Why the hell was he wide-awake at 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday? Right. Theo had blown Kieran right into a mellow glow and then fed him bacon so that he crawled into bed to drool into his pillow by nine like a geriatric. His life was kind of awesome. Right now most guys his age were probably shoving whatever desperate hookup they’d made at closing time out the door. Kieran was tucked under a fluffy duvet that had cost more than two months’ rent at his old place, next to the guy who’d bought it, not to show off, but because Theo had shown Kieran a couple that matched the color scheme, and Kieran had said, “I like that one,” without looking at the price. It wasn’t that Kieran didn’t know how fucking lucky he was. Theo’s condo was a Manhattan palace, and while Theo might get a little obsessed about balancing color in the throw pillows, it was comfortable and didn’t feel like living in a modern art museum. And if roles were reversed and Theo had had no place to go and had moved in with Kieran last August, he knew Theo would have made even that shitty little hole look good and feel comfortable.
