My head rocks in my skull. I tip over and groan. I'm too old for this shit, and it honestly felt like I drank the perfect amount. My front hits something warm. A body. My eyes shoot open and I fling myself back.

Spencer is asleep beside me. Well, only technically. My heart is racing. Fingers find my chest, and I'm clothed in the pajamas I put on. But, I don't remember him coming here. Only his arm is on the bed. The rest of him lies on a blow-up mattress below me. The angle his arm lies cannot be comfortable. I press down on my collarbones, trying to reach my own heart and press it back into its place.

It's too dark in the room to make out much else. My bed moans beneath me as I slip back to the spot I was in when I woke up. Were our hands touching? I lie on my side and try to press it into the spot. No. They weren't. I felt his hand, the warmth of it what truly woke me from being half alive.

Slowly, I lean forward. I rest my hand on top of his, feeling his knuckles beneath my hand. I didn't play in the band like Stéphane, so I wouldn't know what instrument Spencer would play. Maybe you'd call them piano hands, but I can't just imagine him touching a keyboard. He could play the clarinet, fiddling with his mouth pieces with a reed between his lips. Of course Reid would play an instrument with a reed. I could also imagine him with a viola. Not a violin. He'd never play melody. Maybe he'd even play a cello, his long body hunched over one to play it.

After a few minutes, I decide to get up. The kitchen is quiet, so I put on coffee for both of us. As always, an ungodly amount of sugar is in his mug. When Estelle and I moved in here, we bought kitchen supplies to match for dinner parties. I thought white would be classy, but Estelle insisted on colour. Only our mugs aren't perfectly matching. We never had fun mugs before, and Spencer only has souvenir mugs. It confuses me that a man with a perfect memory would need so many reminders of where he has been, but I'm grateful at least since we never mix up our coffees.

I return to the room and put his coffee on my desk. I end up pulling out my laptop and doing some work. Slowly, I hear him stir.

"Morning," I close it and put it down on my nightstand, substituting it for the coffee next to mine.

"Good morning," he sits upright. He stretches to reach the coffee, and with half lidded eyes, he is already sipping it.

"When did your flight get in?" I ask.

"Late last night," he says. "I called you, but your brother answered."

I check my nightstand, and my phone isn't there. I must have left it in the kitchen. I try not to groan.

"He invited you over, I take it."

Spencer takes a sip, "he wanted to give me a talking to before Valentine's Day. It was quite fun actually. I got the impression it wasn't his first time trying to warn off a boyfriend."

"Was he drunk?" I peer at the doorway, where somewhere down the hall he should still be sleeping. I should have checked before coming here.

"Stone cold sober," Spencer says. He reaches over and touches my hand. "He seems like he's doing well, Colette. I think he's really happy you're looking out for him."

I roll my eyes. Spencer squeezes my hand. I slide to the edge of the bed, and then lower myself to the floor, careful not to spill my half empty coffee cup. My mug finds a spot on my desk next to him, and I lie down with him. Our heads barely fit the singular pillow, temples pressed together. Our fingers are intertwined.

The ground is hard though, the blow-up mattress basically completely deflated and I wince.

"I need to buy a new one of these," I wince as I roll over. "This is torture."

"Nah, it's not so bad," Spencer shakes his head just a bit, but I feel it deep inside my mind. "I've slept on worse. I'll probably sleep on worse in a few days. And after the talk with Bastien, well... let's say I wasn't about to let myself into your bed. Besides, you were completely out. He made it seem like you'd wake up, but by then it was three in the morning."

I glance at my alarm clock, "it's seven."

When I have the perfect amount to drink, just enough to be fun but not enough to get a hangover, I rise early. Of course, that was when I was in university. Now, I'm up early and hungover. An excellent combination if there ever was one.

"You made me coffee," his voice is a hum, a murmur, just for me.

I tilt over and kiss his cheekbone, "course I did. I'm planning to give you a heart attack and claim the inheritance. I need you to have as much sugar as possible."

"The first gift you ever gave me was a sugar bowl."

I smile and whisper the words against his skin, "you should have known from the beginning."

We lie there for too long. Spencer nods off to sleep. It's Valentine's Day now, not that I care. I let the sun come in. It's bright, white this morning rather than glowing. He looks a bit angelic. I don't know how he sleeps with it and the coffee in him. Warming, pumping, rushing. I'm definitely more exhausted. I take an Advil for the headache, and drink a sports drink.

And that's the only time I let myself check on Bastien. He is snoring in the living room anyway, so he couldn't have been entirely sober. He snores more when he went to bed drunk. Spencer wouldn't lie to me. He likes knowing things, and if he didn't want me to know he'd just not bring it up.

Only now do I start to process the thoughts I had last night. When I return back to lie next to him on the floor, I think about how I haven't shown him enough affection. The cologne and book ends are wrapped in my closet, and it didn't feel like enough. How do I give him more?

I could tell him.

I race out of the room. I don't stop, nearly sliding and tripping on the floor. I dart over to the freezer and pull out an ice tray. I try to crack it but my hands are shaking.

Spencer comes up behind me. He cracks the tray and ice spills out. I grab one and just hold it in my hand.

"Are you alright?" he twists my head forward, wiping the sweat off my forehead. One hand wraps around the small of my back and his eyes search my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the words come out before I've decided upon them. They aren't mine. Or maybe they are more mine than even my decisions. "No, I'm fine. Just, I thought... I'm hungover and I thought I was going to puke."

He lets go and then wraps his arms around me tightly. I don't lean in, mostly because the ice is melting and I don't want to get him wet. Spencer pulls back, hands resting on my arms as his eyes meet mine.

"You look pale," he says.

"I'm ginger, it's natural."

He pulls me in again for a hug.

"Get a room."

Spencer lets go of me. I look as Bastien enters the kitchen. He's hunched over, up early for a Saturday. He digs into the fridge and pulls out a carton of milk. Then, he starts to chug it. The cardboard container pressed to his lips.

"I do have a room," I tell him. "The kitchen. And the living room. And my bedroom whenever you aren't making a mess of it."

He drops the jug and stares at me. He snorts, "good luck telling Estelle this is your kitchen. Let me know if she lets you keep your toes or if she cuts them off along with all your fingers."

I'm about to stick my tongue out at him but he beats me too it.

"You're so childish."

"Morning Bash," Spencer smiles.

Bastien closes the carton of milks and returns it to the fridge. Now, I'm going to need to pick up milk today.

"Good morning, Dr. Reid, pleasure as always," Bastien says. "Still waiting for your email about ring sizes, but she's an eight, if that helps."

I switch to French so quickly Bastien flinches, "how do you know that? Ta guele!"

"Hey, it's not my fault," he laughs. "Lock up your rings if you don't want me to go through them! You're upset? Too bad."

I flinch to run at him and he races out of the room. As he goes, I groan.

Spencer reaches behind me, brushing the hair off my neck. The cool air caresses my skin and suddenly Bastien feels further away then my living room.

I turn my head and look at Spencer. The sunlight doesn't reach this room, but it was too bright anyway this morning, and the overhead lights are orange. Do I love him? Even drunk, I only thought I wanted to love him. One day.

Today is not that day. That's okay.

"What?" he furrows his brow then reaches up to his cheek. He rubs it but of course, there is nothing on his face. His cheeks start to go red, even the one he didn't touch. "He's not... I didn't ask for your ring size. I think marriage shouldn't be a surprise. A proposal maybe, but I'd want to talk about it first anyway. Not that... well, I also wouldn't be asking for Bastien for permission. Or even Stéphane, even if you wanted me to since I think it's a bit archaic."

When he lets himself breathe, I move in and kiss him. He tastes like coffee and the sunrise.

~~~~~

I actually love the sibling dynamics in this. And each one gets their own little book (yes, this is me confirming that there is a third book in this series that I am currently pressing my way through). Which of the Bouchards would you rather have as your own sibling?