Anthony feels something in his chest twist. It shouldn’t bother him, the way Gabriel says it’s all right with an affectation of disinterest. But Anthony doesn’t like to see him hide his hurt, and hates to see him become something distant and detached, so different from the Gabriel he usually sees. Just sitting beside the boy makes him long for the unexpected ease of those late nights, where they lie in bed together, somehow more themselves than they ever are anywhere else.

God, how vey foolish he has let himself become.

His expression remains placid, but he shakes his head and waves away the apology. “No, you are quite right. I should have said something.” Anthony lets himself believe that he is still talking about their aborted plan to get drinks together, and not the way he had suddenly abandoned this something that had begun to grow between them.