

Failed, as Brix shrugged and drained his glass. "Living hard caught up with me. Can we leave it at that?"

"Sure, but . . ." Is that why you left?

His voice fell away before the words became real, and Brix slid the album into his lap. "That was your missus, wasn't it? Can't remember her name."

"Lucy." Calum glanced at the photo absently, his mind lingering on the mystery of Brix.

"Have you had any girlfriends since her?"

"Hmm?"

"Since Lucy. I remember you banging a few blokes, but I always figured you'd end up with a bird. You seemed more comfortable with them."

"Not really." Calum turned a few pages until he came to a photo of Brix sitting on a bench outside the Camden studio, his clothes grungy and dark, hair held back with a gothic bandana. "I'd just never met a bloke who wanted to do more than fuck."

Brix poured more scrumpy. "They're hard to find."

"What about Jordan? I thought you two would go the distance."

"I don't want to talk about Jordan."

Oops.Calum's inebriation had obscured the warning lights flashing around Jordan. Did Brix know what had become of him? Last Calum heard, Jordan had moved to Amsterdam.

He turned another page. Brix moved closer to peer over his shoulder. Warmth where they touched seared through Calum, eclipsing even the scrumpy-induced burn in his gut. "I'm—er—still looking for the happy."

"It's there. Keep going."

They were about ten pages in when Brix let out a low hoot. "And there it is. Happy Calum, grinning away to himself like no one's watching. Game, set, and match to me."

Calum stared at the photo of himself, circa 2009, all dodgy jeans and faded band T-shirts, his hair cropped short in an ill-advised buzz cut. "What a tool."

"Aw, don't be a dick. You're happy. Look."

Calum looked again and couldn't deny it. He had no recollection of the night the photo had been taken, but his carefree smile was so genuine it seemed to belong to someone else. "Did you take this?"

Brix shrugged. "Maybe. I always had that old Nikon knocking around that flat, and you were my favourite subject."

"Was I?"

Brix's grin turned sheepish, and he flipped forward a few more pages, all of them crammed with image after image of Calum smiling to himself, clearly off his nut, or staring into space like a gormless idiot.

Calum didn't get it. "Why me?"

Brix set the photo album aside and grasped Calum's shoulders, his gaze sliding into an intensity that made Calum's head spin. "Because I wanted to show you something you'd never see on your own. Mate, you're fucking beautiful. Has no one ever told you that?"

The urge to be flippant was strong, but Brix's eyes held Calum hostage, rendering him mute, and leaving him devoid of anything except a silent head shake.

Brix leaned closer and pressed their foreheads together, his lips just a hairsbreadth away. "Well, they should've, cos you are?—"

Calum's mouth found Brix's in a soft, cider-flavoured kiss, a brush of lips that took him by surprise as much as it seemed to Brix, whose hands flew to Calum's face, though he didn't pull back. Their lips met again, the kiss growing in intensity with a subtle burn that stole Calum's breath, prickled his skin, and quickened his pulse to a stuttering, familiar rhythm.

Shit.

Memory descended on Calum like a bird hitting a window.

That night?—

The kiss faltered and Brix drew back, eyes wide, derailing Calum's jarring recollection of a hazy night too many years ago to count. "I . . uh. Fuck."

"Yeah," Calum breathed. "I don't know how that happened."

"Same as it did last time, I'd imagine."

Calum's heart skipped a beat. "You remember that?"

"Course I do. I fell over my own feet outside Koko's. You caught me, and I threw myself at you to say thanks. I think…?"

Brix's grimace was so comical that the heady tension between them eased a little, memories fading again. The drunken kiss they'd shared on that damp Camden evening had been seared on Calum's soul until he'd met Rob. Now, even with his lips still burning from this kiss, it didn't feel real.

Calum brought a hand to his head, trying to catch his breath. His thoughts. Anything to make sense of this moment. "I was so hammered that night I nearly dropped you."

"Fun, though, wasn't it?" Brix's frown morphed into a rueful grin. "I thought about it a lot after."

"Me too. It was a crazy night."

Brix hummed, then seemed to notice his hands still gripping Calum's face. He let them drop, leaving Calum mourning the loss of his touch, craving the rush of warm palms against his skin. "I'm fucking wankered."

The abrupt shift stung before Calum realised Brix's sentiment was mutual. "Either that, or your walls are moving."

"You've got the scrumpy spins." Brix got up and meandered to the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water. "Drink this before you go to sleep. Have a banana when you wake up. You'll puke otherwise."

He flopped back on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. Calum waited for him to resurface, but it didn't happen. Brix's breathing evened out and his arm slackened, slipping off his face, to reveal that he had, in fact, passed out cold.

Calum was mesmerised—Brix was as enchanting in sleep as he was awake—but his own need to lie down caught up with him fast. He considered sliding to the floor and letting the scrumpy mould his bones to the hardwood boards. But waking up on the shop floor in Paddington on the many nights Rob had gone walkabout with his keys, still made his back ache.

Fuck that.

He got up, found a blanket, and covered Brix with it, reality slowly filtering through the swirling cider haze, along with a festering urge to kiss Brix again.

Don't.

He settled for tracing a fingertip over the ink on Brix's forearm and squeezing his hand. "Thanks for everything."