Steam still clung faintly to Elias's skin as he toweled his hair dry, the muted scent of cedar soap rising sharp in the cool air of his room. The shower had been a reprieve, a way to wash off the city's stares and Connor's too-knowing laugh, but the silence that followed pressed heavier than expected.
He tugged an old t-shirt over his head, brushed his teeth with the absent efficiency of routine, and glanced once at his reflection. Damp hair, circles still faint beneath his eyes, suit folded carelessly across the chair. The sort of man who should have been left to sleep alone.
Except when he pushed open the bedroom door, the lamplight was already burning.
Victor lay across the bed like he had every right to it, crimson eyes catching the light as he turned his head lazily toward him.
"You're in my bed," Elias said flatly, though his voice was steadier than he felt.
"True, I'm here to move you into our bedroom." Victor said he was measuring Elias's frame.
"You mean your suite?"
