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.“You are all I ever hoped for.If there’s one thing I want before—Spindle-Reed, I just want you.Please, find us somewhere, anywhere, we can be alone.Tonight, I’m free, and I know what I want to do.I know you don’t want to hear this, but I may not have another chance.”Heart racing, Spindle caught Bel’s hand and led him up the street.They passed a troupe of Chinese acrobats, in red silk costumes that stirred something almost forgotten in Spindle, but they didn’t pause to watch.The past, remembered or gone, didn’t matter.Tonight mattered.There would never be another tonight, and Bel wanted him, and they were free, with all of London spread out before them like a buffet dinner.In spite of all the possibilities, all Spindle wanted sprawled in front of him was Bel.He had wasted so much time already because of Ivor and his stupid milk, and he didn’t want to squander another second.As soon as they found a public house, they paid for a room and staggered up the stairs and locked the door.Clothes came off and they fell into the straw-stuffed mattress, making love to the background sounds of drunken singing and street brawls, sickly gaslight and pristine moonlight pouring through the dirty little window.Despite Bel’s illness, they lay together three times, maybe more, if one counted the satisfaction hands and mouths could bring.Bel seemed to want to pack all his life into that stolen evening of absolute abandon, and Spindle could deny him nothing.Spindle let Bel sleep against his chest until the sunrise illuminated the dirty streets, and he had to rouse his—his love, his Bel—and urge him to dress so Spindle could take him home.Bel looked tired in the silty morning light, and Spindle felt guilty.“You’re worn out.I shouldn’t’ve kept you up all night.”Bel, dressed now, rubbed his face up the side of Spindle’s.“Hush, my love.Please.It was the most amazing night—everything I’ve ever wanted.You, you were brilliant.You set me free.For one night, I got to be a man.Not a sick man, just a man.And not because you brought me here, but because that’s how you think of me—not as frail and infected.Last night, you were with me as a man.You weren’t concerned about my health and I… I needed that so much.Thank you.”“Fuck, Bel! I-I love you.” It was a pitiful response, but Spindle had nothing else to offer.“I love you too.Thank you for letting me experience love.No one should have to die without knowing love, the way it can make everything else unimportant….You, when I look at you, nothing else matters.When I look at you, I’m not dying, I’m just starting out, and it’s just the two of us, and the world is beautiful and full of possibility.Can you even comprehend what you’ve done for me? What you have meant to me?”Spindle didn’t know what to say.He just gathered Bel into his arms and held him tight, unwilling to let death or anything else try to steal him away.Let it try.“I have to take you home, don’t I? I have to give you up.”Bel laughed against Spindle’s neck, his lungs rattling like bottles breaking in the street.“The staff will be bringing my bland breakfast and useless medications within a few hours.” He coughed, pulling away from Spindle to clutch the windowsill as he scrubbed at his bloody lips.Spindle rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles between Bel’s prominent shoulder blades.“And you need to find your cure,” Spindle said.“And then, when you’re well, I’m going to make your every dream come true.I’m going to make sure you’re happy for the rest of your life.Every single bloody day will be better than the last.”“Of course, Spindle.Of course it will.”They took the omnibus back to Victoria Street, and Spindle tucked Bel into bed, kissing his forehead after he gathered the coverlet under Bel’s chin.His beautiful face was pale and pinched with pain.Spindle knew Bel had overdone it.He pinned a lock of golden hair between Bel’s small, round, perfect ear and promised him he’d be back soon.He didn’t think he could survive more than a day.Bel had hooked him in faster than the special milk, and he made Spindle feel a hundred times more wonderful.VII.THAT night, Spindle visited a few of the expensive flats around Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament.In addition to money and jewelry, he wanted clothes.He wanted a proper suit, complete with shiny shoes, a tiepin, and cufflinks, so Bel would be proud to walk beside him.Despite his skin and ears, if he had the right clothing, they could go to galleries together, to a respectable theater, places suiting Bel’s station.There were so many possibilities, now that his days weren’t measured by waiting for Ivor’s poisoned milk.He still craved it a little, thought to have just one more dose, but the fear of disappointing Bel dissuaded him.What a gift Bel had given him, getting him to give it up and regain control of his life.Spindle doubted he could ever repay him, but damn it, he’d try.By morning, Spindle had a whole new wardrobe along with pockets stuffed with jewelry.He made his way back to St.Giles, so he could sell what he’d pilfered.He’d need to rent a room tonight, and hopefully Bel would be with him.Already, after only a few weeks, Spindle couldn’t imagine his life without Bel in it.He wasn’t a simpleton, despite what others might think when they looked at him, and he knew he’d never be a gentleman and live in an expensive apartment like Bel, or with Bel, for that matter.Their time together would always be secret and stolen, but Spindle couldn’t help imagining it as he sat eating a kidney pie, perched on a section of crumbling brick wall, watching the steam trolleys chug past.Bel would find the cure to the sickness; he would be honored as a champion, as he should.Maybe they’d put up a statue in St.James Park.Bel would still want to be a doctor, Spindle knew.Healing and helping others was as woven into his being as the gold threads were woven into Spindle’s stolen cravat.His golden hair would turn silver, and lines would crease his ivory skin, but his gentle blue-gray eyes would always look out at Spindle just as they had last night, full of trust, longing, and appreciation.Without judgment or shame.The way Bel looked at him, like he counted on Spindle to fulfill his every dream, scared Spindle a little.No one had ever depended on him for anything more than pocketing loose earrings or bending in half backward.It was… flattering, validating, to be tasked with something like Bel’s happiness.Spindle couldn’t bear the thought of shattering the absolute faith in Bel’s eyes when he looked at Spindle.Lost in his musings, Spindle didn’t notice Ivor and his four hired thugs approaching until it was too late to run.One of the men grabbed his elbow, and another pressed a knife to his ribs.“Well, well, well, me lad,” Ivor said, his voice muffled by his mask.“Whorin’ now, are ye?”“What?”“We seen ye last night, Spindle-Reed, you and your foin gentleman.What he sees in such an ugly fuck is beyond me.I guess if you can suck his cock like you suck down the milk I give ye, I might understand.”“Ugly little fuck,” one of the other men said, and then he grabbed his crotch.“He says… Bel says I’m beautiful.”All of them laughed, the cruel sound distorted by the filters through which they sucked air, and then Ivor spoke again, all false sweetness as he fondled Spindle’s neck and cheek.“Ain’t I been good to ya, lad? Ain’t I given ya a home and regular meals when any sane and sober man would have kicked your Chinaman-Faerie arse into the gutter where it belongs? Yet I took ye in, and I asked so little for me efforts, for me Christian charity.You ungrateful little fuck
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