Chapter 21Henry hovered outside Theo’s door, petrified. He hadn’t been allowed in.
He couldn’t stop pacing. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. His boots wore a line across familiar floorboards, or he imagined they did: step after step, heartbeat upon heartbeat, slamming into his ribs.
Theo unconscious in his arms—Theo limp and unmoving and whiter than the clouds, not stirring when Henry shouted his name—
Theo bleeding, a trickle at his nose and the smudge near his mouth where he’d bitten his lip earlier, enough for red, too much red—
Henry put a hand over his own mouth. Shaking. Sickened. He’d done this. He must’ve. He’d asked Theo for help, and Theo had given it, freely and without hesitation; Theo had said I love you right back when Henry’d babbled it, and now—
He slumped b
