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Sam kicked his legs to contribute to their momentum. Without pausing, Devil turned onto his back and gave him a very pointed stop that look. Sam stopped.

At the boat, Devil boosted Sam over the railing and Sam shook himself out. “At least the ocean isn’t that cold now,” Sam said, immediately beginning the workout of peeling wet clothes off. A few months ago, he’d have had to worry about hypothermia after a few minutes in the water. Still. Anything above bathwater temperature, and Sam had no interest. He liked being warm far more than he liked swimming. He entered the cabin, opening his tub as the boat tilted to the side under Devil’s weight.

His tub of spare, dry clothes was empty. “Of course,” Sam muttered. He put the tub aside and grabbed a blanket from his stash. He hesitated at his wet boxers but kept them on and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

Devil was watching the cabin door, and his gaze darted to the sketchbook in Sam’s hand as he emerged.

“It’s way too late and I’m too tired to set up the paints, but I have pencils,” Sam explained. Thanks to Eric’s gift of art supplies. He glanced at his chair but thought about Connor’s observations about Devil. About how he’d seemed…protective of Sam just now. He walked to the railing, and keeping a close eye on how Devil reacted, he sat next to where his tail rested on the wood.

“I have enough energy for a sketch or two,” Sam said. He wasn’t in any rush to get back to land, and he couldn’t find any motivation to work on college essays either. It was so late that Sam wouldn’t do much more than curl up on his frame and sleep. Before that, though, he could give Devil his thanks for helping him.

Sam waited for Devil to pose himself. Usually he arranged his curls, which, right now, were still damp and weighed down to hide his pointed ears. Usually, he parted his full lips and lifted his chin.

His mouth was a flat line. His jaw remained tense. His attention did not stray to the sketchbook but stayed on Sam’s face. On his ear.

“It isn’t even bleeding,” Sam said. “Getting punched the other day hurt way worse.” Sam told Devil about the incident in college. “We were lucky, really. If it ended up with police getting involved, we would have all been brought to the station to give statements.” Sam looked to his sketchbook, to the pencil in his hands. “That would mean a lot of writing. Forms. And I’d possibly lose my SUSI grant and not be able to afford college anymore. Which” – he drew a circle – “probably wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He drew another circle. Another. Peeked up to make sure he was getting the proportions right.

“Eric seems like he cares about me. Or, he cares about the little brother he remembers from his childhood. Apparently, he left when I was ten. Probably hated the way he was treated here and ran off to get away from it.” Sam glanced up for another proportion check. Back down again. “It’s not like I hate him, even though he seems convinced I do. I think he wants to be part of my life? But then he hates the boat, hates our dad, and I get so self-conscious about how much I struggle with college that I hate talking about that. It doesn’t exactly leave us with much common ground.”

Sam blocked in more shapes from memory, not needing to look up. He’d drawn and painted Devil so many times that at this point he could probably do it blind. “I haven’t been feeling right for a while now, and I think he’s making it worse.”

Devil’s arm moved in Sam’s peripheral. He stayed drawing, not acknowledging the movement, until hot fingertips brushed against the hinge of Sam’s jaw. Sam flicked his eyes up and found that Devil’s gaze was still locked on his scraped ear. Sam stayed still, waiting, as Devil fitted his palm over the injury. It felt as though a hot water bottle was pressing against his skin, a comfortable burn.

“Can you heal like Adonis?”

Devil’s top lip twitched, irritation flitting across his expression. He shook his head.

“Then you can…raise your body temperature?” Sam asked. His own body heated, pleasant, warm shivers spreading over his skin.

Devil huffed. It was neither confirmation nor denial.

“Can you not speak here?” Sam asked.

Devil’s shoulders tensed. His lips parted, and something garbled, stilted, came from his lips. Devil flinched, face pinching in pain. Sam’s heart leapt.

“Don’t!” He grabbed Devil’s wrist. “I’m sorry, don’t hurt yourself.”

Discontent flashed across Devil’s face. His golden eyes flicked to where Sam held his wrist, and the irritation eased away. Devil’s skin was smooth beneath Sam’s palm. Sam slowly released him, cheeks beginning to feel as hot as Devil’s skin. He ducked his head, hiding by returning his attention to the sketchbook on his lap.

Devil lowered his hand, and he bent forward to examine Sam’s ear again, close enough for his breath to rustle Sam’s hair. Sam saw his top lip curling back out of the corner of his eye.

A few more minutes and Sam’s tired eyes struggled in mere starlight to distinguish what he was drawing. He lingered anyway, sitting on the railing next to Devil, before slowly forcing himself to stand. Tiredness dogged his body, and his steps were heavy as he shuffled to the cabin.

He glanced at his monitor after putting away his sketchbook. The weather was promised to be good for the rest of the night, no rough seas. Sam debated driving in, but in the end, just double-checked that his anchor was holding him in place. In the distance, Connor’s yacht was already a mere spec on the horizon. “I’m going to crash here,” Sam told Devil. “And head back in the morning. Ivan and Eric brought my dad food, so I don’t need to go and…” Sam sighed. He should, anyway, just to make sure.

“I’ll go back first thing in the morning for breakfast,” Sam said. More to himself than Devil. It was just easier for him like this. He never left his house feeling rested.

Sam set up his little nook of blankets and pillows, and just before he lay down, he leaned out to see Devil still in place.

“I’m going to sleep,” Sam repeated. Devil stayed sitting on the railing. There was none of his usual impatient hissing going on today. He watched. He waited. “I’m going to bed in here. So, I won’t be drawing or painting you.”

Devil nodded.

Sam hesitated, shifting his weight and adjusting his blanket around his shoulders. “You know people usually sleep for eight or so hours. You…”

Devil fixed him with this look and Sam bit off the rest of his sentence.

“I wasn’t saying you were stupid or anything. I didn’t know if you knew. Don’t get mad at me if you get bored sitting there, alright?” Sam returned to his cabin and stretched himself out on his little bundle of blankets. The boat rocked beneath him, a soothing lull. And the salty ocean smell invaded his nose, even when he buried it into the pillow. A cool breeze drifted in from his open cabin door, but if he shut it, Sam couldn’t stretch out to his full height. He usually did close it, when he slept at the docks, but out here? Nobody was going to bother him.