Henry had to laugh. “I’m not his assistant.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”
“I’m not. I’m…” He did not have words: that was real honest kindness, and it helped, the way that being here had helped. Remembering himself, and now being reminded about Theo: that Theo also would fight to make things work, when it mattered.
Henry said, meaning it, “Thank you.” And then he said, “Theo—” because he’d felt the magic, felt it before he heard it, felt the soft rustle of penmanship against a creamy page. That didn’t hurt; as he’d said, it was only awareness on his end.
Charlie lifted both eyebrows, waiting.
Theo’s voice said from mid-air, a bit breathless, “Henry?”
This time Henry felt his own eyebrows go up. They’d agreed upon space; for Theo to call him, now, sounding out of breath
