Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

felt, I couldn't be starting a relationship with him without his consent, and that meant awake . So ruffling his hair, touching his face, all those things I'd had to drag myself away from doing— needed to still not be done. Next time I went down there, I needed to remember that. No matter how he looked in my Cookie Monster T-shirt. Really, I needed not to think about how much I liked how he looked in my shirt, so I thought about everything I needed to do with my Saturday instead, and that exhausted me enough I finally slept.
    The next time I went downstairs, Midas' tail thumped under the TV. Javert slithered out of the settee. Twiggy's tail swished on the floor, but her head didn't move from where it lay under Alan's hand. I woke him up and asked questions I knew the answers to, and let him go back to sleep when he'd given me correct, curse-filled answers. I started back upstairs, decided screw it, remembered my phone was upstairs, and went and got it, my pillow, and my comforter. I made a bed on the floor across the coffee table from Twiggy and fell asleep listening to Alan breathe.
    When I woke the next time, Twiggy had managed to squeeze onto the couch beside Alan, and my foot was numb because Midas was sleeping on it. Nothing like an eighty-pound enthusiast who thinks he's a lapdog… I crawled over to wake Alan up.
    "Lukas," he said before I asked a question, "I swear to God and little green apples I will strangle you if you wake me up one more time."
    "Good to know," I told him, and crawled back to my makeshift bed.
    I didn't have to risk strangulation an hour later. I woke to Alan cursing, trying to get out from under Twiggy who had decided he made a better bed than the couch did. He knew where he was and who she was— and was annoyed, not frightened— so I let him handle it, reset my phone and went back to sleep.
    Lilia saved me from strangulation the next time, when she came into the room and snapped at Javert to get off the settee. Alan and I both jerked awake, and Lilia cursed.
    "Sorry, boys, I— Alan Lacroix, what happened to you and do I need to kick someone?" she demanded.
    "Yes," I told her before Alan could answer. His eye was swollen near-shut and turning a lovely purple. "You and me and we're taking Warhol to rip their kneecaps off," I told Lilia. And maybe some lighter fluid for the remains , I thought but didn't say.
    "Dammit, Lukas—"
    "You were going to tell me anyway, sweet boy." Lilia patted his head. "Go back to sleep."
    "Again?" he muttered, but he lay down and in moments he was out again. It had been a rough night for him.
    For me, too, but I got up and staggered into the bathroom. Saturdays were too precious to be wasted in sleep, no matter how much I wanted it.
    When I'd talked to Lilia and got some work done and fed Alan the promised waffles— he didn't wax poetic like he did over Lilia's cookies but he ate a lot of waffles— I drove him home. Even Lilia couldn't convince him to stay. He grumbled about her attempts the whole way, saying he was fine and he could walk and he didn't need babysitting. I devoted all my wakefulness to the road and let him.
    His apartment building was an ugly concrete layer cake in a not-great neighborhood. He told me to drop him off out front, but I parked the truck.
    "Aww, walking me home after our first date," he said, but his heart wasn't in it.
    "Just… like to see a thing done," I said, which was only part of the reason. Yes, I wanted him safely in his apartment with the door locked even if the odds on anyone bothering him were slim. But I also just wasn't ready to leave him. That feeling, whatever it was, the one all mixed up with everything else in my gut, hadn't gone away any more than his black eye had.
    "Men," he muttered.
    In the lobby Alan hit the button on an elevator. "You can go now," he hinted. The doors opened. He stepped in and I followed. It was empty but for us. He glared, but the bruise diminished the effect. I shrugged and pushed a random button because he didn't.
    "I just… want to talk to you a minute."
    "Really," he said, still glaring. Daring me to say one word, and I didn't know which words he so didn't want to hear. Pity, probably, and I didn't feel that but how to say anything kind without sounding condescending— I wanted to tell him how brilliant, amazing, and brave I thought he was. Instead I kissed him.
    I've heard guys say they couldn't stop themselves, but that's bull. And a bad, dangerous excuse for doing whatever