Chapter 2

He knew Justin had chosen to stay human for him, at least in part. He knew Justin loved him

He did not quite know how to think about that size of sacrifice; and so he also never quite knew what to say. I love you? Thank you? Please don’t leave me? Please be what you need to be, please never be anything less, because of me? Please always smile at me just like that, always or at least one more time…

I love you, he thought now, as loudly as he could. He knew Justin would hear it, would feel it, carried on weightless empathic very human magical talent.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said, to their joined hands and to the bed.

“Nah, ‘sall good.” Kris swung their hands a little. “We’ve had that mattress ages anyway, right?”

“I could’ve hurt you. I could’ve seriously—”

“But you didn’t.”

“But—”

“Love. Listen. Yeah, things caught fire a little bit, but you saved me, didn’t you? First thing you did, protecting me. You always do.”

Justin still didn’t look happy. Kris lifted his hand, kissed the back of it. “A few weeks, they said. It’ll get more stable. We’ll manage.”

“It won’t ever go away completely.”

“No,” Kris said. That was true. “But you’ll be closer to where you used to be. Leveling out. It’ll learn. And we’ll learn. And maybe not push you too much. Maybe I just don’t do that thing with my tongue, for a while…”

“I likethat thing with your tongue,” Justin grumbled. “Are you sureyou’re okay? I can feel your bruises.”

“It’s fine, I’ve felt worse after a really good night on tour. Ask Reggie about Reading sometime. No, never mind, don’t, he’ll tell you.”

Justin, who was by now distressingly good friends with Kris’s former bass player, laughed more. This amusement sounded more real. “He has, if it’s the same story I’m thinking of. Impressive stamina, and that’s me saying it. You’re really okay with this?”

“I’m fine with you knowing all my stories, love.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Kris scooted over, avoiding soot; he put an arm around Justin, who after a second relaxed enough to lean against him. “And it’s kind of the same thing, right? You’ve heard it all, everything we got up to, the worst things we ever did on a tour bus or that hotel we got kicked out of in Edinburgh…”

“Which time?”

“Yeah, my point,” Kris said, much happier now that Justin was being sarcastic at him, and wondering when Reg had had time to share thatone, “was, you’re still here. So, so am I. Set whatever you want on fire, it’s all good.”

“I might be able to fix the bed,” Justin said. “I have…a lot of power, right now. Right under my skin, sort of. Running around. I could use some of it up.”

“If you want. If not, we can do some shopping. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I can, I think.” Justin sat up more, turned that way, set a hand on the ruin of mattress and sheets. His touch was gentle, apologetic. “Here…”

Very very quietly, without fanfare, fire-lines slid out of his hand, across the bed; the world wove itself back together, put itself to rights, repaired and cleansed by flame. Justin’s eyes were shut; Kris knew he needed a mental picture for something like this, a memory, a sort of sensory instruction manual for reconstruction.

The night tasted of brimstone and nutmeg and caramelized cream. Justin opened his eyes; he touched their bed again, over spotless dark blue satin sheets and unscorched mattress firmness. It was another apology, a promise, Kris understood.

He said, “How’re you feeling?”

“Better, actually.” Justin said this with some surprise, and glanced from the bed to Kris, eyebrows up. “Something felt…right about using it. Not in the scary way, I mean, like losing control. More like…it doesn’t mind being domestic. Our bed’s a very human thing, and it’s something I want, something I asked for, and…I don’t know.”

“Like your magic wants to be useful.” Kris caught his shoulder, nudged him back down; they ended up curled together in the restored expanse of bed, which cradled them without resentment and with compassion. “Like it’s part of you, and it wants what you want, so if you want to be doing morehuman things, home furniture repair or, um, heating up a kettle, or something…”

“It’ll learn to do that.” Justin’s arm tightened around Kris’s waist. Their legs tangled; Kris’s body reacted, full of bruises and adrenaline, having the man he loved pressed so closely against him. He noticed a minor streak of black on the ceiling; he didn’t mention it.

Justin went on, “You think it’ll work? Like…a sort of compromise?”

“Might be something to think about?” He ran a hand through the flames of Justin’s hair; they weren’t hot anymore. They normally weren’t, only pleasantly warm and tingly.

“Maybe,” Justin said, “maybe,” and then, entertained, “Heating up your teakettle? Really?”

“Hey, you might as well use it.”

“Fine. If you make coffee for me. Anddo that thing with your tongue again.”

“Could do that part right now, if you’re feeling up for it.”

“You really do trust me,” Justin said. “I promise I’ll try not to set you on fire.” His eyes said more, written in shimmers of ruby and spice, dark cocoa and deep tawny amber. They answered: thank you for that, thank you and I love you, thank you for seeing me and wanting me and not running away from old tales of demons and monsters, thank you and I want you too, right here and now.

“Sounds like a plan,” Kris agreed, and bent to kiss him, as the bed and sheets and pillows cheered them on.