Most of the dream was a blur now. It had probably made sense in the moment, but was now just abstract nonsense he couldn’t quite piece together. The only exception was the last few moments, and the one that had finally jarred him into panicked consciousness.
The hallway had been like it was eighteen months ago. The wall along the left side was bare, where in the present there was a painting. And the door on the right, the one that was always closed now except when the cleaner came, was ajar. He couldn’t hear the machinery, couldn’t smell the antiseptics, but he knew what he’d see when he pushed that door open.
Then the door had opened all the way, and it wasn’t Emily or Mike or one of Andrew’s caretakers.
Brandon.
Pale. Unshaven. Dark circles under his eyes. Shoulders slumped under a weight no one his age should be carrying. He stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Eyes closed, he rubbed his forehead and took a few long, slow breaths.
And then he’d continued down the hall like Frank wasn’t even there.
Lying here now, in the present, with his arm over Brandon and listening to the soft, gentle breathing, Frank wondered who he would have seen in the dream if he’d stayed in it long enough to go through the doorway.
In spite of his fatigue, Frank lay awake for a good long time, replaying that scene over and over in his mind and wondering if it was his subconscious fucking with him, or if there were lines he needed to read between. Finally, though, sleep took over.
And mercifully, he didn’t dream this time.
When Frank awoke again, the bed was empty. He sat up, looking around. Then the sound of the shower in the next room put the pieces together. He felt ridiculous, being so relieved that Brandon was still here. Wasn’t like the kid was going to slip out through a window in the middle of the night.
A few minutes later, Brandon came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Frank rubbed his face. “Sleep well?”
“Very.” Brandon smiled. Though Frank’s temples throbbed dully, Brandon didn’t show a single sign of a hangover. Brat.
Brandon ran a hand through his spiky wet hair. “I have to bail on breakfast.”
“Oh?” Frank tried not to let his disappointment show. “So soon?”
“Yeah.” Brandon picked up his shirt. “I almost forgot until my cell phone reminder went off. I’m supposed to go look at a new flat this afternoon.”
“You’re moving?”
“Downsizing.” Brandon slipped into his shirt. “Trying to save some money, and the place I’ve got is going to suck me dry.”
And here I am with five bedrooms, three of which I’m not even using.
“Central London? Most people share flats. You could get a couple people in to share the rent.”
“Not on my hours. That wouldn’t be fair on housemates with like, nine-to-fives, me coming and going when I do.”
“Fair enough.” Frank swung out of bed and cracked his neck. He was shattered, but that was nothing a few hours in the gym couldn’t take care of. “I think Nick’s going to rent out his studio up in Angel. That way, you wouldn’t have to pay an estate agent or any number of middlemen.”
“Nick? The famous Nick?”
“Yeah. He moved in with his partner, last thing I heard.”
And you could move in with me.
“Do you have his phone number? I mean, in case that flat I’m seeing isn’t habitable.”
“Sure.” Frank picked up his trousers and fished his phone from the pocket. “I’ll text it.” He forwarded Nick’s contact details to Brandon. A few moments later, Brandon’s phone buzzed.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Look, I’d . . .” Hallway. Brandon looking horribly broken and sad. “Don’t commit to too long a lease. I’m not . . . ready.”
“What?” Brandon frowned. “Oh. No. No, Frank, that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m just saying. I don’t want to take over your life and everything.” Like some needy arsehole.
“It’s no big deal. At the start, moving too fast . . .” He shrugged. “Besides, I still have those crazy hours, and I’d need something closer to the club, anyway.”
Not if you quit.
Needy arsehole again.
“Call Nick and meet up with him about that studio if this one doesn’t work out.”
Brandon held up his mobile as if to remind Frank he had the info. “I will. Thanks.”
Frank showered, dressed, and filled a couple of travel mugs with coffee so they could get on the road. Brandon tried to insist on taking the bus, but Frank needed to run a few errands himself before he went to the gym.
Conversation stayed light. Brandon was well rested and in a good mood, which rubbed off on Frank, but Frank still couldn’t shake the cold, prickly feeling that had taken up residence along the length of his spine. At every red light, he stole a glance at Brandon to make sure he was still this Brandon and not the one he’d seen in the middle of the night. Brandon was unshaven, yes, his hair a little mussed because he’d only given it a cursory once-over with his fingers before they’d left, but he was well enough. Certainly oblivious to how exhausted and beaten down he’d been in Frank’s dream.