Chapter Eight

Daniel wakes to a pounding headache. It takes him muzzy moments to realize that some of the pounding is on the door. Slowly, he remembers he’s not at home in his own bed. He’s sacked out somewhere unfamiliar, and his neck is folded at an awkward angle, his feet pushed out from under the blanket and freezing.

Groaning, he pushes himself upright.

He’s on Colette’s couch, the scratchy material and the hard cushions reminding him just how very French she is. Daniel’s couch is designed to be lain upon for hours at a time; Colette’s punishes you for sloth.

He’s slow, stumbling toward the door. The renewed sound of the buzzer as he’s opening it makes him cringe.

“Detective,” he says. Taylor is standing in front of Colette’s door, looking harried.

“Professor Rosenbaum.” She sounds neither surprised nor pleased. “Don’t you have your own apartment?”

If he were marginally more awake, he might manage some witty repartee about how he would be there if Taylor didn’t make Colette feel like she was a second away from being arrested for murdering one of her closest friends.

Detective Taylor pushes her way in, regardless of the fact that she was neither invited nor especially wanted. “Where’s Professor Ravel?”

“Still asleep, as far as I know. Are you here to scare her some more?”

“I’m here because our coroner has officially ruled Professor Lombardi’s death a murder.”

“Oh. Should I wake up Colette?”

Taylor sighs heavily. “In a minute. I don’t suppose you can tell me anything about Lily Peterson first?”

Daniel shakes his head. “She emailed me to ask for an extension last week. I invited her to my office hours if she was having trouble, but then…”

“Right.” Detective Taylor pauses before adding, “My intention isn’t to scare your friend, by the way. But until we have more information, pretty much everyone is a person of interest and that includes both of you.”

Her suit is wrinkled, he notices. There’s a coffee stain on the sleeve peeking out from under her blazer. Her Thanksgiving was probably even worse than his, especially if she actually wanted to spend it with her family.

“I’ll wake Colette up.” Daniel doubts she’ll be especially thrilled.

Taylor nods sharply.

Daniel wakes Colette up with a cup of her strong, black coffee and the news, and hangs around through a brutally awkward conversation between Taylor and Colette in which no new information is gained but it does become glaringly obvious there’s no love lost between the two women.

After, while Colette processes the news that Mario was definitely murdered, he heads up to his apartment.

The one good thing about coming home early from Thanksgiving is that Worf spends less time in an empty apartment. He’s already waiting by the door to greet Daniel. Last night’s pit stop to drop his bags and pour more dry food into Worf’s bowl was way too short to provide adequate butt scratches.

“Hey, boy,” Daniel croons as Worf weaves in between his legs. “I missed you too.”

He gives Worf some of the mushed-up tuna from the can to make up for how bad a cat dad he’s been the last few days, and then he falls asleep on the couch for three full hours.

In the back of his mind, Daniel knows he has a stack of essays he hasn’t touched yet and a syllabus for next semester he has to write. He was going to take care of at least some of that on his flight home, and now he’s lost time. But his brain is mush, and the thought of forcing himself to work makes him want to scream and cry and get it over with until he feels like an empty, dried-up husk of himself, but at least his to-do list is empty.

It’s not a healthy feeling.

Instead, he watches three episodes of Criminal Minds. It’s way too early in the day. The light from the windows reflects off the screen making the dark scenes almost invisible. It helps though, or Daniel would be way too freaked out by the fact that he saw a real dead body a week ago. Now that the first shocking numbness of Mario’s murder has passed, it turns out procedural crime shows are less comforting than they were that first night.

It scares him when the buzzer goes off.

He presses pause and heads for the door. It’s probably Colette, ready to talk again or in need of some company. But when he opens the door, there’s no one on the landing. Daniel presses the door buzzer, sliding his apartment door most of the way shut so the cat doesn’t get out. It’s probably not the murderer, returned to finish the job. He hopes. Maybe Colette went out and forgot her keys? It’s not like her, but it’s also been a rough few days.

He loiters by the door, waiting and also guarding Worf, until there’s a hesitant knock at the leaned cracked door.

“Yeah?” he calls into the hallway and then shakes his head at himself. It’s not like the murderer will announce themselves.

It’s really a testament to how seldom he gets unannounced visitors. Maybe he should start getting out of the house more.

“Daniel?” Tony’s voice comes through the door.

A thrill shoots down Daniel’s spine. He quickly opens the door fully. Worf speeds away to hide under the couch. “Tony! What brings you here?”

“I, uh…” Tony rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “I maybe looked up your address on our client files? Sorry. That was weird and invasive. I just—”

“I came to your place of work four separate times.” Daniel shrugs. “Come in.”

Tony comes in. He toes off his shoes and leaves them by Daniel’s coatrack. For an aching moment, Daniel imagines what it would be like if he did that regularly, if he had a hook specifically for his coat, if his shoes regularly mingled with Daniel’s on the floor beneath it because Daniel can’t be bothered to get a whole shoe shelf for his four pairs of shoes.

“I just…really wanted to see you,” Tony says.

There’s something so honest and almost hesitant in his voice and expression, as if he’s expecting Daniel to turn him away, that Daniel can’t resist any longer. In three long steps, he’s right in front of Tony, and then they’re kissing.

Daniel’s forgotten, in only a few days, how Tony’s mustache scratches and tickles the skin of his upper lip. He smiles into the kiss involuntarily and drags Tony closer by the hips.

“I missed you.” He keeps Tony close, dragging his against Tony’s skin as he says it.

Is he leading Tony on? Is it cruel to say that when he’s spent the last few days debating whether or not his sister might be a murderess?

He thinks of Tony’s hair blowing away from his face, his cheeks red from the wind, down by the water. He thinks of the Hudson.

“I missed you too.” Tony ducks his head, shy, and Daniel snakes his arms around Tony’s waist and kisses him for all he’s worth.

When Daniel pulls away, Tony’s eyes are a little hazy.

“I’ve been looking forward to being alone with you again.”

A thrill shoots down Daniel’s spine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s romantic in a way that’s not premeditated, not calculated, just Tony being open with how much he wants Daniel, how much he’s been wanting Daniel.

Daniel takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom silently.

“I like your place.” Tony looks around the room as Daniel closes the door.

Daniel remembers Tony lives with his parents. He probably doesn’t get to do stuff like order decorative tables he doesn’t need from Urban Outfitters because the stand looks like giant bird’s feet and then spend all evening drinking wine while he tries to put together furniture with only the help of instructions in languages he doesn’t speak. Daniel wonders if it’s something Tony wants, the little independence that frustrates you when you have to muddle your own way through. He wonders if Tony wants to have that with someone else, if he’d like to look over Daniel’s shoulder and tell him he’s reading the instructions wrong and tease him about not knowing a flathead from a Phillips head screwdriver.

Tony would be really handy to have around for stuff like that.

Daniel’s getting ahead of himself.

“Thanks,” he says. “I like you in my place.”

There’s something novel in how easy it is to be direct, to run his hands under the hem of Tony’s Henley, to lift it up and help him strip it off.

“You too,” Tony demands, and when Daniel’s emerged from taking off his own T-shirt, he finds Tony watching him openly, appreciatively.

They leave their pants on even when Daniel tugs Tony toward the bed. He’s not sure why. It’s not a question of modesty, it’s…it’s nice. Daniel pulls Tony over him and cranes up to kiss him. Tony responds immediately, leaning down to meet him. As they kiss, Daniel runs his hands up Tony’s back. He likes how solid Tony is, how broad. He’s not huge or anything, but he’s strong, and the planes of his body are smooth and soft.

He makes a noise into Daniel’s mouth as they kiss, a little groan. Heat sparks in Daniel’s gut.

Tony stops kissing Daniel’s mouth to kiss his neck instead, and Daniel tilts his head to give Tony more access. The scratch of Tony’s beard makes him smile.

“What’s so funny?” Tony asks into his collarbone.

Daniel shivers. “Nothing. Just feels good.”

He can feel the curve of Tony’s smile against his skin.

There’s something nice about how slowly Tony goes, kissing his chest, his nipples. It doesn’t do much for him, having his nipples sucked, but watching Tony do it is incredibly pleasant. No one’s ever pressed gentle kisses to Daniel’s stomach or run callus-rough hands over his ribs and hips. Possibly that’s because Daniel mostly knows academics with soft hands. Possibly it’s because he’s never been touched like this, like it’s a pleasure just to be touching.

Eventually, they do get further; eventually, they undo their pants and push them away, laughing a bit as they get tangled, as their belt buckles click together.

“What do you want?” Tony asks, and Daniel flushes at being asked.

“Um,” he tries.

For all he’s attended a lot of queer socials where asking, consent, and communication were writ large, his actual experience has been more fumbling, less suave, and less clearly communicated than he’d prefer. He’s been hoping he and Tony could continue to coast on those electric first meetings where talking was an afterthought because doing was so imperative. At the same time, he’s glad Tony asked. He wants that with Tony, to talk about what they like and don’t like, what they want and don’t want. He looks Tony over, the slight swell of his belly, the defined curve of his pecs, his strong arms, his hair coming out of its ponytail in wisps.

Never once has Tony made him feel self-conscious or as though he’s fumbling in the dark for the right answer.

“Could you hold me down?” he asks.

Tony licks his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I could do that.”

Daniel ends up on his back with Tony above him, kneeling between Daniel’s spread legs as he kisses Daniel and grinds their hips together languidly. Tony has both his wrists gripped in one hand, pressing them into the mattress.

“Just,” Daniel gets out between kisses, squirming in Tony’s hold. “Just…”

“Just?” Tony asks teasingly, eyebrows raised.

“Just fuck me,” Daniel begs.

For a breathless moment, Tony pauses above him. “Lube? Condoms?”

“Drawer.” Daniel gestures vaguely in the right direction.

Tony takes care of it. It means he leaves Daniel alone for an instant, his wrists once again free to move. He itches with the desire to move, to upset the fragile balance they had.

“Be good and stay still for me,” Tony demands, settling between Daniel’s legs.

“Okay,” Daniel breathes. He watches as Tony rolls the condom down his cock and slicks it up with lube.

Cool fingers press gently at Daniel’s rim, slicking him up carefully. “You want more?” Tony traces the pucker of his hole delicately with one finger.

Daniel shakes his head. He wants Tony blanketing him. He wants to be opened on the blunt force of Tony’s cock. He wants to be held down and taken care of.

His wish is granted without him having to say it. Tony’s hand is still a bit wet with lube when he returns his grip to Daniel’s wrists. There’ll be lube in the sheets. Daniel will have to change them. It will be worth it.

“Good job, baby.” Tony’s voice is low and gravelly by Daniel’s ear as he aligns his cock at Daniel’s hole. “Stayed so still for me.”

“Yes,” Daniel agrees hurriedly. “For you.”

He catches the flicker of Tony’s smile before his eyes slide shut on instinct as Tony presses into him carefully.

“Okay?” Tony asks.

“Uh-huh.” It’s a concerted effort to relax as Tony presses in further and further.

“You feel so good,” Tony whispers to him.

Daniel tries to stretch and finds he can barely move, pinned by Tony’s hands and hips and cock. “Fuck.”

Tony pulls out a fraction and rocks in again. His stomach brushes against Daniel’s hard cock.

With nowhere to move, all Daniel can do is groan.

“This will not take long,” Tony gets out through gritted teeth.

Daniel opens his eyes to watch as Tony fucks him, almost steadily if the arm holding him up—the one not holding Daniel down—weren’t shaking.

He clenches down deliberately, and Tony speeds up.

Each thrust forces breathless gasps and hungry cries out of Daniel. He feels helplessly surrendered to Tony, to the movement of his body, his own, a receptacle for pleasure.

“Feel good,” Tony slurs.

“Fill me up,” Daniel demands.

Tony’s hips stutter.

“C’mon, come in me, fill me up, I want it,” Daniel breathes. The air between them has gone hot and sticky, and he feels desired in a way he was utterly unprepared for. He’s going to ride the wave for as long as he can.

With a long groan, Tony comes. Daniel can’t feel it through the condom. He wonders hazily about going bare next time.

Once he’s done, Tony barely takes a moment to recover before he lets go of Daniel’s wrists and slides down the bed.

“Hold on to the sheets,” he demands, at eye level with Daniel’s cock. “Don’t move.”

Daniel whines as Tony’s mouth slides down around his cock, hot and wet and with no barriers between them.

In a matter of seconds, Daniel’s shaking against the sheets, trying desperately not to move against the onslaught. Tony’s mouth is perfect, and his tongue is quick, and Daniel feels like a fraying rope holding a heavy box from falling.

Tony’s calloused hand joins his mouth on Daniel’s cock, and the rope snaps, the box hits the floor. Daniel buries his hands into Tony’s hair as he comes and comes and comes, arching up and barely able to breathe.

There are stars glittering in his eyes when he finally manages to come down.

“Wow,” he breathes.

Tony grins a little sheepishly, sitting up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

Tony reaches down with a grimace and gets rid of the condom, already slipping off his softening cock. He pads out of the room to the bathroom fully naked to put it in the trash, and Daniel watches his ass as he walks, completely unable to look away.

Eventually, he forces himself to his feet and follows after.

They shower together, awkward in the too-small space, all elbows and knees.

About a minute in, Daniel’s brain comes back online, and he blurts out, “I don’t have any…um. I mean, my last tests were negative.”

“Oh.” Tony stares at him blankly through water-beaded eyelashes.

He has the prettiest eyes.

“I mean, because you…without…you know…”

Tony’s eyes go wide for a split second, and then he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled. “I didn’t even think about…”

“It’s okay. I kinda thought… I mean, I was pretty carried away too.”

When he takes his hands away from his face, Tony’s blushing a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And like I said. I don’t have anything, so it’s definitely fine.”

“If, um…” Tony looks at him for a second, then looks away immediately. “If I get tested, maybe we could do it again some time?”

“I’d like that.” Daniel isn’t lying, he barely thought about it in the heat of the moment either, and giving a blowjob with a condom is a lot less fun.

Tony darts forward to kiss him.

There’s a different intimacy to it, kissing now the sex is over, naked together as if it’s normal and not exceptional to share space with someone you hardly know in a state so vulnerable. Daniel revels in it, thrilled and comforted at once in a way the sight of his parents’ house used to achieve when he was away from home for less long.

Daniel gets water in his eyes from kissing under the spray, and eventually, Tony admits he’s exhausted and needs to sit down.

“Oh, shit.” Daniel shuts off the water. “Of course, you did all the work. Hey, do you want to stay for dinner?”

The question surprises him; he thought he’d think it through more, or at all. It just slipped out, looking at Tony with his wet hair plastered to his skull, the tiny red mark at his collarbone that Daniel left there.

“Sure.” Tony smiles. “I’d like that.”

They make pasta together, Tony sitting at the kitchen table and chopping onions with lethal precision. Daniel watches enviously as he defrosts spinach in the microwave. He’s not terrible at onions, but there’s always a tricky phase toward the end of the onion where it starts slipping out of his fingers and gets harder and harder to control.

Tony has no such issues. “Impressed? He wiggles his eyebrows as he moves on to the garlic, which he’s also annoyingly precise and quick about.

“A little,” Daniel admits.

“Perks of never moving out. I get to learn all my ma’s cooking tricks.”

Daniel laughs. “I don’t know how you do it. You couldn’t pay me to live with my parents again.”

Tony shrugs sheepishly. “It’s…I don’t know. We’re not actually Italian or anything, but it’s still a lot more normal in our family than in American-American families to keep living at home.”

“I guess that makes sense. And you must save a ton on rent.”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be, like, a future investment, for whenever I get married and buy my own place.”

Daniel’s hand slips on the pasta, and he ends up pouring the whole pack into the boiling water. Oh well. There will be leftovers.

“I know.” Tony sounds apologetic, even though it’s a completely normal thing for a person to say outside of the academic bubble Daniel inhabits. “I know.”

“Is that something you want?” Daniel’s back is turned to Tony as he stirs the pasta into the water, attempting and utterly failing to sound casual.

The barstool Tony’s sitting on creaks as he stands. He heads to the sink, runs the cutting board and knife under the water, and cleans them with the sponge. “Your sink is clogged.”

“I know.”

Tony sets the cutting board and knife on the drying rack by the sink. He comes over to lean against the counter by the stove, right beside Daniel. Daniel keeps studiously looking at the pasta and not at him.

“Yeah.” Tony crosses his arms, an unconscious movement that brushes his upper arm against Daniel’s. “I mean, I like the idea. I like it a lot. I…don’t really like it the way my parents think of it, I guess.”

“Oh?” Daniel chances a look over at him.

Tony smiles wryly. “Yeah. I don’t think they picture me with a man.”

Well, there’s that hypothesis proven. “Must get rough, still living with them.” Daniel bumps his shoulder against Tony’s.

Tony laughs a little. It sounds bitter. “Bet you’re wondering why I do it?”

“Yeah.” Daniel thinks of his parents and how little he tells them, how much he keeps quiet. He doesn’t even have any specific reasons for it. He started one day, and now he can’t quite stop. That’s a far cry from all the very valid and awful reasons someone might decide not to come out to their family, and it still makes Daniel’s stomach tighten up with regret and pain at how much it hurts. How much it hurts them and him, sometimes, when he’s not there; how much it hurts when he is. “You don’t owe me any explanations, you know. I may not get it, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Something like relief washes over Tony’s face. The lines in his forehead ease. “Thanks. That’s the first time someone’s been nice about it.”

They don’t talk while Daniel’s frying up the garlic and onion in oil, adding the spinach and tomatoes and a bit of cream. Tony grates probably too much parmesan to go on top, but Daniel’s not complaining. They plate the pasta and sauce and head for the couch. Normally, Daniel would eat on one of the stools in the kitchen, but with no pants on, their legs would get stuck to the plastic, and the only other table in the apartment besides the coffee table by the couch is the one Daniel keeps in the study to pile up his extra papers on.

At the smell of food, Worf emerges from under the couch.

“This is not cat food,” Daniel tells him.

“And who is this?” Tony asks once he’s swallowed around his bite of pasta.

“Don’t try to pet him.” Daniel winces internally. There goes any good impression he’s made today, trampled under the cat’s paws. “He’ll make you think you can, but it’s a lie; he’ll attack you. His name is Worf.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up.

“What?” Daniel asks.

“You’re a nerd,” Tony says with glee.

“I feel like this should have been obvious.” Daniel sniffs and returns to his food.

Having overcome his shyness for now, Worf winds his way between Daniel’s legs, purring.

Tony holds out his hand for Worf to sniff. “You’re a little unoiled motor, huh?”

Worf sniffs at Tony’s outstretched fingers carefully, then slowly rubs his cheek against them. Foolishly, Tony takes this as the okay to scratch behind Worf’s ears. Worf immediately hisses and bats his hand away with a claw.

“Wow, you were not kidding.” Tony laughs.

With supreme dignity, Worf turns his back and trots away. He stops in front of his cat tree, looks up at the first ledge, wiggles his butt, and makes his usual squawking noise as he leaps up onto the second-lowest platform. Under him, the tree wobbles dangerously. He starts licking his side judiciously.

“Sorry.” Daniel grimaces.

“Are you kidding? He’s amazing. He always do that little noise?”

“Huh?”

“When he jumps on things, that little cat sound.”

“Oh.” Daniel takes a little smidge of parmesan on his finger and holds it out to Worf. “Here, boy.”

Spotting the food, Worf scrambles upright on his perch before jumping off the cat tree with another little quack. His belly jiggles as he runs over, and he licks every smidge of cheese off Daniel’s finger, purring as he does it. Daniel loves this stupid cat so much.

“It’s like his bumper activates every time he jumps.” Tony sounds delighted.

“You are not turning my cat into a car!”

Tony shrugs innocently. “If the shoe fits.” He grins around a massive forkful of pasta.

Daniel’s about to say something scathing and hilarious, probably, when Tony swallows and continues talking.

“I was going to move out.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.” Tony is calm about it, like he has no problem letting Daniel see all of his issues. It’s more than a little humbling. “I was going to move out, a couple months ago. Get my own place, maybe a cat.” He smiles down at Worf, sitting decorously at the corner of the carpet like he’s not desperately hoping for some more cheese. “I even toured a few places, and I was gonna talk to my parents, but then—”

He’s interrupted by a pounding on the door.

Daniel looks at Tony. Tony looks at him.

The knocking continues.

Daniel sets his plate on the coffee table. “Colette?” he calls, getting up. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” she calls.

“Now’s not a great—”

“I don’t care.”

Daniel looks to Tony again. Tony gestures toward the door, indicating Daniel should open it.

“I want to hear more about this,” Daniel tells Tony. “I promise.”

“Some other time.” Tony waves him off.

Daniel opens the door to Colette and, beside her, Stacy. He winces. Colette has seen him lounging around in his apartment in sweatpants or boxers plenty, but if he’d known she wasn’t alone, he would have at least gotten Tony some pants.

“Hi.” Stacy somehow manages to convey both sympathy and genuine excitement at seeing Daniel despite having seen him last on Wednesday. “I brought some Christmas cookies.”

“It’s still November.” This should be obvious, but Daniel feels the need to point it out anyway. He wonders if she knows you can show up places without food.

“Oh, I like to start early.” Stacy pushes past him into the apartment.

Daniel wants to point out that, furthermore, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but by then, she’s already in, kicking off her shoes and making herself at home.

“Well, hello.” Colette spots Tony on the couch and immediately waves far too enthusiastically.

“Hi.” Tony waves back with his fork.

“Um—” Daniel hurries past Stacy, who is slipping out of her shoes awkwardly with the cookies still clutched in her hands. “So, Tony, this is my friend Colette. She lives downstairs. And this is Stacy. She works with us.”

Tony, Daniel realizes, is wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt he borrowed from Daniel.

“So you’re all professors?” Tony asks.

Colette nods. “And what is it you do?”

“I’m a mechanic.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Stacy enthuses. “You know, I have an uncle who’s a mechanic over in Poughkeepsie. Maybe you know him.”

She bustles over and sits on the couch next to him, then offers him a cookie.

“I’m, uh—” Tony gestures to his half-empty plate. “—still on the main course. Where does your uncle work?”

“It’s this great little shop,” Stacy starts and then describes at length what sounds to Daniel like literally any other car repair shop he’s ever been to. Midway through her first sentence, Tony picks up his plate and continues eating as if this is totally normal. He makes appropriate listening noises, and it turns out he doesn’t know Stacy’s uncle, but he does know a coworker of his that Stacy’s met once.

Daniel takes the chance to continue his dinner.

Tony must be great at customer service. Tony was great at customer service the first time they met, Daniel remembers, but they got sidetracked by relentless attraction to each other.

“So?” Colette asks in an undertone, nudging her elbow against Daniel’s.

Daniel shrugs. He’s not sure he can or should say anything if Tony’s not out to his family, even if the evidence is fairly damning. Colette knows him well enough to be aware he doesn’t often have casual acquaintances over for dinner in their underwear.

As he sets his plate on the coffee table, Tony smiles at Daniel. “This was really good, by the way.”

Daniel takes a cookie to hide his smile in return.

“So are these,” he tells Stacy. “What’s in here, nutmeg?”

“And allspice.” She takes one of her own. “I really love those seasonal flavors.”

“Me too,” Tony and Daniel say simultaneously.

“Well, that’s disgustingly adorable.” Colette looks between them.

Far from being upset, Tony looks thrilled.

Daniel’s heart skips a beat. This is probably what it’s supposed to feel like, a new relationship. Jitters and excitement.

“Look, I really hate to bring down the mood.” Stacy shifts in her seat. “But I did come over for a reason.”

“Aw, I thought you missed us,” Daniel teases lightly.

Colette looks like she wants to murder him.

“Of course I did.” Stacy looks heartbroken that he would doubt it. “I’ve been thinking of you both ever since…well, you know. And I’ve been talking to the president.”

“Of the university,” Daniel explains hastily at Tony’s confused expression.

“Right, yeah.” Stacy flashes a smile at Tony and then quickly refocuses on Daniel and Colette. “We were thinking of holding a memorial on Wednesday.”

Daniel swallows. A memorial. A memorial for Mario, who was murdered. Possibly over his involvement with his students. Including, maybe, Tony’s sister.

“And I was wondering whether you two wanted to speak at it,” Stacy concludes.

“Speak,” Daniel repeats.

Stacy picks at a loose thread on her knee-length wool skirt. “I know you three were…close. You spent a lot of time together. I can’t think of anyone better to give a fitting eulogy for our colleague.”

“Is that really…” Daniel trails off.

Everyone looks at him.

He clears his throat. “Is it really a good idea to have the memorial now? With…Lily and everything?”

“Does Mario not deserve a fitting farewell just because he may have been imperfect in life?” Colette asks sharply.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Daniel tries to keep his voice calm, even though a part of him wants to yell. “I mean, the police only recently ruled his death a murder. We have no idea who did it, and we have no idea if it was only Lily or if there are other students on campus who might have also been involved with him. It might be a little…soon?”

“I’ll do it.” Colette’s mouth is a firm, thin line. “Whatever else he was, he was my friend.”

Daniel holds his hands up. “Fine. I don’t really feel comfortable with it.”

“Hm,” Stacy considers. “Do you think we shouldn’t do it at all?”

“Absolutely not,” Colette snaps. “Mario was well-liked, and the community deserves to say goodbye to him.”

Daniel doesn’t respond.

“Do you disagree?” Colette asks him icily.

“No. I…feel like there’s a lot we don’t know yet. I mean, what if we host this thing and the murderer shows up?”

“Well, according to the police, that could be me.” Colette’s voice is shuttered and distant. “And I want to go.”

“Colette, that’s not what I—”

“The police will be there anyway.” Stacy is cheery, as if that’s a good thing. “They want to get a feel for the community.”

Colette turns on her. “They want to monitor us?”

“Um, I think I should probably go.” Tony stands.

Daniel winces.

“I’ll only be a minute.” Tony heads to the bedroom. Daniel watches his retreating back regretfully.

“Sorry.” Colette doesn’t sound even a little sorry.

With a sigh, Daniel pads over to the door on bare feet and waits for Tony to emerge only minutes later. “I’m sorry about this.” He tries to keep his voice so low, but his apartment isn’t that big. He can feel Stacy and Colette’s eyes on them and does his best to ignore them.

“It’s okay.” Tony attempts a smile. It’s nothing as warm as it should be. “Heck, I might even come to your memorial if Gianna wants to go.”

“Oh. Right.”

“This seems like something you need to figure out…without me.”

For a minute, Daniel considers asking his opinion or what he thinks Gianna’s opinion would be. He doesn’t, conscious of Colette’s continued surveillance.

Instead, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Count on it,” Tony tells him with a half-smile.