Lucian spent twenty minutes staring at Sebastian’s phone before deciding that a man with a photograph like that on his lock screen had no right to act mysterious.

The photograph showed sixteen-year-old Lucian laughing at the lake house. Sebastian stood beside him, looking at him instead of the camera.

Lucian had never noticed that expression before. Now he couldn't stop noticing it.

He placed the phone exactly where he'd found it and went downstairs to make breakfast. The toast burned while he was thinking about Sebastian's eyes.

“Are you trying to summon the fire department?” Sebastian asked from the kitchen doorway.

Lucian jumped. “You're supposed to be in bed.”

“And you're supposed to be watching the toaster.”

Lucian slapped the button. Two blackened slices sprang into view.

“Breakfast is canceled,” he announced. “You're having yogurt.”

Sebastian regarded him for a moment. “Good morning to you too.”

Lucian refused to look at him. If he did, he might remember the picture. Worse, Sebastian might notice.

By nine, Sebastian had settled into the living room with his laptop, a folder of architectural drawings, and the expression of a man preparing to ignore every medical recommendation he'd received.

“Close it,” Lucian ordered.

“I'm working.”

“You're recovering.”

“Both things can happen at once.”

Lucian checked the printed discharge instructions pinned to the refrigerator. “Not for six hours without a break.”

Sebastian typed another sentence.

Lucian stood in front of the screen. Sebastian leaned to the left. Lucian moved left. Sebastian leaned right. Lucian moved right.

“This is childish,” Sebastian said.

“You've known me for twenty years. Why are you surprised?”

Sebastian almost smiled. Lucian took advantage of the distraction, snapped the laptop shut, and carried it upstairs.

“Lucian.”

“Medical emergency,” Lucian called over his shoulder. “Your computer has been kidnapped.”

He hid the laptop beneath a stack of art textbooks, then returned for Sebastian's work folder.

Sebastian watched him with unnerving patience.

“Are you holding me hostage?”

Lucian lifted his chin. “Yes. And you're a terrible prisoner.”

“What's the ransom?”

“Eight hours of sleep, three proper meals, and absolutely no pretending your spine is made of steel.”

“Ambitious demands.”

“I negotiate aggressively.”

“You cried when the delivery driver forgot your extra sauce.”

“That was a separate negotiation.”

Sebastian laughed once, softly. Lucian's heart did something embarrassing.

He marched to the kitchen before his face betrayed him.

At noon, he brought soup and medication to the bedroom. Sebastian was propped against pillows, reading a paperback Lucian had never seen him touch before.

“Your royal lunch,” Lucian said.

Sebastian examined the soup. “Did you cook this?”

“It's from the deli. I'm not poisoning you with my cooking again.”

The words landed awkwardly. Lucian looked down.

Sebastian set the book aside. “Lucy.”

“Don't.”

“I wasn't going to make a joke.”

“I know.” Lucian swallowed. “I just wish I could undo it.”

Sebastian's expression softened. “You can't. But you called for help. You stayed. You're learning.”

Lucian blinked rapidly. He hated how easily Sebastian could make him cry without even raising his voice.

“Eat your soup,” he muttered.

Sebastian did. When Lucian offered the prescribed tablets afterward, however, he folded his arms.

“No.”

Lucian stared. “What?”

“I don't feel like it.”

“That's not how prescriptions work.”

“Interesting. Yesterday you told me I was the most stubborn man alive.”

“You are.”

“Then this shouldn't surprise you.”

Lucian checked the label, the time, and the instructions. Everything was correct. Sebastian's refusal made no sense.

“Are you doing this to annoy me?”

“Would I?”

“Yes. Absolutely. It's your favorite hobby.”

Sebastian's mouth twitched.

Lucian carried the water to the bedside. “Open.”

“No.”

“Sebastian Hayes, I swear—”

“Careful. You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother would have more patience.”

“My mother would call you and let you deal with me.”

That was probably true. Lucian hated that too.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the tablets in one hand and the water in the other. Sebastian watched him, calm as a judge.

“Fine,” Lucian said. “We'll sit here until you cooperate.”

“I'm comfortable.”

“Of course you are.”

Lucian shifted closer to reach the nightstand. The blanket had slipped halfway to the floor, and his sock caught on its edge.

His foot slid.

“Oh—!”

The water tilted dangerously. Sebastian caught Lucian by the waist before he fell, pulling him toward the mattress.

The glass landed upright with a dull knock.

Lucian found himself half seated beside Sebastian, one palm pressed against Sebastian's chest. The other was still clutching the tablets.

Neither moved.

Sebastian's hand remained steady at Lucian's waist. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Lucian could feel the warmth of his palm.

“Careful,” Sebastian said.

It was barely above a whisper.

Lucian looked up to deliver an insult and forgot every word he'd ever learned.

Sebastian wasn't looking at his eyes.

He was looking at his mouth.

Lucian's pulse hammered. He became absurdly aware of his own breathing, of Sebastian's fingers resting against his side, of the tiny space separating their faces.

Sebastian's gaze lifted briefly. “Are you all right?”

“Obviously.”

“You're shaking.”

“I'm furious.”

“Of course.”

Sebastian's voice held a smile, but his eyes didn't. They were serious in a way Lucian couldn't interpret.

Lucian remembered the photograph. He remembered the unfinished words in the hospital. He remembered Sebastian holding his hand while pretending to sleep.

The pieces were lining up, and Lucian wasn't ready to see the picture they made.

Sebastian's thumb moved once against his waist. Lucian inhaled sharply.

“Lucy,” Sebastian murmured.

“What?”

“Are you taking care of me because you feel guilty… or because you want me?”

Lucian's entire face went hot.

He could have moved away. Sebastian's hold was loose, and there was room to stand. Instead, Lucian stayed exactly where he was.

Sebastian leaned a fraction closer.

Lucian saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Saw the slight parting of his lips. Realized with a rush of panic and excitement that Sebastian wanted to kiss him.

And that he wanted to know what it would feel like.

No. Absolutely not. Not while Sebastian was winning an argument about medicine.

Lucian lifted the tablets between them.

“Take your medicine!”

Sebastian stopped, startled. Lucian pressed the tablets into his open palm and thrust the water toward him.

For the first time all afternoon, Sebastian obeyed without a word.

Lucian scrambled to his feet. “Good. Excellent. Responsible adult behavior. I'm leaving.”

“Lucy—”

“Rest!”

He fled down the hall, nearly collided with the laundry basket, and slammed his bedroom door.

For a long minute he stood against it, breathing hard.

Then he covered his face with both hands.

“He was going to kiss me,” he whispered.

He could still feel Sebastian's hand at his waist. That was the worst part. Or possibly the best part.

Earlier that morning, Lucian had called Nolan for advice about the lock-screen photograph. Nolan had been spectacularly unhelpful.

“Maybe he likes the lake,” Nolan suggested.

“He isn't looking at the lake.”

“Maybe he likes your shirt.”

“He bought me that shirt.”

There had been a long silence on the line before Nolan said, “Lucian, sometimes the obvious answer is obvious.”

Lucian had hung up immediately. He thought of that conversation now, alone in his bedroom, and realized he'd been hoping Nolan would tell him something impossible to believe.

He picked up his sketchbook and drew two hands, one resting at the curve of another person's waist. When he finished, he stared at the drawing in horror.

He tore out the page, folded it once, and put it in the bottom drawer instead of throwing it away.

Across the hall, Sebastian stared at the closed door, then at the empty water glass.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“You can run for now, Lucy.”