“Come on, stubborn boy,” he says, getting to his knees and helping me up. “Back to the house.”
The rain drops insistently on his open sketch pad, and I shove my T-shirt over it until I can find his bag and slide the sketches inside. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him draw like this—for fun, for color and light and all the things he used to care about until architecture school ironed it out of him—and I can’t bear to see his work ruined, not even a little bit.
Auden steps next to me, holding out his hand. He’s dressed now, but his hair is hopeless. “Thank you,” he says softly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Here.”
He takes my T-shirt from my hands, and I shouldn’t let him, I shouldn’t indulge in this one last thing, but I do. He guides the shirt over my head and helps me i
