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“These came with the cashmere set.”

I take one of his feet into my hand. His foot is narrow, skin still warm from the bath and soft under my palm. His toes curl slightly when my thumb passes beneath the arch while I work the sock on. I refuse to let my brain turn that into something it doesn’t need to be.

I do the other one, slower than necessary, smoothing the fabric up over his ankle.

When I’m finished, Kamden looks down at his feet, wiggling them once against the tile like he’s testing something he doesn’t quite believe is his. “They’re so soft.”

“You like them?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

He smiles sweetly down at his feet.

God.

Every scrap of praise I give him goes somewhere. He doesn’t merely hear it; he absorbs it, lets it warm him from the inside like a stone holding sunlight.

There is no defense against a boy like that.

I stand, and my knees complain about the time they spent on cold tile. I ignore them.

“Alright, let’s get you back to your room.”

I reach for him.

Kamden seems to realize what I intend a second before I do it, because his eyes widen, but he doesn’t protest when I slide one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees. He lifts one hand instead and sets it flat against my sternum, palm open. Not pushing, just resting there.

He simply lets me lift him.

Fuck.

There is something deeply dangerous about how naturally he fits against me.

His body folds into my chest without tension, one cheek resting near my shoulder while his arms settle loosely around my neck. He doesn’t cling exactly, but he doesn’t hold himself apart either.

He sighs into my collar, a soft exhale against bare skin, and turns his face into my neck like he means to stay there awhile. His breathing slows into long, even pulls that match mine. His socked feet dangle over my forearm where I hold him behind the knees.

I take a breath, glance up at the ceiling, and think, Dear God, what did I do to deserve this little miracle?

I adjust my grip and carry him down the hall.

“Comfortable?” I check.

“Mhm.”

“You falling asleep?”

He makes a tiny sound that might be disagreement, might be nothing at all.

I push open the bedroom door with my shoulder and carry him inside. His rabbit is still exactly where he left it, propped against the pillows with one bent ear.

Kamden notices the toy the second we cross the threshold.

His eyes open a little wider, and he lifts his head from my shoulder to see better.

I set him carefully on the mattress, and Kamden reaches for the rabbit almost before his ass touches the bed, dragging the worn thing into his lap and rubbing his thumb over its ear. The fabric there is pale from years of handling, one seam starting to split along the fold. He presses it flat with two fingers like he’s smoothing a collar.