Chapter 7: Stellan's Door

My room was a steel cell with a cot, a sink and a door that locked from the inside.

I had locked it at ten and lain on top of the blanket, listening to the building hum.

I could feel four hearts through the wall, slow and drugged.

One of them was not slow.

At midnight someone knocked, twice, very softly.

I knew who it was before I got up.

I stood with my hand on the lock.

My own rule was on the other side of it: nobody comes in unless I open it.

I opened it.

Stellan stood in the corridor in a plain grey prison tunic, barefoot, with his golden hair damp.

He looked straight at me.

There was nothing dull in his eyes at all.

"You left the door locked," he said.

"It's my door."

"Yes."

He stood there.

He did not come in.

His hands were clenched at his sides, and I could see the gills along his ribs flutter under the thin cloth of his shirt.

"I came to tell you to stay away from me," he said.

"Then you're at the wrong door."

"I know."

He still did not move.

I put my hand flat on his chest, where his heart was hammering, and the gold light came up under my palm.

He shut his eyes.

"Come in, Stellan," I said.

He came in.

I shut the door behind him and turned the lock, and when I turned back he was right there.

He kissed me.

It was not the cool, careful breath from the tank.

It was hungry, and angry, and shaking, and he held my face in both hands and did not let go.

I kissed him back.

I had not known how badly I wanted to until his mouth was on mine.

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