His bare legs were growing chilly. He did not want to move. The storm crooned, a loyal companion; thank you, he answered silently. The sound and camera equipment waited silently too, dark and sleek and compassionate. The bed provided sturdy leaning support.
He murmured, “Of course, you like blueberries and cream, don’t you, I recall which pastry you ate, early on…or was it only that you’d rather I eat the cinnamon one, if I like it…I wonder whether I can make a sort of blueberry-cinnamon fruit crumble? Both at once, as it were. With elderflower sorbet? Or is that too much, do you think?”
He wasn’t expecting a reply; Jason breathed out, though, nearly a laugh. “You? Too much?”
“Oh…well, I can be a bit much, yes…”
“No.” Jason held on more fiercely. “Not what I meant. I meant that you—you
