Page 74 of Our Own Light

“Well, what if you never let me touch you again?”

“Of course I’ll let you touch me again.”

“Promise?”

“What if I say no? You want to keep it there forever?”

“Probably.”

“What about work?”

“I’ll tell everyone I’ve been promoted,” Oliver said, barely able to keep a straight face to say the next part, “from butty to front-y.”

He had burst out laughing by the end of it. And then Floyd was laughing, too. God, he felt so incredibly lucky.

Finally, Oliver had the confidence to remove his sticky hand.

“Let’s wash up,” he said.

So, Oliver and Floyd took turns washing themselves with water from the basin out of view from one another, though Oliver wished that the two of them were washing each other instead. He loved the idea of the two of them tending to each other like that, cleaning the coal powder off each other’s skin and being vulnerable in a new and unexpected way. He wondered if they would ever make it that far.

When they were finished, Floyd needed to borrow a pair of Oliver’s silk drawers. Oliver thought he might inquire as to whether Effie had noticed that Floyd had accumulated a few of them by now.

“Has Effie said anything about your—sorry, my—drawers?”

Floyd let out a puff of air. “Yup. Effie ain’t shy about these kinds of things.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I tell her that we’re having fun. I’d never tell her the specifics, but she knows we’re together. She knows how much I like you. And, well, she sees these fancy silky pants of yours, so I’m sure she knows what’s happening. Don’t worry, she’s fine with it.”

Oliver came closer and placed his hands on Floyd’s waist, and then Floyd planted a soft kiss on Oliver’s lips, one with so much love and sincerity that even once Floyd pulled away, Oliver could still feel its affection blooming there.

After they both put on their boots, they started walking together to James Donohue’s house, and within a half mile or so, Oliver started thinking about work again, about how Floyd was still hesitant to let Oliver take on the tasks he should have been responsible for by now. Halfway there, Oliver began wondering whether Floyd had ever treated Matt this way.

“Floyd,” Oliver began, “Did Matt ever work with the black powder?”

“Of course.”

Of. Course.

All of a sudden, there was a sinking feeling in Oliver’s chest. Fuck, his fast-beating heart seemed to have plummeted all the way into the pit of his stomach, leading him to wonder how the hell it was even still working. Shouldn’t it have been obliterated by his stomach acid?

Through his pain, Oliver sputtered, “So, you two split the work pretty evenly, then.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Floyd said before tilting his head slightly. “Why’re you asking these things?”

Oliver stayed silent, embarrassed that he was still so Goddamn insecure.

“What is it?” Floyd asked, his voice tense with worry. “Are you feeling torn up about Matt or something?”

Oliver managed a nod, though he hated himself for it.

“Ah, Ollie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s . . . fine.”

“Don’t be upset ’bout Matt.”

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