Page 68 of Wear It Like a Crown

Leo gave a hollow laugh that shuddered down the length of his back. “You’ve only ever had sex with Mo.”

Joshua didn’t reply. When Leo glanced over, a quick, stolen look from the corner of his eye, he found Joshua staring at him.

Another breath. Leo gathered his composure around him like a leaden cloak, and somehow, he managed to meet Joshua’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think—this doesn’t have to be awkward, right? You and Mo have been doing this for ages.”

“You’re not Mo,” Joshua snapped, the first hint of irritation in his voice. Leo should be glad for it. If Joshua was angry, it would be so much easier to put an end to this before it could spiral out of control.

Beforeit could spiral out of control? Christ, it was too bloody late for that; Leo had lost control the moment he’d kissed Joshua. This was the aftermath of his personal apocalypse.

“I know I’m not Mo.” Tea. There was tea, and Leo was meant to be pouring it. He continued evenly. “I just meant that sex doesn’t have to fuck up a friendship, right? We’re still friends.”

“Are we?” Irritation had thickened in Joshua’s voice. “Are we friends when you won’t tell meanything? You’re so… How do you bloody live like that, with all these walls?”

It felt like a punch to the throat, and Leo exhaled around the impact.

Grabbing one of the cups he offered it to Joshua, and their fingers brushed over the porcelain as Joshua went to accept it. It seemed like an automatic reaction, and afterwards, Joshua stood in the middle of the kitchen with both hands clutching the dainty cup, blinking at Leo before he swallowed and turned away. Leo allowed himself one second, one tiny, insignificant second of memorising the line of Joshua’s back, the gentle swell of his bum.

Then Leo picked up his own cup and took a sip. The liquid was too hot, almost burned his tongue. He focused on the bitter taste of herbs rather than the sour bile that sat at the back of his throat. This was bloody awful, and Leo needed to saysomething, offer some small measure of truth.

“I had a crush on you. When I was a teenager.” It was out before he had a chance to think better of it. There was no way but down. “And that was confusing as hell at first, and I took it out on you more than I should have. But now I just… You’re…”Everything. “Last night wasbrilliant, all right? But there’s not—we just can’t. It would never work.”

Not a lie. Not quite the truth either. Leo felt the sour taste rise, and he washed it down with another mouthful of tea that burned behind his sternum.

Joshua set his cup down with a clank, tea sloshing over the rim. “So you used me?” he asked sharply. “Like, living out some teenage fantasy, getting it out of your system, and now you’re just—fuck.” His chest rose on a deep breath, and wait, what?

What?

Before Leo could interrupt, Joshua rolled his shoulders back, voice rising. “Well, okay, fuck you. I thought that you were—I thought you were different. Thatthiswas different, like, I thought you sawme. But you’re just like everyone else. Aren’t you?”

“Joshua,” Leo began, and then he didn’t know how to continue. How the fuck could he set things right without exposing all of himself? His heart was trying to claw a way past his ribs.

“I want you to leave,” Joshua said, fierce and rough.

So. Okay then.

Leo’s entire body shrunk down to skin and bones. With Joshua’s words clanging around his skull like skeletons rattling their chains, Leo put down his cup, turned away and moved towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Joshua snapped from behind him.

“Grabbing my things. I can’t very well leave like this.” Each word scraped against the inside of Leo’s throat, leaving a raw, bloody mess in its wake.

Joshua made no attempt to stop Leo. He didn’t follow either.

One step, another. And another. Leo glanced around Joshua’s bedroom—the sheets they’d messed up last night, Joshua’s jeans a crumpled heap on the floor, tangled up with Leo’s own. His hands shook when he bent to pick them up. He pulled them on, then scooped up his T-shirt.

He should change into it. He had no right to keep Joshua’s shirt, had no right toanythingthat belonged to Joshua.

Leo didn’t change. Patting his pockets for his keys and his wallet, he kicked his own T-shirt under the bed and left the room, moved past thekitchen and hoped that Joshua would call out—but Joshua didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

When Leo stepped out into the stairway and shut the door, it sounded like the lock of a prison cell clicking into place.

* * *

The moment the door closed, Joshua sagged into a chair. He felt cold all over, ice running through his veins. Anger buzzed under his skin, but it evaporated within seconds, made room for something bleak and heavy, a nauseating pressure that originated in his chest and radiated outwards.

Leo’s tea still sat on the work surface. The scent turned Joshua’s stomach.

He clambered to his feet and went back to his bedroom. Everything smelled like sex and sweat, disgusting and dirty, and he started by pulling the sheets off the bed and throwing them in the wash along with last night’s clothes. His shirt wasn’t there; Leo must have taken it.