In the cold, stale air below ground, Malachi felt more awake than he had been since he’d awoken that morning. Could see all of the details of Arthur’s beautiful, bruised, bitten features, while the sun above merely muted them without the added help of his glasses.

“More?” he repeated, intertwining their fingers. “We aren’t there yet.”

Rather, as the light slowly adjusted, what could be seen all around them were the remnants of an old wine cellar. It looked to have been connected at some point to the inside of the house – likely through some connection to the servants’ doors – but the entry had long ago been filled in.

Arthur seemed… tense. Perhaps this had not been a good idea. Throwing a glance back up to the narrow gap of light, Malachi debated playing it off as some sort of joke, if only to save his lover the discomfort of being there any longer.

“I’m sorry,” Malachi offered then, unwilling to lie, but unsure of what else to say.

“Do you want to go back up?”