“It might’ve been gratitude, yeah.” Brian appropriated their chipotle ketchup. “The first time. When you picked him up in the rain. But then you told him he was free to go. And he did go, and he came back. To you.”
“He did come back.”
“Yeah, so you know he cares.” This was delivered with lifted and faintly scolding eyebrows, and had the advantage of being true. After that first wonderful dazzling night of freedom and kisses and scorching heat, curled together like destiny in David’s messy bed with pale glowing moonflower vines at the window, Colin had wanted to go home. To see his mother, to know that he could indeed be free.
He’d called from Seattle to say he’d made it. They’d ended up talking every day. Texts. Phone calls. Checking in; finding random cat memes that’d make a shapeshift
