All his amusement seemed to fade. We should probably go to yours, Kieran said, when he finally said something – and if Jude’s heart thumped erratically and his hopes rose for a second, they fell again in the next. Kieran believed he was actually Jude, then, at least. That was all he meant. (Jude ought to be relieved by that: it was what they had been trying to achieve, here.)

“We should,” he agreed, forcing himself to get to his feet and gather his things and sound steady about it all, although he couldn’t erase the picture of Kieran’s sudden frown and furrowed brow. It could hardly still be disbelief... distaste, then? It had to be – Kieran had to know the reason why well enough too – Jude had surely made it plain in all the years since then. But whatever Kieran thought of him, the moon would be out soon: and so they would keep ignoring the awkward truth of Jude’s feelings for him, like always.

He reached out and grasped Kieran’s forearm to disapparate them both, but with that motion came a surge of desperation. “But I do know now,” Jude said; and, with a pained look: and I know you know why too. “And I – I’m sorry.” It couldn’t make things any simpler for Kieran, having to navigate that knowledge on top of everything else he had to deal with.

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