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Gideon has never had confidence in labelling the type of relationship him and Kremy share. Partnership, bond, union – each word brushed close to the truth, but none ever felt right. Now that they had shared vows, “married” is a term that had been added to the list, yet that too felt wrong. No matter how Gideon looked at it, nothing felt like the truth, and it made him very irritated.
There had never been an appropriate time to discuss this new... arrangement. Their marriage had materialized so fast it felt almost unreal. Nothing had really changed since it happened. Gideon still felt like Kremy was his closest friend, his business partner, and his most trusted confidant. But Gideon could tell something had changed between them. Maybe it was because Gideon had been married before, but this new development was not something he was planning on taking seriously. But Kremy… Kremmy carried the word differently. It seemed to weight heavier on him.
Kremy presented himself well in front of their friends. He stood tall, spoke with a sharp tongue, his grin catching the eye as if it were something freshly polished. When he walked his tailcoat followed, flowing effortlessly with every carefree stride he took. He naturally drew in the attention of others when he spoke, and the crew knew that if in a jam he could smoothly talk their way into a deal too good to be true.
When the two were alone, it was as if a switch had flipped.
Kremy was quieter, unsure of his words and the weight they held. His Agwé charm snuffed out and replaced with an air of caution. His actions lost their flourish and flair, making him look smaller. Every word was pronounced with a prior consideration, every touch calculated beforehand, every interaction rehearsed to perfection. Kremy left Gideon no room to interject.
And he hated it.
Gideon wasn’t good at reading people, but he knew Kremy. He knew the cadence of his moods, the sly grin he would stifle when making a deal, the inflection of his voice when he was lying, the focus he held when planning something extraordinary. Now, Kremy wouldn’t meet his gaze. Wouldn’t place a hand on him unless needed. Wouldn’t let Gideon close enough to ask questions or demand answers.
It stung him. Deep. It was right there, yet he was denied access to it.
He needed clarity. He missed his companion, this much was obvious, and longed for the way Kremy made him feel. He craved the fire the gator tended to in his chest, and the ease that came when conversing. And if Kremy was not willing to give this freely, one way or another, Gideon would get it.
The clearing that the group decided to camp at was quiet as they finished their meal. The fire in front of them swaying, giving off a steady glow as Gideon tended to the coals. One by one, their companions drifted to sleep – Hootsie curling up under a large, full tree, Torbek wrapping behind her to stroke her fur, Gricko cuddling into her side with a content sigh. Even Twig and Frost, still curled up by the fire finishing their bowls, blinked the sleep out of their eyes as they watched the flames sway in the light breeze. Once he was content with the size of the fire, Gideon sat back down in his place, admiring his work.
Kremy licked his lips as he finished the last of his dinner. Slowly and with ease he stood, collecting the dishes left behind by their fallen companions. A tightness formed in his chest as he watched him bend to collect directly from Frost and Twig. Gideon gripped the bowl in his hand tightly as Kremy drew closer to him, trying to plan something to say before he lost the opportunity. Before a single word could form, Kremy was already in front of him, hand outstretched expectingly. Gideon looked up at him, looking for anything opportunity to make contact. Kremy’s eyes stayed glued to something in the corner of his vision. A clearing of Kremy’s throat noted his impatience growing. Gideon sighed, knowing it was hopeless to say anything now, and held up his bowl.
Kremy reached for the bowl, and their fingers grazed. It was brief, like a whisper, bare scale against skin. It struck a spark in Gideon’s chest. He could feel every ridge of his finger, the coolness a sudden pleasant sting against his warm skin. The embers in his hairs laid bare his emotions, flaring up at the feeling of their connection.
Kremy snatched the bowl quickly, as if the touch burned.
Their eyes didn’t meet. Kremy had turned so quickly that the only thing Gidon could catch was the harsh flick of his tail. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t move. The absence of Kremy’s touch left a noticeable tingle on his finger. He slouched back, defeated.
When Kremy announced he was going to wash the dishes at a stream they passed a few minutes back, he said so in a quick hush as he loaded his pack. Frost and Twig insisted that someone should accompany him, and Gideon quickly stepped up to accept the role.
Kremy attempted to dismiss him, “Gid, you don’t have to-“
“It ain’t safe to go off on your own,” Gideon pressed, shaking off Kremy’s defensive tone. He stood up and brushed himself off. “And the fire should be okay till we get back. Besides, I don’t think these other guys would last”.
Kremy turned to his remaining companions who were rubbing their eyes and yawning with a squeak. He sighed, turned to Gideon, and beckoned him to follow.
Kremy kept a few paces ahead of him, shoulders stiff, tail swaying in a sporadic rhythm that betrayed the persona he put on. Every attempt Gideon made at conversation was met with short replies, or worse, silence. He couldn’t help but feel his annoyance build up as he stared at the man in front of him. It irked him that Kremy couldn’t even spare a glace over his shoulder, no acknowledging nod, no ‘mhm’ to show he was even listening. He was hurt, confused. What did he need to do to have him just say something?
His eyes continued to follow Kremy. His steps were hurried, purposely meant to create space between the two. Even with his body tense, he navigated the twists and turns of the forest with confidence and ease. His tail, not long enough to drag across the forest floor, followed behind with a flick, causing Gideon to blink. The moonlight glittered across his scales, capturing Gideons attention. He was just out of reach, so close, unseen.
He wanted to understand. He needed to understand. Needed to know why Kremy had pulled away from him, why he refused to look at him, to acknowledge him. What had he done? What did he need to do to make amends? He wanted answers.
He wanted Kremy back.
Kremy stopped so suddenly Gideon nearly collided with him. The clearing in front of the men was illuminated by ribbons of silver thrown by the radiant moon that hung above them. The sight was serene. The Feywild had much to offer in splendors and misfortune, the latter being something the party had an abundance of. It was a nice change of pace to have something peaceful. Something to ease the building strain in the air. Gideon stepped out beside Kremy.
Kremy looked forward to the rushing stream in front of them. Gideon couldn’t help but look at him. The way the moonlight framed his face, catching the sharp lines that formed his jaw. His scales shimmered in the light, and every slight movement caused them to re-arrange and dance on his body. From his vantage point, he could still see the side of Kremy’s face. It was a shame he had sold away the yellow shine of his eyes, yet the grey hue that pierced into him managed to make him catch his breath. Kremy could feel his eyes on him and did his best to appear poised. His tail flicked, betraying his façade.
“Finally, I thought it was closer.” Kremy strode over to the edge of the stream, kneeling down and unloading his pack by his side. Gideon could have sworn his hands trembled as he reached in to unload the dishes, carefully placing them beside him. The moonlight continued to flatter him, rays shining in a way that almost made him glow. He looked unreal, something that shouldn’t exist. Something too pure to manifest, a stark contrast to the reality of who the man was.
Gideon lowered himself beside him, picked up a plate, and reached into the water. It was cold, almost giving him a shiver. He tried to keep focus on the task before him, but his eyes betrayed him as they wandered to his side. It wasn’t his fault, Kremy was distracting. He stiffened whenever Gideon moved, and his lips pursed as to reframe from the urge to speak. The space between them was thin. Gideon felt comfortable.
Kremy shifted slightly. Not much, but enough to be noticed. It made Gideons heart ache like a fresh bruise. It pushed him to speak.
“So,” Gideon spoke quietly, the stream almost drowning him out. He knew that Kremy could hear him. “You gonna tell me why you’ve been actin’ so weird around me?”
Kremy froze. The stream kept rushing, a stark contrast to the rest of the world becoming still. His hands gripped tightly around the dish he held under the water. His breath was caught. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All he could do was keep his eyes on the task he was now pretending to perform.
“What?” He swallowed hard, choking down the word.
“You heard me.” Gideon did not speak in anger. His voice was honest and confused. “Ever since the carnival, you’ve been avoidin’ me like I’m some kind of fey curse.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.” Gideon’s looked towards Kremy, his eyes still unmoving from the stream. “Dammit, Kremy, what did I do?”
“Nothing.” His response was too quick, rehearsed, as if he expected this to come. He took the dish out of the water and shook it, harder than necessary to dry. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gideon stared at him, the hurt readable and palpable on his face. He had never been good at reading people or their intentions, but he knew Kremy. “You really lyin’ to me Kremy? To my face?”
Kremy didn’t dare to meet his gaze. He knew that if he met his eyes the façade would crack. He wasn’t ready, not to confess the truth of his coldness, not for whatever may follow afterwards. It was too big of a stake. A gamble he, for once, was not willing to take.
“Nothing is wrong Gid,” His voice strained. “We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
Gideon reached out so quickly it read as a reflex. His finger’s closed around Kremy’s wrist, causing the gator to gasp, jolt with shock, and instinctively whip his head to him. Their gazes met. The intensity of Gideon’s stare, the purse on his lips from his emotion, the heat that seemed to envelop the skin touched by his palm. It made Kremy weak.
“Kremy,” Gidon pleaded, “please.”
And for a moment, Gideon could see him again. He could see the Kremy that he knew, the one that lit up at the idea of a good con, the one that delighted in culinary creation, the one that smiled so earnestly at the sight of him. For a moment - in his grey, colorless eyes - he saw him.
And then he blinked, and Kremy hid once more.
Gideon continued to speak in the absence of a reply, “Just tell me what I did. Whatever it is I… I can fix it.” He could only assume the worst. Assume that it was so horrible and so unforgivable that it couldn’t even be said. But he had to try to reconcile. He had to.
“Don’t…” Kremy’s chest felt tight. “Gid, please don’t…”
“I just want to go back to being us.”
“Stop it.” Kremy tried to tug his arm back, tried to escape, to run. Gideon refused to let him, pulling him forward in such a way that his only choice was to move towards him. His response wasn’t good enough.
“I’m trying to understand,” his tone was low, assertive but not demanding. “Ever since the carnival, you’ve been different. You’ve changed.”
Gideon’s words lit a spark in his chest. Not of passion or care, but of anger. Frustration that something so plain could be misconstrued so horribly.
“I’ve changed?” He finally had the confidence to look up to glare at the man that held him captive. “Of course I’ve changed, we’ve changed Gid! Us, our relationship, its different now. The wedding changed that.”
“Our relationship ain’t different!” Gideon protested. “Nothin’s different! You and I are still friends and partners; just because we said a few vows doesn’t mean we have to change.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem Gid!” Kremy snapped. “Maybe we do have to changed, and maybe you’re just acting too stupid to realize it!”
The silence was loud. Kremy’s hand shook noticeably in Gideon’s grasp. The rise and fall of his chest were as shallow as his breath. It was a reaction fueled by guilt, tended to by the face of shock in front of him. Gideon swallowed hard, eyes wide and unmoving. This had never happened to him before; never had someone he cared for yelling at him like that. His hand started to slip from Kremy’s wrist.
“You don’t mean that Kremy.” Gideon choked.
Kremy didn’t move. Even with the opportunity to back away, even with the guilt of what he had said lingering in his chest, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He felt like a monster using sharp words and harsh actions against someone he cared so much for, but he couldn’t help but delight in Gideon’s pleading for his attention. He knew he was horrible, and if Gideon knew of his inner thoughts, he would think so too.
Gideon regained his composure. He was determined to get answers. He never back down before, and he wouldn’t do so now just because it was Kremy. His grip tightened once more around the lizardfolks slim wrist.
“Kremy,” Gideon’s gaze was soft, open. “I’m tryin’ to understand.”
“Just drop it, Gid.” Kremy couldn’t take it much more. It put him on edge to hear his name come from Gideon. It made him melt when Gideon held him so tightly.
“Look at me.” Gideon wasn’t asking, Kremy didn’t care. He refused to move. “Kremy, look at me.”
“Stop it. Stop being so oblivious. Stop saying my name. Stop making me feel like this.” Kremy wasn’t sure who he was speaking to anymore. His breath trembled, eyes still unmoving.
“I ain’t gonna stop until you look at me and tell me the truth.” He gave Kremy a tug on the wrist he held. “What has changed? What can I do? Tell me!”
Frustration built in Gideon once more. The embers in his hair were burning harshly in tune with his emotions. This close, even with his gaze down, he could see Kremy more clearly, and he could tell he was on the verge of cracking. But Kremy never let himself get backed into a corner without an ace up his sleeve.
He opened his mouth to speak. “Gid,” his eyes flicked up, “Would you kindly-“
Kremy had no chance to finish that sentence. With dexterity, Gideon gripped Kremy’s face, pinching at both sides of his face with his hands, fingers pressed into his cheeks. Not rough enough to hurt, but enough to stop his words. Kremy’s breath caught at his throat.
“You know I like when you tell me what to do,” Gideon spoke in a hush. “But not this time. Just spill it Kremy.
Kremy felt shaky in Gideon’s grasp. The words he spoke lit a spark in his chest. His fingers felt native to his skin and almost tickled as they pressed against his scales. His skin was more tender on his face, more sensitive, and rawer. He continued to avoid his eyes.
“You and I are supposed to be a team! Partners in crime, an iconic duo. You should be able to tell me anything, hell, you’re supposed to! You’re my best friend.”
“That’s just it, Gid,” Kremy squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating a reaction he was not ready for. “We’re supposed to be best friends. But that isn’t what it feels like anymore. That isn’t what this is to me.”
Gideon’s chest tightened. “What?”
Kremy took a deep breath, trying to convince himself to speak, to believe that everything would be okay. He wasn’t fooling anyone. “You’re telling me you haven’t felt anything change? Nothing about us feels different to you?”
“No!” Gideon was shouting at this point, his voice cracking at the shock of Kremy’s statements. “Kremy I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just tell me what to do to fix it”
Gideon didn’t cry. Didn’t pout, didn’t whimper, didn’t sniffle. He was scared, yes, but more than that he was determined. He wanted things to be better. He wanted to go back to the way things were. His hands trembled slightly as he held Kremy’s face in place, fearing that if he were to let go, he would lose him. He wasn’t ready to mourn the loss of this relationship.
Kremy reached up, placing his semi-steady hand over Gideons. He could feel it in his shakes. The uncertainty, the worry, the fear. It only dawned on him now that he wasn’t the only person affected by his emotions. How selfish of him to think that he was the only one suffering in this.
“Gid… I don’t think you’re understanding.” Kremy traced circles around the back of Gideon’s hand with his thumb. He still couldn’t look at him.
“Then explain it to me.”
Kremy took a deep breath, pulling the truth out from deep within him in this breath. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me. At the things I’ve been thinking, the things I’ve been feeling. The things I believe to be true, about us.”
Gideon listened attentively. His hands slid from Kremy’s face into his own lap. He watched the gator, in detail, as he spoke.
“I… I want something. Something that I shouldn’t, something I can’t.” Kremy swallowed hard. “And I’ve been terrified you knew.”
Gideon said nothing, leaning closer to him. Kremy’s voice was quiet as he spoke, as if he feared that any louder pitch would reveal the fear in his voice.
“Something changed at the altar. Something inside me. I felt… longing. Desire. Like something I’d been starving for finally made sense. I want you…” He paused, surprised by how forward his words sounded. “I want us to be more than friends.”
“We are, Kremy.” Gideon smiled. He had no idea what that did to Kremy. “You’re my best friend.”
“No, Gid. I feel different than that.” Kremy took a moment to search for his words. “I want us to take care of each other.”
“I thought we did that.”
“Well, yes, but I mean I want us to do that for each other for a long time.”
“I do too.” Gideon’s brows furrowed.
“No, Gid, I want us together all the time. I think about it constantly, even when you’re not around.”
“So do I. Kremy, what are you talking about?”
“Gid don’t make me “say it” say it!” Kremy squeezed his eyes shut once more. He could feel the heat forming under his skin, and he knew that if he could look pink, he would.
“How the hell else am I supposed to know what you’re saying?” Irritate rose in him again, and he placed his hands on Kremy’s shoulders. He held him firmly; he had gotten so close to the truth, and he wouldn’t let Kremy get away now. “You know I don’t know these things unless you tell me. Just say it in common!”
Kremy felt the dam inside him crack, and everything began pouring out of him.
“Damn it, Gid! I imagine us together! Like, “together” together? Every quiet moment, every spare second, all I can think about is you. I picture how far we’ve come from when we first found each other and how much we’ve grown together since. I picture the late nights we spent together, the two of us, drinking and scheming. I think about how openly yourself you became when drunk on cheap whisky,”
The words flowed like the stream beside them. Quickly and unstopping. Even if he wanted to, the wall that held his inner thoughts had broken when Gideon laid his hands on his shoulders. His eyes were still shut as he continued.
“I think about how irritated I’d get when you’d place a drink on top of the papers I was working on. And how you would lean close, so close, and I could smell half the bottle on your clothes and beard.”
He paused and chuckled the words that came to mind. “You’d grab me out of my chair I barely had time to grab my drink.”
It was a memory that both knew well, and an activity they’d often partake in together. The two would drink the night away, whether it be after a bad day, a good score, or just for the hell of it. Gideon would always partake too much. He couldn’t help it, the way it made his body feel loose, the tingle he had at the tips of his fingers, the heat that enveloped him. Everything a drink gave felt right, and even more so when shared with his partner. And, as Kremy said, when he drank, he was wholeheartedly himself.
His bloated heart was sore, throbbing from the pain of expelling all his emotion at once.
“I think about how after a long day we would dance, and how free I felt to have the luxury of doing so.” Kremy could so easily picture how Gideons strode across the room, hips swaying without worry or care, only one suspender on correctly while the other hung from the hem of his jeans. He tried to ignore him, focus on his work, their success and future, only to be distracted by the scratch of a record and draw to the allure of a tune. He couldn’t help but succumb to the call, loosening his tie, a drink in one hand and the Genasi in the other. He fell into Gideons embrace, laughing and gliding along the floor with him. They would get drunk on whisky and song, laughing at the good times and the bad. Kremy would feel butterflies in his stomach at every turn and hope they took together. Gideon’s always kept a hand pressed firmly on Kremy’s lower back as he dipped and tossed him. On occasion, when Gideon had a bit too much to drink, Kremy could feel his palms slide lower. The gator’s breath would catch as he gave him a light smack on the shoulder. He’d ultimately correct himself, but not before testing the waters a bit too closely by resting his hands low on Kremy’s hips for a moment. He knew he shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t revel in his desires. They were drunk and he couldn’t trust the honesty of Gideon’s actions. But he would shiver under his touch and would wonder what would happen if he didn’t always stop Gideon from continuing.
Kremy stared at the palms of his hand, now resting in his own lap. His throat felt raw, sliced and torn by the truth. He spoke again, barely whispering. “I think about you, Gid, and I can’t stop myself from doing it.”
The rushing stream was the only sound in the clearing, sharp, piercing the silence shared between the two men. Kremy was too scared to look up, too scared to face the reality of the situation. He could only imagine the look on Gideons face. The shock, the disappointment. He wished to hide in his shadow, forever cloaked in darkness, undetectable by anyone.
The sound of Gideon’s voice was loud enough that Kremy could hear it over the hammering of his heartbeat. “I still don’t know how this changes anything.”
Kremy’s eye widened as his head snapped to look at him. “What?”
The look on Gideon’s face was not one of shock, of disappointment, not even indifference. Gideon had a pure look of earnest confusion. His brows came inward ever so slightly, head tilted slightly to the side. Big eyes stared back at Kremy, softly blinking and searching, as if he was still lying about the ordeal. It was as if what he had said was so… obvious. So silly. So dramatic.
“I thought we both felt like that anyways.” Gideon let out a laugh, an honest, teasing laugh. It fueled the fire that had begun in the pit of Kremy’s stomach. “I figured that’s just what best friends did.”
In a flash, Kremy moved. Something took over him, embarrassment, anger, it was hard to say. Whatever it was, it was packed behind the shove he landed on Gideon’s shoulder. Surprised, Gideon lost his center of gravity and began tumbling towards the stream. In panic he reached out trying to grab what he could, catching onto Kremy’s outstretched arm. In a moment, the two splashed into the shallow stream. Gideon fell, unable to catch himself in time and landing flat on his back. The cold shot up his body as he lay on the smooth bed at the bottom.
Kremy landed on top of him, straddling his lap, fists clenching his suspenders as he hoisted Gideon up to face him. Gideon took the opportunity to prop up his arms under him, making no clear attempt to push Kremy away.
“What in the hells was that for?” Even in shallow waters, the splash had gotten Gideon soaked. The embers in his hair hissed as steam danced into the night.
“Best friends don’t think about that stuff, dummy!” Kremy snapped. “Couples think that stuff! Lovers! Sweethearts! Lovebirds! These fantasies ain’t reality!”
“I thought they were real!” Gideon blinked up at him. “We did all those things, didn’t we? Don’t that make it real?”
For the first time all night, Kremy looked at him. Really looked at him. He analyzed every word of his sentence, looking for lies, deceit, pity, anything. But there was nothing. It had the cadence of something purely naïve, something so innocent and honest that he feared that if he were to breathe too hard it would break.
His fingers slowly slipped from Gideon’s suspenders, and he placed his palms flat on his chest. This entire time he had been scared. Scared of losing what they had built together. Scared that a confession would unravel everything they had ever done. He couldn’t let a silly crush jeopardize what they already had. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth losing Gideon.
“You make it sound so easy.” Kremy whispered. “You make everything easy.”
“It is easy,” Gideons hands slid up to Kremy’s hips, holding him, telling him that what he said would not drive him away. “at least, it’s easy for me.”
Gideon took in the man that sat on top of him, tracing the lines of his silhouette carved out by moonlight with his gaze. Kremy was slim in comparison to him, the damp silk of his shirt clinging to him, leaving nothing to be imagined. The fabric hugged the natural curves of his waist, his whole form flowing in a way that made his outline feel seamless. Even soaked and disheveled, he radiated elegance. The poise that had abandoned him slowly returned to his posture. He looked regal. Every small movement he made was subtle yet demanded Gideon’s attention. He had no choice but to oblige, tracing over every part of him. It did well to soothe the ache inflicted by Kremy’s absence.
Kremy was not the only one being observed. The gator was quick to realize the reality of the position he was in and instinctively felt the need to put space between the two. Everything that had transpired, all his doubts, they screamed at him to move. But he hesitated, and for a moment, he allowed himself to look.
Gideon laid beneath him, soaked through. His shirt needed no additional help hugging his form, but the water turned it into a second skin, outlining the broad shape of his chest. Dark hairs clung to his breast, rising and falling with each steady breath. He was carved like stone, his presence powerful and imposing. But not at this moment. Not while he held onto Kremy with such care and attentiveness.
His eyes caught the glint of his shackles, the same that rubbed raw marks into his skin. You could catch glimpses of them peaking out from behind the metal. They were old, persistent burns, so etched in that they were less of an injury and more of a tattoo. It was these things that drew him to Gideon, made him fight against his instinct to flee. He wanted to stay, frozen in time at this exact moment, in this stream, where his insecurities and fears were washed away.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Kremy sheepishly brushed off Gideon’s shoulder.
“Well, I mean, I was kinda pissed you were avoidin’ me for so long.” Gideon chuckled. “But, can’t say that I’m too mad, especially now considering the position I’ve found myself in.”
“Gid.” Kremy gave a warning.
“What?” Gideon gave a slight squeeze at his hips. He leaned forward, their faces inches away. “I told you I think about that stuff too, didn’t I? Those late-night dances, the soft touches and presses. Shit, Kremy, you don’t need to be so coy around-“
Kremy slinked his arms around Gideon and pulled him in. It was quick, sudden, and tight. Their chests pressed firmly against one another, Kremy’s fingers hooked into the fabric on Gideon’s back. He could feel Kremy’s breath shake against the crook of his neck as he buried himself in him. His eyes were squeezed shut, searching for that closeness he had neglected for so long. He didn’t care that he was wet, didn’t care that they were stuck in the Feywild running from a debt that could take them both. Right now, he was here, he was safe, and he was with Gideon.
Gideon didn’t hesitate to return his embrace. It was rare to see Kremy so vulnerable. No disguise, no tricks, just a man from Agwé looking for something bigger than himself. Gideon’s arms wrapped around him like a blanket. His palms pressed into his back; his chin rested on his shoulder. He felt Kremy relaxed in him, finally letting go of every doubt, every worry. He didn’t say anything. Kremy didn’t need him to.
The night was still as they sat there. Moonlight twinkled on every ripple of water. The breeze was cool and calming, sending a shiver down both mans spines. Without a word, Gideon moved his arms to cradle the gator. In one swift movement he stood, carried Kremy out of the water, and sat with him under one of the imposing trees.
“Let me warm us up, I’ll keep us safe until you’re ready to go back.”
Kremy didn’t respond to his promise, shifting in his grasp, his arms still wrapped tightly around him.
“You… you like when I tell you what to do?”
Gideon smiled, the heat of his body returning to him and the embers in his hair alighting once more.
“Yeah, I do.”
And he could feel it tucked into his neck. For the first time in a long time, Kremy smiled.
“I’ll remember that.”