“You haven’t even seen my place,” he says with a soft laugh, slipping his arm around Fabrice’s waist. He leads them along the edge of the property, far enough from the fence to not turn on security lights. The garage looms out of the darkness and he fishes out a key, opening the door to show a small stairway up. “The light is at the top. Sorry, bad planning.”

The place is clean and sparse. It’s filled with work and books and a tv that dominates one wall. The space is compact, but Demetri likes it, entirely his own. “Be glad June isn’t around. She installed a disco ball once when I was at work.”