The closest comparison he had to Simon’s state was the horrible tremors some of the boys had when they had to present their work in front of the class. Zechariah looked on sympathetically, waiting for him to find the words.

… But not those words. It was his turn to look nervous. Had he misread Simon’s intentions? He had seemed so forward! Zechariah was as red as his coat, letting out a strained laugh and running a hand over never-flat hair.

He had seen what he wanted to, and made a fool of them both.

“He is … very kind.”

Kind enough to offer some more rancid-tasting liquor tonight – of that he had no doubt.