Page 118 of Psychopath

“Shit, Quinn,” Zane exhaled. “What is it about you and the crazies, huh? One tried to choke you, two want to kill for you, another one kidnaps you.” He shook his head. “Seriously, your next study, pick something nice, something about rainbows and unicorns.”

Quinn slipped down to the floor and caught his head in his hands.

“Hey,” Zane said, crouching beside him. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head at all?” He brushed a hand through Quinn’s sweaty hair, searching for an injury. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not hurt,” Quinn murmured against his palms.

Zane tried to pry Quinn’s hands away. “You’re safe. I promise. He’s gone. I won’t let him—”

“People got hurt,” Quinn gasped. “They got hurt because of me.”

“No, Virgil—”

“He was out of Greenwood for my study, Zane. Cleo, Simon, Clint, what if he…”

Zane pulled Quinn’s hands away and gripped them tight so he couldn’t cover his face again.

“Listen to me,” Zane said. “This… It wasn’t your fault.” He pushed his forehead to Quinn’s. “Don’t torture yourself with what-ifs, okay.” He lifted his head. “They’ll find us soon enough, then we’ll know what’s going on.”

A tear rushed down Quinn’s cheek. Zane made a pained noise and wiped it away with his thumb.

“Come here,” Zane said, pulling Quinn into a hug. At first, Quinn resisted. He didn’t deserve comfort when potentially a bus load of people were fighting for their lives, but he gave in and pressed his nose to Zane’s neck and breathed him in.

Zane shushed him and brushed his fingers against Quinn’s nape. They sat like that on the floor of the prison van for a while before Zane pulled away.

“Please say you bought water.”

Quinn nodded, pointing to a bottle towards the back. They’d gone everywhere during the drive. He’d bought four in total, and it took a moment for him to point them all out to Zane, who reached for the closest one. Zane unscrewed the lid and offered it to Quinn.

He blinked at Zane.

“Drink. It,” Zane said, lifting up one of Quinn’s hands and making him take it. “It’s hot as hell in here.”

Quinn took the bottle and sipped the water while Zane crawled to the front and grabbed another, which had got wedged beneath Cleo’s chair during Virgil’s escape.

“It’s the hottest July 3 since records began,” Quinn said, echoing Cleo from earlier that day.

“And don’t I believe it,” Zane said, tipping his bottle back. He took great big gulps of water, then closed his eyes. “And I decided to wear jeans.” He cracked an eye open. “I’m going to remove my vest. Don’t get too excited.”

Before Quinn could come up with any kind of protest, Zane had lifted his vest up and over his body before dropping it in his lap. He let out a content sound as he pressed his bare back to the plastic door behind him. “I can feel you looking,” Zane said coyly.

“Glad to see this near-death experience hasn’t changed you,” Quinn muttered, drawing his knees to his chest.

Zane hummed. His smile faded. “I think this study has changed you, though.”

Quinn turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“When was the last time you looked at the stars, Quinn?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Zane shrugged. “When was the last time you went over to your allotment or went out with friends or spoke to your mother?”

Zane had him there. It had been a few months since he'd gone to the allotment, and he imagined his patch full of weeds and brambles, but that didn’t motivate him to go over and correct the issue. He chose to ignore it. There were unread messages on his phone, some from months ago, but he'd been putting off replying.

And his mum…he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sent her a text let alone spoke to her.

“I’ve been busy,” he said. “This study—”

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