Page 176

I chuckled. “Both.”

Quinn studied his mug. “The thing is…”

My senses went on alert.

“For a long time,” he continued, “I got very good at not explaining things to people.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“My dad died when I was twelve. Construction accident.” He shrugged. “Before that, life was… normal. I grew up in a small town, the kind of place where everyone knows you because they’ve known your mum since school.”

“That sounds suffocating.”

“Oh, it can be.” Quinn smiled. “Mostly it just means everyone assumes they understand you.” He took a sip of tea. “I was an only child. Teachers liked me because I was one of the quiet ones who followed instructions and didn’t cause problems.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, I suspected you might relate.” His eyes flicked up briefly. “Apparently I was ‘mature for my age.’ Which is adult shorthand for ‘this kid processes everything internally and never complains about it.’”

I couldn’t argue with that interpretation.

“When my dad died,” Quinn continued, “my mum and I sort of… carried on. She’s a good person. Practical. Loving in a very British way where affection looks like packed lunches and reminding you to wear a coat.”

I cocked my head. “But not conversation.”

He smiled wryly. “Exactly.” He stood, walked around to the bedside table, and set the mug down on it. Then he sat on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, his legs stretched out.

I joined him, setting down my own mug.

Quinn stared up at the skylight. “Mum did her best, but talking about things that don’t fit the usual categories isn’t really her strong suit.”

“What kind of things?”

Quinn glanced at me. “The things that make me… me. Being queer was one of them. Kink was definitely another.” He gave another shrug. “Silence is surprisingly good at making you feel like parts of yourself are inconvenient.”

“So you learned to keep things separate,” I said.

“Pretty much.” He glanced at me. “You’re good at spotting patterns.”

“It’s one of my habits.”

Quinn studied me again. “Grant was the first person I thought might understand that part of me.”

The name landed with quiet weight in the room, and I did my best not to react immediately.

“At first I thought I’d found someone who spoke the same language,” he continued. “Structure. Rules. Intentional power.” He let out a small breath. “It took me a while to realise he mostly preferred me smaller.”

My jaw tightened.

“The thing was, he asked me to come to London.” He smiled. “I planned it like a military operation. Finding both a job and this place was a godsend.”

“And your mum?”

“We still talk.” His expression softened. “I pretend my life is extremely wholesome.”

“And the rest?”

Quinn met my gaze. “The rest belongs to me.”