Chapter 8

Colby tugged a fold of rainbows closer. Tony was more or less the reason he did know some things about kink and dominance and submission and toys; he knew Jason had opinions about dominants who’d possessed very little patience but a lot of prickly annoyance when Colby hadn’t understood or hadn’t liked something. That one wasn’t the worst, though.

He tried not to think about his last birthday. The thoughts snuck in regardless, insidious as demons could be.

Truthfully, that one hadn’t been the ugliest day. Others had been more so.

And now he was here. And Jason was here. And Colby wanted to laugh, or to cry, or to reach out and touch the rain and whisper: I’m alive, I’m happy, I like who I am.

He pulled up both knees and hugged them. He let his cheek rest on a knee, eyes shut: listening to the scattered poetry of raindrops, feeling the texture of the blanket, the firmness of their bed, the presence of his body.