Page 138 of The Mourning Throne
“There won’t be a next time.”
Lex didn’t argue.
He only looked at him—lips pressed into a thin line, jaw flexing. Then he nodded, head jerking like reflex than agreement. Like maybe theybothhad to believe it.
“I’ll get you some water,” Lex murmured. “And then we’ll change your bandages again. You go back to sleep before and I’ll fuckingslap you.”
Morgan turned his head to the side to watch Lex. Let himself smile. Just a little.
The room was dim this time, not dark. Soft lamplight casting vivid golds over the rumpled sheets and the too-quiet hush. The kind that made the world feel padded and far away. This time, he didn’t feel like a stranger in his own body. His limbs were his again.
And Lex was still there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, curled in one of Morgan’s blazers, too tight in the shoulders and arms, too long in the waist. His bare feet pressed to the mattress, legs drawn up like he needed to hold himself together.
Morgan moved, and the springs creaked.
Lex’s head snapped up.
“Hey.”
“Morning,” Morgan rasped, voice rougher than before but functional. The air rattled on the way down, but it stayed in place. He didn’t have to catch it. “No sleep again?”
“I’ve been a nervous fucking wreck. Cut me some slack.”
There wasn’t any bite to it. No venom. Just a threadbare kind of frustration.
Morgan let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m sorry.”
“Wow. You never say that.” Lex smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You snore, by the way.”
“Stop.”
“Loud as hell.”
Morgan rolled his eyes, but the motion tugged something deep in his neck—he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Lex noticed. Instantly.
His spine straightened, the awkward blazer brushing against his knees. “Don’t—don’t move. Icannothandle something worse happening right now.”
“Iamsomething worse,” Morgan muttered.
His joke didn’t land.
They never did.
Lex’s hands hovered near Morgan’s chest like he wanted to touch him but didn’t trust himself not to press too hard. “Let me look at the bandages.”
Morgan didn’t protest. Not when Lex’s fingers trembled. Too gentle. Not when those tan hands were reverent in away they’d never been before—like Morgan might splinter if handled wrong. Like he could break, too.
It was new.
Not the care. Lex had always cared—loudly, obsessively, on his own twisted wavelength, all sharp edges and too much. But this?
This was intimate.
Lex peeled the strips back slowly. The soft hiss of gauze separating from skin felt too loud in the silence. He checked—for blood, inflammation—the same way Morgan would have done if their roles were reversed. The same way he kept an eye on Lex at the cabin. Lex had probably looked up all the steps online. He always did. When something needed to be done, Lexdid it. Even when Morgan didn’t care enough, or didn’t want to.
