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No hangover? Leaf gestured to the half-empty bottle.

“I barely drank anything. Maybe two glasses.”

And the bottle wasn’t even empty. Leaf got up and paced around the room. He was relieved, but the panic he had just felt, the fear for Tristan, made him think.

He wrung his hands to hide the trembling. His body craved a hit, showing it with cold sweats. But Leaf would stay strong. After all, they had a concert tomorrow.

If only it weren’t so hard.

Stop! Get rid of those thoughts!

“Leaf, what are you doing here?” Tristan sat up and stretched his arms. “Where were you yesterday? I was worried.”

Leaf glimpsed at the long scar on Tristan’s forearm. It had healed well, but it would always remind him of what had happened. The bandage lay on the table next to the glass. Get a grip! “I was … I had to take care of something.”

“I thought we were going to … maybe …”

Leaf stopped in his tracks and chewed on his thumbnail. “What?”

“Spend the evening together?”

Leaf would have loved to, but he had been busy holding himself together. He should have been proud of himself for staying clean—at least from heroin. But now, everything hurt even more. His muscles burned, his tendons ached, and he felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. Not exactly the best conditions to stay strong.

His gaze drifted over the wall and the masses of notes. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

Tristan frowned in sadness. “Can we … I mean … You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, trying to sound casual. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

Tristan stood up and walked over to him. Gently, he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from Leaf’s face and kissed him. Tristan’s soft lips sent a spark through Leaf’s body. The kiss was so tender, so loving. As Tristan pressed closer, his warmth flowed through Leaf.

Leaf let it happen. His lips barely moved, and his breath was still. Tristan’s closeness ignited a fire within him that chased away the cold numbness and gave him a feeling of security. For a moment, there was absolute peace.

Tristan’s fingers slipped into his jeans, pulling him closer. Their kiss grew more intense, and Leaf placed a hand on Tristan’s neck to support his head.

“I want things to be like they were before,” Tristan whispered breathlessly into his mouth. “Please, I miss you so much.”

Something inside Leaf twisted. He pulled away from Tristan and stepped back.

“What’s wrong?”

A voice whispered to Leaf. A feeling that suddenly settled at the back of his neck.

Leave, quickly. Get out of here!

There was a deep longing in Tristan’s eyes, a longing that had clearly not been satisfied that night.

He’s so beautiful.

Leaf breathed unevenly, licking his lips as he gazed at Tristan, but then turned away. He had clear ideas about what he wanted to do with him, but he couldn’t. “I …”

He felt Tristan’s sadness and heard his breath. Leaf grimaced and chewed on his knuckles.

Get a grip!

His eyes darted from one point to another, always avoiding Tristan. He fidgeted, fighting an internal battle—the battle against his inability to speak.

“You’re here,” Tristan said gently. “Please, talk to me.”