Simon woke up impressively silently, not much noise at all; he lay in Ben’s arms without stirring, contemplative. Ben fought back the knives of anxiety, not wholly successfully but mostly so. Simon, who was incredible and perfect in every way, adjusted an arm and managed to stab an elbow into Ben’s ribs.
“Ow,” Ben said obligingly, holding on tighter.
“Sorry,” Simon said, awake and peaceful about the clumsiness. “My elbows adore you. Ben?”
“I adore your elbows. Even when you’re made of them. I adore all of you. What do you need?”
“Only you. And more tea, in a moment. And proper breakfast. Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, you know you can, you can always ask.” He rubbed Simon’s back more. Was that a concern? Did Simon not feel secure enough to ask? “You want a reminder? It’s a rul
