Those Words I Dread (Tales of the Tuath Dé #1)

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Back at the apartment, Trent sat on the sofa with a textbook open in his lap while Ciaran lounged beside him and watched a soap opera on the television. The fairy had complained for a solid half hour after they got home about a strange smell in the apartment, but he had finally settled down after they opened the balcony doors and let in some fresh air. They managed to pass the afternoon without sniping at each other, and even while Trent cooked dinner, he only gave the fairy a small sigh as he sat at the kitchen island with a large slice of cake and a glass of milk.

Ciaran opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped when Trent’s cell phone buzzed on the counter nearby. He heard the younger man sigh as he checked the cracked screen, but he flicked his thumb to answer it anyway.

Trent put the phone to his ear and sighed, “Wei?” Ciaran listened with curiosity as the other man spoke rapid Cantonese into the phone, not understanding a word. It was a lilting sort of a language that was pleasant to listen to, but Trent spoke it with a tight jaw and a furrowed brow. Whoever he was talking to, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. When he hung up the phone, he sighed and dropped it onto the table, leaning his elbows on the counter beside Ciaran. Without a word, he took the fork from him, lifted a bite of cake to his mouth, and handed it back.

“My father is going to be in town tomorrow.”

“Is that bad, then?”

“It’s a pain. Mostly because you’re here. I don’t suppose you’ll be out of here by then?”

“Not likely, lad.”

“But you’re invisible. Or you were. You can just be invisible.”

Ciaran took another bite of cake and washed it down with the last of the milk. “What’s the problem with your father? He don’t let you have guests?”

Trent’s expression hardened slightly, and he pushed away from the counter to put some distance between them. He couldn’t avoid talking about it anymore, he supposed. “Male guests,” he said flatly.

Ciaran gave a wicked grin, and he let his fork drop to the plate with a small clink as he turned to face the younger man. “Now why should he mind if you have male guests, eh?” Trent only scowled at him. “I’m asking. I don’t understand,” he said, putting on his most innocent face.

“Because he doesn’t want me to have sex with them,” Trent answered, refusing to play Ciaran’s game. “Because I’m gay and he doesn’t like it.”

“You don’t say,” Ciaran mused, earning himself a scowl. “That does put a bit of a damper on a relationship,” he added in an attempt to be more sympathetic. “So you’ve been keeping secrets, then?”

“What secrets? I just said he knows.”

“Yes, yes, but secret lovers, of course.”

Trent hesitated. He didn’t want to say that he hadn’t been with anyone since he’d been discovered that day over a year ago. It wasn’t out of guilt. He could have easily brought someone back to the apartment with him and kicked them out afterward; his parents always gave him enough notice for that at least. He just didn’t see the point when the only outcome would be a lecture and his father’s refusal to acknowledge any relationship he might have. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend he could get by without his parents’ financial support. It was easier to be alone.

“Sure,” he said instead of telling the truth. “Lots of secret lovers. ”

Ciaran hummed a skeptical agreement. “Well, don’t you worry. You’ve been a good sport; I won’t make more trouble for you.”

His shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly. “I appreciate it.” He wasn’t sure why he felt grateful toward this person who had invaded his home, and he would be surprised if Ciaran even remotely kept his word about not causing more trouble, but he wasn’t going to argue.

The fairy sat quietly while Trent cooked a substantially healthier meal for himself than anything Ciaran had eaten that day, and they sat together on the couch watching an old kung fu movie. It would have been almost pleasant, if Ciaran hadn’t kept asking him if the translation was correct despite Trent’s repeated assurances that he could not read lips and hadn’t yet memorized the original script.

“How do you expect to know what’s going on if you won’t shut up and watch it?” Trent snapped after the seventh interruption.

“Ach, what do I need to pay attention for? These are all the same. Prodigal student comes back from abroad, the master’s in trouble or killed or some such, and the student avenges him. It’s not exactly Chaucer.”

“More fart jokes in Chaucer,” Trent muttered. “Isn’t there one about literally kissing some woman’s ass in the dark?”

Ciaran snorted out a laugh. “And he knows it’s her arse because he feels her ‘beard?’ Aye, that’s the one.”

“Classic literature.”

They sat quietly for a while, watching the poorly-dubbed movie while Ciaran snacked on chocolate. The fairy eventually grew drowsy, lulled by a full stomach and a dim room, and he let his head rest on Trent’s shoulder as his eyes drifted closed. Trent sat still, his stomach tightening from the slight weight of the other man’s body against his. Ciaran shifted to make himself comfortable, his messy hair falling over his eyes, and Trent watched him with a furrowed brow.

He reached up to brush the fairy’s hair from his face, but it only fell back into place as soon as he removed his hand. His fingertips lightly touched Ciaran’s jaw, and for just a moment, he let the pad of his thumb brush the other man’s bottom lip. Too close. The touch caused a stirring in him that he usually tried very hard to ignore, but he couldn’t let this man sway him now. Not after he’d resisted for so long. He wouldn’t give in just to be this fairy’s latest conquest .

Trent pushed to his feet and clicked off the television, letting Ciaran slip to the side and jerk awake.

“Movie’s over,” he said as he dropped the remote back onto the coffee table. “Don’t trash the kitchen.” He shut himself in his bedroom before the fairy could respond. His father would be there tomorrow. He felt an unpleasant weight in his gut as he set his glasses on the night stand and crawled into bed.

Trent cleaned up the kitchen as soon as he woke up, since Ciaran had failed to keep the kitchen tidy for even a single night. As soon as he was finished, he walked into the guest bedroom and shook him by the shoulder.

“Get up,” he said when the fairy opened his eyes. “I have to clean these sheets.”

“I didn’t bleed on them much,” Ciaran protested, but Trent only clicked his tongue and jerked his head to urge him out of the way. The fairy obliged, though he took his time getting out of the bed and periodically paused to groan and hold his stomach.

“Go stuff your face some more,” Trent grumbled. “You’ll feel better.”

“I haven’t any more food.”

Trent stopped with the sheets halfway off the bed and turned to look at him. “You what?”

“It’s gone. You didn’t get very much.”

“Are you kidding me? You should be in a diabetic coma after eating so much sugar in a day. I’m not buying anything else.”

“Oh, come on. After I was going to do you a favor.”

“Please don’t. Whatever favor you thought up, I’m sure I don’t want it. What happened to leaving me alone? Staying out of my way?” He gathered up the sheets and pushed by Ciaran in a bit of a huff on his way to the laundry room. He could hear the fairy padding along barefoot behind him. “My father is going to be here tonight,” he called over his shoulder, in case the other man had forgotten. “It’s almost twenty hours travel time from Hong Kong to Vancouver, so he’s going to be tired. When he’s tired, he’s cranky. If the place is a mess, he’ll be cranky. If the room isn’t set up the way he likes it, he’ll be cranky. If I haven’t lit the incense on the altar before he gets here, he’ll be cranky.”

Ciaran leaned against the doorway of the laundry room to watch Trent bend over and load the machine. “So you’re saying he’s going to be cranky.”

“He’s going to be cranky,” the younger man echoed, slamming the washer door and turning to face him. “When he’s cranky, he tells me everything that’s wrong with me. He tells me all the ways I have and continue to let him down. He stays out of my life three hundred and sixty days out of the year and then thinks he can tell me when he doesn’t like my clothes. He’s going to say I’m getting fat, and then tell me to eat more when we go to dinner. He’s going to ask me about my problem . So you’ll understand if buying you more damn cake isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.”

Ciaran watched him with lifted eyebrows, not speaking. Trent seemed to remember himself, and he sighed, running a hand over his short hair.

“Forget it,” he said. “It’s not your problem. What the hell do you know? You probably don’t even have parents. You just sprung up from under a daffodil somewhere.”

“Oi, I’ve got parents,” Ciaran protested as Trent moved past him again.

“Well when Tinker Bell starts giving you shit about who you’re fucking, get back to me,” he snapped.

Ciaran frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a bit rude.”

“You’re welcome to leave.”

“You are a nasty sort, do you know that?” the fairy chuckled. “What if I could solve your problem? Your father, not the liking-to-sleep-with-blokes bit.”

Trent hesitated, an uncertain frown on his lips. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll get him off your back. For good, if you like.” He waited, watching the crease deepen in the younger man’s brow. He might not even mind granting this one. It would be the least of the favors Trent could ask.

“I don’t want anything you can give me,” he said.

Ciaran let his hands drop to his sides. “You understand what I’m saying, lad? It isn’t as though I’ll hurt him; it’s magic. You’ll never have another opportunity like this.”

“I can solve my problems without any of your fairy bullshit. I can’t just have you change his mind.”

“Would that be something you wanted, then? If I could change your mind?”

Trent stopped with one hand on the cabinet door, ready to take out the trash, and he slowly straightened with his eyes on the floor. If he could magically be attracted to women, would he? It would make everything so much easier. He could find a girlfriend easily enough, a pretty companion to keep his father happy. Get married, have a couple of kids, be content—but never happy. He looked up at Ciaran’s waiting face and shook his head. He wanted more than that, even if he would never get it. Even if he could become attracted to women, he would always know what he’d done, how he’d given in. How could he live with himself after that?

Just…” He sighed. “Just stay away from us tonight. He’ll only be here for a couple of days, and if you’re still here after that, we can…figure that out. But just leave us alone.”

Ciaran let out a slight scoff and slumped back against the door frame. “Have it your way,” he muttered. He didn’t like it one bit. If not this, what was Trent waiting to ask for? He hoped if he put Ciaran up for long enough, he’d be able to ask some grand favor, certainly. No one did things without expecting something in return—especially when the person giving the potential favor could do magic. Whatever kindness Trent had shown him thus far had been out of a sense of obligation at the very least, if not outright manipulation.

Trent left him in the kitchen and set about cleaning up the rest of the apartment before he had to leave for class. He threatened Ciaran with bodily harm should he mess anything up, but as he was walking out the door, he hastily agreed to bring home some more appropriate food for his finicky guest.

Ciaran did his best to behave himself. It was difficult with nothing to eat but stale cookies from the back of the pantry and nothing on television but a show about who was or wasn’t the father of some woman’s baby, but he tried. His gut still ached, and he felt lightheaded from fever, so it was a little easier not to get into too much trouble. The iron he could sense inside the large armoire near the window didn’t make him feel any more at ease, either. He wanted to know what was in there, but not enough to open the doors and risk properly exposing himself.

He dozed on the couch for a while, but it wasn’t very comfortable. He stood on the balcony and watched people go by on the sidewalk until his stomach pained him too much, and then he ran a hot bath in the massive tub in Trent’s bathroom. The hot water felt good on his pounding wound as he stretched in the deep tub. He reached for the vanity and took Trent’s shaving mirror from its place by the sink, using it to inspect his face in the steamy room. His skin still looked a bit pale, but the infection seemed to be improving. He was honestly lucky not to be dead. He’d forgotten how painful iron poisoning could be. If that hunter had another chance at him, he’d know to do more than break the skin.

Ciaran put the thought out of his mind. The man doubtless hadn’t given up on catching him, but for all he knew, Ciaran was long gone. Even if he thought he was still in the building, he had no reason to think he would purposely put himself in a place with so many anti-magic artifacts. It was pointless to fret about it. He inspected his teeth in the mirror, running his tongue over slightly pointed canines. Finding what he saw less than satisfactory, he stepped out of the tub to help himself to Trent’s toothbrush, sloshing water onto the floor as he went. He brushed his teeth and scrubbed behind his pointed ears, then dunked his head under the water and scrubbed his hair clean with Trent’s shampoo.

The front door opened and shut with a distant click, and Ciaran heard his host’s voice in the kitchen. The bathroom door handle turned, but Trent barely took half a step inside before he heard the slosh of water and realized what he would be walking in on.

“Da here yet?” Ciaran called as he pushed himself out of the tub, flicking the plug open on his way.

“Not yet. I see you managed not to make too much of a mess.”

“I told you I wouldn’t make more trouble.”

“Just stay in here, will you? Or at least in the bedroom. It’s easier this way.”

“I’ll make it easy on you, lad, don’t worry. ”

“I don’t like how you’re not just agreeing to stay in the bedroom.”

Ciaran wrapped a towel around his hips and pushed the door open, urging Trent out of the way. “It’ll be fine. You just finish getting ready for your father.”

“See, that’s still being pretty evasive.”

The fairy grinned as Trent’s gaze purposely avoided his naked torso. “You manage yourself. Don’t worry about me.”

Trent gave a short, resigned sigh and shut the bedroom door on his way out, hoping that the nagging feeling in his stomach was unwarranted. He opened the doors to the armoire and dusted the icons inside to give the illusion that the altar had done more than sit neglected since his father’s last visit. He gave a quick bow out of habit before lighting the incense, then set about putting the sheets back on the guest bed. Ciaran would have to sleep on the sofa again, but at least he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore.

He had just shut the door to the guest bedroom when the doorbell rang. Trent took a final look around the apartment, and he quickly pushed a muffin cup into the garbage before walking to the front door. With a low, steadying sigh, he opened the door to his father’s staring face.

The visit began just like every other. Trent shook his father’s hand and waited patiently while he put his luggage in the guest room, then they exchanged pleasantries while standing near the bedroom door. Any minute, his father would suggest going out to eat dinner, where the real questions would begin.

Instead, a loud thunk sounded from Trent’s bedroom, and he briefly shut his eyes, his whole body tensing. All he had asked was that Ciaran keep quiet, and he hadn’t even managed to do that.

“Is there someone here?” his father asked, looking between Trent’s face and the door with a suspicious frown.

“No. There isn’t anyone,” he lied, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, the bedroom door opened, and Ciaran appeared in the doorway. He had dressed himself in the same dirty jeans he had been wearing for two days and one of Trent’s shirts, which was noticeably long on him.

“Gracious, pardon me,” he said with a smile as he approached.

Trent didn’t consider himself a violent person, but in that moment, he could have wrung the fairy’s neck. One request—one simple request that would make this visit bearable—and Ciaran couldn’t handle it.

“Trent,” his father said, his tone one of pleasant surprise rather than the expected outrage, “why didn’t you tell me you had a guest?”

“Fu chan, this isn’t what—”

“Isn’t what it looks like?” Ciaran finished for him, and he slunk up beside him and hooked their arms with a sly grin.

Trent’s jaw tightened as Ciaran’s side pressed into his, but his heart stopped when he spotted their reflection in the glass of the balcony door. Instead of the scruffy fairy that had been sleeping in his apartment for days, the person on his arm appeared to be a tall, slender woman, with red hair that fell in soft curls around her face. She seemed to be wearing a long, dark green skirt and a cream-colored blouse that bared her delicate shoulders. Trent looked from the reflection back to the man at his side, unable to make his mouth form any coherent words.

“So sorry to surprise you, sir,” Ciaran said, smiling pleasantly at Trent’s father. He disengaged his arm to offer his hand to the older man. “Cara Hickey; I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Trent could only stare while his father shook the fairy’s hand, clearly seeing the reflection in the glass as the truth.

“Daniel Fa,” his father answered politely. “I am sorry I can’t say the same,” he added with a pointed glance in Trent’s direction.

“Trent was hoping to introduce us properly,” Ciaran answered for him, “but I’m afraid I was a bit slow getting out of the house before you arrived.”

Trent’s father looked at him with a furrowed brow. “You were going to leave this woman shut in your bedroom until you could sneak her away from me? Why would you do such a thing?”

“I was—” he started uncertainly, but Ciaran cut him off.

“He’s just a bit shy,” the fairy teased, slipping his fingers into the other man’s and giving them a small squeeze. He leaned closer to Mr. Fa and added in a stage whisper, “I think he thinks I’ll embarrass him.”

The older man gave a faint smile. “Regardless, I’m pleased beyond measure to meet you. My son and I were about to have dinner; will you join us?”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Ciaran said immediately despite Trent’s warning grip on his hand.

“Excellent. Please give me a moment; it has been a very long flight.” Mr. Fa excused himself into the guest bathroom, and the minute the door was closed, Trent wheeled on his fairy guest.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he hissed. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m solving your problem,” Ciaran shrugged. “If he thinks you like girls, he won’t bother you about it anymore. You can call him later about our tearful breakup.”

“And why would you leave the house again? You’re not well,” Trent said before he realized that sounded suspiciously like concern. “And it’s no help to me if that hunter person shows up and starts trouble.”

“Oh, come on. It’s only for a couple of hours, right? I’ll risk it. Besides,” he said, reaching up to slip an arm around Trent’s neck and bring his lips very near to the corner of his mouth, “it’s going to be such fun putting on this show.”

The bathroom door opened before Trent could react, and Ciaran purposely lingered long enough to pretend they’d been caught by accident. He pulled away with a demure giggle, leaving Trent attempting to rein in his scowl. The fairy held his hand while they rode down in the elevator, and Trent was forced to admit to himself that despite his frustration, that part wasn’t so bad.

They took his father’s car to the same restaurant they always went to when he was in town, and Trent had to repeatedly remove Ciaran’s hand from his knee in the back seat. When he leaned over to hiss at him to stop, Ciaran only laughed and kissed his cheek, playfully pushing against his chest and telling him to keep his hands to himself. Trent growled to force the warmth of Ciaran’s palm against his chest from his thoughts, and he paused at the sight of his father’s small smile in the rear view mirror. He actually seemed pleased.

“I told you,” Ciaran whispered into his ear, and he grit his teeth to avoid showing the slight shudder that ran down his spine. This was too much. A terrible idea. He was lying to his father—a lie he had no hope of maintaining once Ciaran was gone from his life, and one he shouldn’t have to tell, besides. More than that, he was unable to escape the heat of Ciaran’s body beside him and the memory of warm breath on his ear. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t lying when he said it hadn’t been too long.

At the usual restaurant, they took their seat at Mr. Fa’s usual table and ordered their usual meals. The only difference was that now, there was a fairy sat in the seat beside Trent who his father thought was a woman, and who refused to be deterred from touching him. Trent eventually settled for holding Ciaran’s hand on the table, if only to keep it from wandering.

“So this is quite a secret you have been keeping, son,” Mr. Fa said, sipping his small cup of tea. “An important secret,” he added with a pointed frown. Even now, he didn’t want to speak aloud what he was really thinking, in case this pretty girl didn’t know Trent’s shameful secret.

Trent did his best to hide his sneer as he answered, “Should I have mentioned it over the phone?”

Mr. Fa shifted in his seat, directing a polite smile at Ciaran before looking back at his son. “I am just pleased that you found someone so…appropriate.”

Trent’s grip on Ciaran’s hand tightened, and the fairy actually felt slightly guilty. He didn’t have any frame of reference for being shamed for his sexual choices, but he didn’t imagine it was a pleasant feeling.

“He’s been lovely,” Ciaran cut in with a smile, leaning over to nudge him with his shoulder. He moved his free hand up to rest on Trent’s forearm. “Nothing about him in the world I’d change.”

Trent paused, and he looked over at him with a slightly softer expression.

“Well, be glad you don’t see him through a father’s eyes,” Mr. Fa chuckled, completely reversing his son’s momentary calm. Ciaran put a steadying hand on Trent’s knee, laughing politely at Mr. Fa’s attempted joke.

“So, how did you two meet?” Mr. Fa asked, and Ciaran felt Trent’s hand tighten around his.

“Oh, there isn’t much of a story there,” the fairy answered, rescuing Trent from his momentary panic. “We met on Grindr—I mean Tinder. Tinder is the one, isn’t it?” He looked to Trent with an innocent smile, ignoring the glare that threatened to burn through him. “It’s online dating,” he explained when Mr. Fa looked puzzled. “I saw this one’s pretty face and just had to get to know him better.” Trent grit his teeth as Ciaran reached up to give his cheek a tender stroke.

“Ah, I don’t know about all this online dating,” Mr. Fa said. “But if it works for my son, what can I say?”

“He’s been a perfect gentleman,” Ciaran smiled.

“I should hope so,” Mr. Fa said, and he gave a polite smile. “Are you in school, Ms. Hickey?”

“Me? Oh, of course. I’m studying history. Ancient Greece, specifically. You know, their social acceptance of the erastes and the eromenos—”

Trent squeezed his hand so tightly he thought it might pop off. “That isn’t dinner conversation,” he said through a tight jaw.

“Oh, well I don’t want to jabber on,” Ciaran said with a girlish smile, and Trent relaxed ever so slightly beside him. “I hope to be a teacher someday,” he went on, glancing sidelong at Trent and lightly stroking his thumb over the other man’s knuckles.

“A teacher is a good job,” Mr. Fa agreed. “The world will always need good teachers.”

He asked Trent about his classes, which was much too boring a conversation for Ciaran to pay attention to. He picked at the food when it was placed in front of them, but it was all vegetables and oil and flesh—nothing substantial.

“Is it not to your liking, Ms. Hickey?” Mr. Fa asked after a few minutes of Ciaran pushing his broccoli around his plate. “Are you not hungry?”

“She eats all day long,” Trent muttered without looking up from his plate. “She’s getting fat.”

“Aiya, what a thing to say,” his father scolded.

Ciaran lifted an eyebrow as he turned to look at the man beside him, giving a small laugh as his fingers dug pointedly into Trent’s knee under the table. “My love does like to tease,” he said, and he slid his hand up the other man’s thigh, his palm brushing the front of his trousers and causing a barely audible growl .

Trent purposely kept his gaze from Ciaran’s face to avoid snapping at him, but he couldn’t help the heat the pooled in his stomach at the light touch. He asked his father about work and pretended to listen while Ciaran’s fingers grazed his inner thigh through his pant leg. The touch drove him to distraction, but he didn’t dare reach under the table to stop him.

His father droned on about meetings and market changes, interest and price fluctuations, but Trent’s entire being was focused on the slow movement of Ciaran’s hand on his leg. Every time he thought he could return to reality, he felt the heat of the other man’s palm brush over him, until he was forced to draw his chair closer to the table to make certain his growing erection was hidden by the tablecloth. It put him slightly out of reach of Ciaran’s wandering hand, which was both a relief and a torture.

At the end of the meal, Mr. Fa excused himself to the restroom, and Trent let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for a lifetime as he finally turned to face Ciaran.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked in a hoarse voice, an unwelcome heat in his face. “What are you doing?”

“Just a bit of fun,” the fairy smirked, bringing Trent’s hand to his lips to brush a light kiss over his knuckles.

“Stop it,” he hissed, shaking his hand free of the other man’s grip. “This isn’t a game. This is my life.”

Ciaran leaned an elbow on the table to move in close to him, a sly smile on his lips. Trent almost shoved him away, but he wasn’t willing to cause a scene in the middle of the restaurant.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the fairy murmured, reaching up to finger the open collar of Trent’s dress shirt. “If you tell me just once without stumbling that you want me to stop…” He trailed off, and he touched the faintest of kisses to the corner of the other man’s mouth. “Then I’ll stop,” he whispered against Trent’s cheek.

Trent bit the inside of his cheek so hard that it almost bled, but it was only the sound of his father returning to the table that broke the helplessness he felt with Ciaran’s lips so close to his.

“I hope you don’t mind if I cut this short,” Mr. Fa said with a good-natured clearing of his throat. He smiled faintly at Ciaran’s carefully fabricated giggle. “I have had a long day. Trent, would you like to see Ms. Hickey home safely?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Ciaran answered in his place. “I’m quite near to here, actually.”

Trent did a bit of last minute adjustment before he got to his feet along with them, hoping he wasn’t as obvious as he felt. The three of them left the restaurant and returned to the car, where Trent and Ciaran were forced to fake a goodbye. The fairy thanked Mr. Fa politely for the meal and said how pleased he had been to meet him while Trent stood to the side, clenching his fists.

“And good night to you,” Ciaran said, standing on tiptoe to wrap his arms around Trent’s neck. Trent hesitated, awkward and frustrated, but he returned the embrace for the sake of appearance, one hand settling on the small of the other man’s back. Ciaran pressed close to him far more tightly than was necessary, and Trent’s fingers dug into his skin as the other man’s hips rolled against his in the subtlest of movements.

“I am going to murder you,” he whispered into Ciaran’s ear as the fairy kissed his cheek.

Trent got into the front seat of his father’s car while Ciaran slipped into the back—somehow without Mr. Fa noticing. Trent could feel the fairy’s teasing fingertips on the back of his neck as they drove, but he was startled away from the sensation by his father’s voice.

“So, Ms. Hickey,” Mr. Fa began, glancing briefly away from the road to look at his son. “You and she are…serious?”

“No,” Trent said immediately. “We’re just…seeing each other.”

His father tutted. “Seeing each other. Is this ‘hooking up?’ She is serious enough to be in your bedroom.” When Trent didn’t answer, Mr. Fa shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, and he cleared his throat. “Does this mean that your…problem is not a problem?”

Trent set his jaw and took a single breath before answering. “I don’t have a problem,” he said honestly. He knew how his father would take it.

A few moments of silence passed. “Then, you’ve decided that you’re not…that you actually aren’t attracted to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, ba ba,” he snapped, looking out the window rather than at his father’s face. “You’re just happy I’ve got a girlfriend, right? ”

Mr. Fa let out a silent sigh. “Yes. She seems very nice. I’m glad you’ve made this decision, son.”

“Sure.”

It should have felt good to finally hear his father think highly of some aspect of his life, but it was a lie. A lie that he was reminded of every time Ciaran’s fingers brushed the skin of his neck or slipped under the collar of his shirt, impossible to ignore.

Inside the apartment, Trent bid his father good night, forced to stand still while Ciaran lurked unseen behind him, the fairy’s chest against his back and one hand lightly clawed into his stomach just above his belt. The guest bedroom door shut, and Trent turned on the man behind him, snatching him up by the wrist and gripping his jaw to cover his mouth and keep him from speaking.

“Go,” he growled, jerking Ciaran ahead of him toward the master bedroom.