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“Well.” His chin came up. “I won’t stop you.”

Nate laughed, and Leo felt his breath on his skin before he felt his lips on his, slow and unhurried and tasting faintly of bitter leaves. Kissing him back, Leo decided the taste was perfect and he would fight anyone who said otherwise.

When they parted, Nate kept his hand on Leo’s cheek. “You really thought I wanted someone else?”

“Yes,” Leo admitted.

“Silly ghost,” Nate murmured.

“You’re the silly one,” Leo said, into his palm. “You’ll feel terrible tomorrow.”

“Worth it.”

The morning arrived too soon.

Nate woke in the sleeping bag with the headache he’d been promised, and for a while he didn’t move at all. His skull was pounding. His mouth was dry. The light coming through the curtain gap was too bright.

Everything exactly as expected.

Except for one thing.

Ten feet away, Leo was hovering over the sawhorses, fussing with the drop cloths.

That was new.

Leo was humming a tuneless melody as he adjusted a fold here, a corner there. And he was — there was no other word for it — glowing.

Nate squinted at him to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Leo whirled around to him as if he could sense the attention. “Good morning,” he said with entirely too much cheer. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s the head?”

“Present.”

“I told you.” Leo drifted closer and inspected him. “I said you’d feel terrible, and here we are. I’m going to supervise your recovery. Don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“First: water. You’re dehydrated. You always forget water exists once the coffee maker is on.”

Nate got up slowly and let himself be herded to the kitchen. Leo supervised the water. He supervised the coffee. He hovered while Nate dug the old bottle of ibuprofen out of the toolbox and shook out the last two pills. He scoffed at the long-past expiration date, but he made Nate take them anyway.

It was the happiest Nate had ever seen him.

So, yes, the headache sucked, but it was worth it.

Nate knew he was going to do it again.

Which meant he needed to figure out how to manage the morning-after. There were herbs one could take, he remembered that. A tea for the tea. His mother used to brew it in the blue pot. Nate recalled the smell of it.

But he could not for the life of him remember what was in it.

His mom would know, but how would Nate go about asking?

Hey Mom, what was in the recovery tea? No reason.