Liam rolled away and slid off the bed, disappearing from the room before Zac could protest. Zac mourned the loss of his soothing weight warming his bones. He’d never much cared for men lying on top of him in any context, but with Liam, it was okay. More than that. With Liam, it was so fucking perfect it frightened him.

In an effort to distract himself from the odd brooding mood he’d woken up with, he got up and searched out his phone. It was dead, and he’d forgotten his charger. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like anyone he truly wanted to speak to ever called. He shoved the phone back in his bag and drifted to the bathroom that was bigger than his bedroom. He took a piss and splashed water on his face, trying not to smirk at the shower where they’d had so much fun the night before. Fun that, despite being the one to initiate it, had caught Zac off guard. In truth, he’d tracked Liam to the bathroom because he’d woken alone in a dark, strange room and panicked, which had led him into Liam’s arms, if getting bent over in the shower counted as a rescuing embrace.

“You okay?”

Zac spun around. Liam stood in the doorway balancing a couple of plates in one hand. “I’m good. What you got there?”

“Croissants. I found them in the freezer.” Liam ventured further into the room and set the plates down, producing a jam jar from under his arm. “Fuck knows how long they’ve been there, but this hasn’t been opened, and it’s in date.”

“Winner.” Zac was suddenly ravenous. He followed Liam’s example and crawled back into bed, accepting a plate loaded with warm pastries. Liam served him a big dollop of some weird kind of orange jam, and for a while they ate in companionable silence. Then Liam switched on the TV, flipping to the news channel, and Zac saw the time. “Fuck. It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Got somewhere to be?”

“No . . .”

“Ah, I see. Have I run out of credit?”

It hadn’t occurred to Zac to watch the clock. He usually had an alarm on his phone that he pretended was his driver calling to pick him up, so johns wouldn’t know he was alone, but, like the first night they’d met, Zac had forgotten about the need for caution. “I guess I should get going soon.”

Liam said nothing. Zac swallowed the last of his breakfast and tried to pretend he wasn’t hanging out for Liam to ask him to stay, like the idea of pulling his clothes on and trudging home didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

He’ll want to fuck me again, though, won’t he? But Liam made no move to tug Zac back into bed. Instead, he watched Zac dress with an inscrutable gaze, then got up himself and pulled his own clothes on. “Will you be okay getting home?”

“Hmm?” Zac glanced up from stamping into his tatty trainers. “Oh . . . yeah. I bought a return ticket.”

“From King’s Cross?”

“No, from Liverpool Street.” Silence. Zac wondered if Liam could hear the thud of his pounding heart. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Liam shrugged. “Just seems a bit weird to be heading in the same direction on different paths. And I feel a bit bad for dragging you all the way here, especially when we didn’t leave the flat. I probably shoulda taken you out for dinner or some shit.”

“I’m a whore, not an escort.”

Zac pushed past Liam and headed for the door. Liam followed and shoved his way in front of him, blocking him again. “Will you stop calling yourself a fucking whore?”

It was the first time he’d raised his voice in anything other than coming like a train. Zac stopped short, though he couldn’t contain his anger. “Why? For your benefit? Fuck that. Don’t try and make me something I’m not to make yourself feel better.”

“Make myself— What the fuck?” Liam’s usually kind brown eyes darkened. “I don’t want you to call yourself a whore because I reckon there’s far more to you than that, not because I’m under any delusion that I haven’t paid you to pretend you enjoy fucking me.”

“I do enjoy it.”

“Yeah?” Liam stepped closer, so close Zac could feel the warmth radiating from him. “And does that make you feel like a whore? Do I? Do I treat you like one?”

“No,” Zac said sullenly. “Doesn’t change who I am, though, does it? You can call me what you want. I’m still a fucking hooker.”

“I’m going to call you Zac,” Liam said. “I don’t care if it’s not even your real name, I’m never going to call you a bloody whore.”

It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Zac, but it didn’t change the fact that he had to leave, or that their night together was ending on a strained note. Zac stepped around Liam and put his hand on the solid front door, but something—everything—made him turn and face Liam’s steady gaze. He had no more words, no explanation for yet another emotional shit-storm, so he just grasped Liam’s T-shirt and pulled him closer until their faces were inches apart.

He pressed his lips to the corner of Liam’s mouth with the barest brush of a forbidden kiss. “Thank you for treating me like I matter. I won’t forget it.”