Somewhere in the last hour or two he had – forgotten. That it wasn’t just some ordinary night, that this moment would dawn – the future of the country knocking at the window. And Jude hadn’t expected in the least to meet it like this, waking up in Kieran’s bed, loose-limbed and dishevelled and still dazed by the memory of Kieran’s mouth on his.
He sensed Kieran awake as well beside him, but his mouth was too dry to know what to say – so he looked at the owl on the other side of the glass, and sat up and leaned over to unlatch the window, his heart in his throat. A breath of cold air came in with it, as Jude fumbled to untie the delivered paper; by the time he had closed the window again, he was entirely awake to the reality of this again.
He turned to face Kieran on the bed, the copy of the Prophet in his hand. He was surprised at himself; at his sudden, billowing hesitance.
He almost didn’t want it. Some small part of him was aware of this. That if the unthinkable happened, and it was his name on that page... then it would be too dangerous, going forwards, to keep Kieran too close. For Kieran. For them both. He had never hoped so badly, so seriously for anything before – there had never been such a profound chance to make a difference – but this morning he could see the cost of it, too. But there would be costs to the country, if the wrong candidate won.
“Will you do it?” Jude blurted out, and passed the newspaper to Kieran, still tightly rolled. His chest and his stomach were tight, face pale, head crowded with the possibilities, the best outcomes and the worst – he thought he might throw up. “I – can’t.”
He sensed Kieran awake as well beside him, but his mouth was too dry to know what to say – so he looked at the owl on the other side of the glass, and sat up and leaned over to unlatch the window, his heart in his throat. A breath of cold air came in with it, as Jude fumbled to untie the delivered paper; by the time he had closed the window again, he was entirely awake to the reality of this again.
He turned to face Kieran on the bed, the copy of the Prophet in his hand. He was surprised at himself; at his sudden, billowing hesitance.
He almost didn’t want it. Some small part of him was aware of this. That if the unthinkable happened, and it was his name on that page... then it would be too dangerous, going forwards, to keep Kieran too close. For Kieran. For them both. He had never hoped so badly, so seriously for anything before – there had never been such a profound chance to make a difference – but this morning he could see the cost of it, too. But there would be costs to the country, if the wrong candidate won.
“Will you do it?” Jude blurted out, and passed the newspaper to Kieran, still tightly rolled. His chest and his stomach were tight, face pale, head crowded with the possibilities, the best outcomes and the worst – he thought he might throw up. “I – can’t.”
