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He was going back home. Lawrence blinked, glancing to the side to watch the land pass him by as they sped down the road in the army vehicle. It had taken them so long to reach Damascus – they had sacrificed so much, had lost so many people on the way – and now, he wouldn’t even be able to see it anymore if he turned around. He had been cast out – patted on the head like a good if feral dog – and sent home with a promotion and a few empty words. If it wouldn’t take so much effort, Lawrence would laugh at the absurdity of it, but it already took all his strength to sit in the jeep and keep it together.
“Where are you from, sir?”
“Mhm?” Lawrence glanced at the driver, wondering if he would refrain from any attempts at small talk if he simply didn’t answer.
“Where’s home for you, sir?” The driver repeated, focusing back on the road after throwing him a quick, bland smile.
It was just a simple, polite question; an invitation for Lawrence to enthuse over his hometown, and increase his anticipation of soon setting foot on British soil again. Undoubtedly, most soldiers would have regaled the driver with tales about a sweetheart at home or the delicious stew only their mother could prepare correctly. Lawrence couldn’t think of anything worthwhile awaiting him in England. All his mind would come up with when thinking about his home country were cloudy skies, rain, and the wooden cross hanging in his room. Cold dread settled in his stomach at the thought of returning to all of that under the disguise of going home. After experiencing the vastness of the desert and living amongst the men traversing through it, the idea of living in England was a stifling one. No one would understand what he had been through; they would all expect him to adhere to society’s rules and only regale them with tales of Arabia when they desired it. Maybe he should have accepted Auda’s offer to come back to the desert with him. The desert had been his home for months – her people had become his friends, his family… his lover – but things had changed. Lawrence had changed, and he didn’t know if the desert would even still welcome him – if he was still allowed to call it home.
“Sir?”
“I don’t know,” Lawrence answered the driver’s initial question. “I really don’t know.”
Awkward silence hung in the car between them, only interrupted when it accelerated, speeding faster down the road. The driver honked when they got close to a group of Bedouins on their camels, pulling Lawrence out of his thoughts. He stood up in the car, looking closely at the men they were passing. Wishing. Hoping.
“Stop!”
The car came to a screeching halt, and Lawrence jumped out of it without bothering with an explanation. His driver called after him, but Lawrence ignored him, running towards the group of Bedouins. “Ali!”
The man on the foremost camel lifted his head. Lawrence stumbled when the full force of the dark gaze slammed into him, but he didn’t stop until he had reached him. “Ali,” Lawrence craned his neck to look at him on top of his camel. “It’s me, Lawrence.”
A buzz went through the group of Bedouins at his introduction, but the whispers died down when Ali lifted his hand. He still didn’t say anything, regarding Lawrence in silent judgment instead. Lawrence fidgeted under the piercing gaze, rubbing at his wrist beneath the sleeve, acutely aware of the British uniform he was wearing.
“I know who you are,” Ali said, and then, with only the briefest hesitation, jumped off his camel to stand in front of Lawrence. “I’ll always know who you are, El Aurens.”
“Ali,” Lawrence swallowed, unsure how he should continue. They had parted in Damascus. Ali had left him. He had looked at Lawrence and finally found him unworthy of his love and friendship, and now… They were facing each other again, but nothing had changed. Lawrence had still failed. He had failed the Arabs, and Feisal, but he had also failed Ali – his comrade, his friend… his lover. He had no right to talk to him, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. “They are sending me back to England.” Ali deserved to know he was leaving.
One dark eyebrow rose while the rest of the face remained unmoving. “Why?”
“I,” Lawrence began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of the frantic driver.
“You’ve got to get back in the car, Colonel Lawrence.” The driver gestured for the jeep parked at the side of the road. “We’re expected in Cairo.”
“Colonel Lawrence?”
Heat shot into Lawrence’s face, and he ducked his head, not wishing to see the expression on Ali’s face. “I got promoted.”
“And rightly so, sir, if I may say so.” The driver cleared his throat noisily. “I’m sure you’ve got much to talk about with your… friends but we really need to get going to make the rendezvous with the boat.” Fingers clasped his shoulder, and Lawrence flinched violently, almost stumbling against Ali’s camel in his haste to get away.
“Sir?” The polite mask of the driver had cracked, replaced by a bewildered expression that was sure to morph into distaste soon. The British had mastered the art of being appalled by everyone who acted differently than they expected.
“No.” Lawrence straightened up, scratching the remains of his strength together to face the driver unblinking. “I’m not going to Cairo or England. I’m staying.”
“But sir…”
“Tell them whatever’s necessary to keep out of trouble.” Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest to hide the trembling of his hands. “My decision is final, I’m staying here.”
The driver stared at him, his gaze then shifting to Ali and the other Bedouins behind him. “Very well, sir.” He saluted Lawrence, threw another wary look at Ali, and hurried to his car faster than was dignified.
“Was that wise?”
Lawrence shrugged, his eyes following the car until it was out of sight. “Probably not.” They could court-martial him for disobeying orders, but they might not go through with it for fear of the public reaction. Or they could make an example of him and throw him into prison. He didn’t care either way.
“What are your plans now?”
“I don’t know.” A shiver went through his body, and Lawrence wrapped his arms tightly around himself, clenching his hands into the fabric of his uniform to keep them from trembling. It was true, he didn’t have any plans, but somewhere deep down, he couldn’t deny he had hoped Ali would welcome him back – the more the fool he was. Histeria bubbled up in his chest, but Lawrence clamped down on it before he could lose it. He didn’t want Ali to remember him as a laughing fool in a British uniform. He could keep it together until they had said goodbye and then… Lawrence’s mind came up blank. There was nothing left for him anywhere. If he made his way to Cairo or walked straight into the desert wouldn’t make a difference – to anyone.
“Do you still know how to mount a camel, or do you require help?”
“What?” Lawrence blinked, returning to the present to stare first at Ali and then at the camel a servant had brought from the rear.
“We still have some way ahead of us before we reach the designated place for the camp – I don’t expect you to walk that far.” Ali’s voice was matter-of-fact, but when Lawrence dared to meet his gaze, he found his dark eyes softened by fondness. “I hope your uniform doesn’t chafe too much, El Aurens.”
Lawrence’s lips twitched slightly as he stepped up to the camel. “I can always burn it if it does.”
“I might do it for you,” Ali said, mounting his camel without waiting for a reply.
Their small caravan started moving again, and soon Lawrence found himself lulled by the movements of the camel; his mind blissfully blank as he followed behind Ali to wherever he was going.
OOO
The journey was a blur of images to Lawrence. Sand, dunes, and flashes of green; it all merged together until he lost all sense of time and direction. It should’ve worried him, and maybe it would have if not for Ali, who was there without fail whenever Lawrence surfaced briefly from the depths of his own mind. Ali, as steadfast and reliable as ever, and although Lawrence knew he didn’t deserve him, that his friend would be better off without him, he didn’t turn his camel around to set him free. It was the height of selfishness, and yet, just another thing to hate himself for.
The end of their journey came as a surprise to Lawrence. They had arrived at a camp, and the scent of coffee and wooden fires roused Lawrence enough to dismount his camel. Someone took the reins to lead it away, leaving Lawrence standing with nothing to hold on to, the sole focus of the Bedouins’ curious gazes. He ducked his head and hunched his shoulders, suddenly afraid they would overcome their uncertainty and invite him to sit with them in a show of hospitality. The mere thought of sitting in front of a tent while food and coffee were pressed on him during a friendly interrogation was enough to send rivers of cold sweat down his back. Why had he believed this was a good idea? He could barely stand to be in the same room as three other people; how was he supposed to handle being in a camp with so many men?
“You must be tired, Aurens.” Ali appeared at his elbow, and Lawrence breathed a sigh of relief when the men took that as a sign to leave.
“Yes,” Lawrence admitted, shivering in the rapidly cooling air as night fell around them.
Ali merely nodded. “Come then.” He didn’t wait for Lawrence’s reply, just walked ahead, and Lawrence hurried after him to one of the tents. Ali pulled the flap at the entrance aside, revealing a rather spacious interior. “You can rest here for now.”
With his throat drier than their journey warranted, Lawrence hesitantly entered the tent. It wasn’t as luxurious as Feisal’s, but the thick carpets, neatly arranged cushions and pillows, and the comfortable-looking sleeping place showed that the tent belonged to someone of status – it was Ali’s tent.
“I don’t…” Lawrence began, wiping his hands on his trousers, suddenly wishing for his robes to hide in their folds. He had lost count of how often he had shared a tent – or a cave – with Ali, but it felt wrong for him to accept such hospitality now – after everything that had happened.
“Selim will bring you food and water,” Ali stated as if Lawrence hadn’t said anything. “You’ll eat and drink, and then you’ll sleep. We’ll talk afterwards.”
Lawrence was left to stand alone in the middle of the tent, staring after Ali at the entrance until the flaps parted again and a young man entered with the promised food and drink. “The Sherif told me to bring you those since you aren’t feeling well enough to join us.”
“Thank you.” Lawrence forced himself to sit down, allowing Selim to put a couple of plates in front of him. He wasn’t hungry, but he would eat what Ali had ordered to be brought to him.
“I shall also leave those with you.” Selim placed a folded bundle of white clothes on a carpet. “A gift from the Sherif.”
Lawrence ducked his head, hiding the impact of the gesture from Selim, his eyes burning in reaction. “I appreciate the generosity,” he choked out, hoping it would be enough for Selim to finally leave him alone.
“I’ll let the Sherif know.”
Lawrence just nodded, not trusting his voice, and only lifting his head again after Selim had left. The tent blurred in front of his eyes, and Lawrence allowed the tears to run freely down his face as he forced food and water into his body. It all tasted of nothing to him, but it restored some of his energy. Enough for him to wipe his face and unfold the robes left for him. They weren’t as fine as the first ones Ali had given to him, but they felt soft and familiar to Lawrence’s touch. He knew he didn’t deserve them – didn’t deserve the comfort they would bring – but he still took off his uniform hurriedly, throwing it aside and almost wishing for a fire to burn it.
A low sigh fell from Lawrence’s lips after he had pulled the robes on, and for a blissfully long moment, he almost felt like himself again before the reality of his situation intruded on it. He hadn’t just defied orders, but practically deserted, and the worst was, he had brought Ali into a position of going against Feisal’s orders without knowing it. Lawrence laughed bitterly, turning in the beautiful tent. He didn’t deserve any of the things Ali had given him freely, and yet, he didn’t have the strength to reject them.
On his third turn, Lawrence stumbled from dizziness, falling to his knees on one of the carpets. It wasn’t meant for sleeping on, and the pillows were out of reach, but Lawrence still curled up on it, wrapping his robes around him like he had done so often in the desert at night. It was good enough for him. There was no need to soil Ali’s sleeping place when he could as easily rest here.
He closed his eyes, wishing for a few hours of oblivion, but the sounds of the camp and his own mind kept him wide awake until the flaps of the tent were pushed aside and someone entered quietly. Lawrence tensed where he lay as someone moved around, freezing when the man came to stand directly above him.
“Did you simply fall down where you stood, or couldn’t you find your way to the bed?”
Lawrence struggled up into a sitting position, withstanding the urge to flinch away from Ali's looming presence - he wouldn't hurt him. “I didn't want to impose on you.”
“It's no imposition, it's hospitality, and you make me seem like a bad host.”
Heat shot in Lawrence's cheeks at the reprimand. “I'm sorry.” He was nothing but trouble for Ali. It would've been better for all involved if the Turks had just slit his throat after they were done with him.
“There's no need.” Ali sank onto the carpet, sitting cross-legged in front of him. “Did you get some sleep at least?”
“No,” Lawrence admitted quietly, unable to lie to his friend.
Worry flashed in the depths of the dark eyes. “You need to rest.”
Lawrence shrugged helplessly, trusting Ali to understand the issue without having to voice it. After all, he had witnessed the nightmares and been woken from his screams after Lawrence's return from Deraa night after night, and knew what demons lay waiting in his subconsciousness.
“Do you still feel well enough to talk?”
Grateful at the change of topic, Lawrence nodded despite the dread settling in his stomach. “We can talk.”
“Good.” Ali stroked his moustache, regarding him quietly. “So, what are your plans?”
“I don't have any.” Lawrence almost laughed at Ali's shocked expression. Usually, he would be flattered at the notion that he always had a plan, but this time, it only meant that he would disappoint Ali. “I was supposed to return to England, but then I saw you and… I couldn't leave like that.” So much had happened between them - too much for their relationship to ever be the same again - and Lawrence couldn't let it end with a harsh exchange in the council hall.
“You deserted… to say goodbye.” Disbelief colored Ali's every word, and Lawrence ducked his head with a wince.
“I also defied Feisal’s orders,” Lawrence admitted to the carpet. “He wants me out of the country, and I can't blame him for it.” A bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. “I betrayed him and our cause because I thought I could do everything.” Once started, Lawrence couldn't stop talking, the words rushing out of his mouth like rain water down a Wadi. “I was convinced I could simply will it all to fall into place. Even after Deraa,” Lawrence dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands to anchor himself with the pain. “I still believed I could win because otherwise it would have all been for nothing - and it was for nothing. All these people… I killed them for nothing.” He gasped, sucking air into his lungs as images of the destroyed convoy surfaced in his mind. It had been a slaughter, and no matter what Auda said, the desert didn't have enough sand to dry the blood he had spilled that day. Or all the days following after when he had failed in his duties and forgotten about the civic hospital. He had killed so many, he didn't even know their numbers.
“Aurens.”
Lawrence's head shot up to meet Ali's pained gaze. “God, you must hate me!”
A sad smile ghosted over Ali's lips, sending a shiver down Lawrence's spine. “One cannot hate what one loves.”
The rare sentiment behind the words, mirrored in the dark eyes, shocked Lawrence into speechlessness. It would have been easier if Ali cursed his name - for them both.
Ali nodded quietly as if Lawrence had confirmed his words, the sad smile never leaving his lips. “I'll send a messenger to Feisal to explain the situation. I'm certain he can make your generals understand it, too.”
“No!” Lawrence shook his head vehemently, reaching out to physically hold Ali back but abandoning the movement before his hand could make contact. He curled it into a fist in his lap instead. “I can't ask that of you… nor of Feisal.” Even if Feisal were willing to speak out on Lawrence's behalf, it could cost him dearly. He didn't want to be the reason the Arabs had to make even more compromises. “It's not worth it.” I'm not worth it, he didn't say, but he could tell from the hard set of Ali's face that he had heard the unspoken words. He had always been good at reading Lawrence.
“That's not for you to decide,” Ali growled and jumped to his feet. He left the tent but returned before Lawrence could start to worry. “A messenger will depart soon. It will likely take a few days until he returns with a message. Until then, you're to stay here; to eat, sleep, and rest!” As the dark eyes drilled into his, Lawrence could only bow to Ali's will with a nod.
“Good.” Ali's expression softened. “You've already eaten, it's time for you to sleep now.”
“But,” Lawrence started even as he scrambled to his feet at a pointed look from Ali. “I don't think I'll be able to sleep.”
“You have to.” Ali pointed at the sleeping place, silencing any of Lawrence's protests with a raised eyebrow until he lay down.
“You can't force me to sleep.” The pillows were firm, and the blanket Ali laid out on top of him was soft and warm, but nothing would keep the nightmares away.
“No, but I can force you to lie still long enough for your body to make the decision for you.”
“How are you going to do that?” Ali wouldn't hold him down, Lawrence was sure of it.
“I'm ordering you to.”
“You can't…”
“Yes, I can.”
Lawrence swallowed at the intense look in Ali's eyes, pressing his suddenly burning face into a pillow. “Yes, you can.”
The smallest of laughter echoed through the tent, and Lawrence smiled reflexively, only to freeze when the bedding shifted. His heart threw itself against his ribcage when he caught sight of Ali lying next to him.
“I won't touch you,” Ali said softly, his eyes filled with a sadness that made Lawrence want to reach out to him despite the fear coursing through his veins. “But I'll stay, and remind you where you are when you… Wake up.”
Tears burned in his eyes, and Lawrence didn't try to hide them, looking at Ali until his face blurred. “Thank you.”
“Sleep,” Ali said after a beat of silence. “Sleep, and tomorrow will be a new day.”
Coming from Ali, the promise of another day of living didn't sound so much like a threat anymore. Lawrence slept.
OOO
Blood!
Everywhere!
Dripping down from lifeless hands, dying robes in crimson, and painting necklaces on slit throats.
“No, no!”
Lawrence stumbled away, running from the accusing stares of the dead, but there was no escape. Wherever he turned, they were already there, waiting for him - judging him.
“It's all your doing.” A voice spoke from the shadows. “You're responsible.”
Lawrence couldn't move, his limbs as if they had turned to lead, and so he waited as the man moved closer.
“You're not only a failure but also a murderer.” The man was still in the shadows, but Lawrence could make out the brilliant white of his robes. “You deserve what was done to you. Every whiplash and every violation, you deserve it.” The man stepped out of the shadows and met Lawrence's gaze with clear blue eyes; his uncovered hair gleaming golden in the light of the sun.
“You deserve it,” he repeated as his robes tore apart and blood started running down his thighs. His blue eyes met Lawrence's unflinchingly. “We deserve it.”
“No,” Lawrence whimpered, staring in horror at the vision of himself dripping blood where he stood. “No, please.”
“Aurens!”
Lawrence jerked awake. His heart hammered away in his chest as he lay there gasping for air. His eyes cast around wildly, searching for something familiar but finding nothing in the almost perfect darkness of the tent. He couldn't tell where he was or who was with him. Because there was someone - a man - right next to him. The Bey had threatened to keep him as a male concubine, to be locked away in pompous chambers and dressed in the finest robes to be of service to him whenever he desired.
“No, please,” Lawrence wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, curling up on his side when the man moved and the bedding shifted. “Please, don't!”
“Aurens.” The name was laced with despair and tenderness. “Aurens, you're safe here. No one will harm you in my tent, Habibi.”
Lawrence sucked in a breath at the endearment. “Ali?” he whispered, barely daring to hope.
“Yes, Aurens.”
Warily, Lawrence turned towards the voice, sobbing in relief when he was greeted by Ali's steady gaze. He was really here. Ali was here. It had all just been a nightmare… No, it hadn't been. The memories crashed down on him in a wave of pain and guilt, leaving him shivering where he lay.
“Aurens?” Ali moved closer but stopped short of touching him. “Are you alright?”
A bitter laughter tumbled from his lips. “No, I'm not alright, Ali. I have the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands, of people on my hands.” He hiccuped. “Not even what the Turks did to me was enough punishment.”
“Because it wasn't punishment, it was torture.”Ali's hand moved ghostlike in the dark but fell between them, inches away from Lawrence. “You can desire to face justice for what you did, but you can't make up for it by suffering.”
“Haven't you whipped a man for stealing?” Lawrence turned more fully on his side; his shivers subsided as his mind latched onto the discussion. “Didn't he pay for his crime by suffering?”
“He did according to our laws, but no amount of suffering will be sufficient to pay for the crime you're accusing yourself of.”
“What would be my punishment then?” He was truly curious, and a part of him hoped the answer would be something Ali was willing to do.
“Live,” Ali said gravely. “Live with the consequences of your actions and make up for them as best as you can.”
“How?” It sounded hellish. Ali had to hate him, or he would've sent him into the desert without water and food to let God decide his fate.
“One day at a time, and I,” Ali cleared his throat. “I'll stand by you for however many of them you desire.”
“Why? I can't even stand to be touched.” He couldn't fool himself into believing their relationship had been purely physical, but it had been an important part of it. And that was before Lawrence had been soiled at the hands of the Turks and then tried to drown his shame in blood. He had nothing left to give to Ali.
“And it pains me that I'm not able to comfort you by holding you in my arms, but I'd like to try something else to help you get back to sleep.”
“What?” Lawrence asked despite himself, thrown by Ali’s unexpected reply.
“Close your eyes and listen.”
“Why?”
“Just do it,” Ali ordered almost tenderly but without room for objection.
Intrigued but warily, Lawrence closed his eyes. For a time, all he heard were the usual, nightly noises of the camp, and then Ali started to talk. No, not talk, but recite, his voice taking on a melodic quality as he spoke words of immense beauty. Lawrence couldn't tell if they were surahs from the Quran or verses of epic poems, but they eased his mind, and he soon found himself drifting down the path to sleep again.
OOO
The days moved with the speed of an old camel passing through well-known territory. That said, never boringly slow nor terrifyingly fast, but at a predictable pace with no surprises.
Lawrence had fallen into a routine that revolved more around Ali than the path of the sun. They rose together and shared breakfast before Ali went about his responsibilities as Sherif. At first, his men had been confused by Lawrence's presence in the tent when they sought Ali out for advice or judgment, but they had grown used to it, and usually didn't pay him any mind. They included him in their conversations outside of the tent and invited him to join them for their daily business, but didn't act insulted when Lawrence declined in favor of just watching them from the shade of a tent or tree. He spent most of his time like that until it was time to join Ali for another meal or retire to bed with him. They still hadn't touched, but every evening, Ali would recite words of great beauty to him until Lawrence fell asleep.
It was all there was to life at the moment, and Lawrence could have continued like that indefinitely, but their peace was disturbed when the messenger returned to the camp.
“A message from the British and Lord Feisal for Aurens,” he announced, riding into the camp on his camel.
All eyes turned to Lawrence, who had found shelter from the sun at the entrance of their tent with Ali. They had been talking. It had been peaceful, relaxing, but now…
“It will be fine,” Ali murmured, beckoning the messenger to bring the letters to them. Lawrence took them with a shaking hand, almost tearing them as he tried to open them.
“Let me.” Ali opened them with his dagger, handing them to Lawrence, who stared at them but didn't dare to read the words.
“I can't,” Lawrence croaked, staring down at his feet. If they ordered him to leave, he would have no choice but to go - he couldn't put Ali into the position of hiding a deserter.
“Should I read them for you?”
Wordlessly, Lawrence handed the two papers to Ali. It was just as well his friend learned of the verdict before him. He rubbed at his wrist, waiting for Ali to finish reading and announce that he was to be brought to England to be court- martialed.
“It seems,” Ali began slowly, and Lawrence jerked his head up, “As if you'll have to endure my hospitality for longer.”
“What?”
One dark eyebrow was raised at him. “There’s no need to sound so shocked.” He glanced back down at the letters. “Feisal bestows well wishes upon you and welcomes you to stay as long as you don't take an active role in the political debate. Your generals,” Ali hesitated, “I believe they are saying the same thing, just more long-winded.”
Shame at having forced Ali to admit to his struggles with reading in English burned Lawrence's cheeks when he took the letters from his friend. He read them once, and again, and again, and still he doubted what his eyes were telling him.
“They allow me to stay as a civilian for an indefinite amount of time,” Lawrence finally dared to say out loud, and was still surprised when the message didn't suddenly change its meaning.
“That's good then.”
“Yes, only,” Lawrence scanned the letter from Allenby again, “When I want to return to England, I'll have to book my own passage on a boat. I don't have the money for that.”
Ali shrugged. “Then you stay.”
“Right, yes.” Lawrence scrambled to his feet, clutching the letters to his chest. “I just need some time to think.”
He barely waited for Ali's nod before he set off towards one of the dunes close to the camp. Sweat was sticking his clothes to his skin by the time he sat down in the sand, looking out over parts of the desert.
He could stay. It still felt surreal, but the words didn't change when he re-read them. Neither Feisal nor the British objected to his presence in Arabia as long as he kept his head down and his nose out of political affairs. They had worded it differently, of course, but that was what it burned down to. That, and Feisal's reassurance that he still considered him a friend which soothed his soul. Maybe, if he stayed, there was a chance to meet Feisal as a friend again.
“Aurens?” Ali's voice called out, and Lawrence realized with a start that the sun was already setting. Hours had passed since he had left the camp.
“Here!” he called out and watched Ali gracefully make his way down the dune to where he was sitting.
“I was afraid you'd set out to cross another desert.” He sank down next to him, turning halfway to meet Lawrence's eyes.
“No… At least not unless you and your men set out to do it.”
Ali turned more fully towards him; the hope in his eyes making Lawrence want to break down in humbled tears. “You're staying then.”
It wasn't a question, and yet: “Yes, if you still want me around.”
“That was never the question, Aurens.”
“No,” Lawrence admitted quietly. “It wasn't.” Ali had only ever walked away from him once, and only when staying would've torn him apart. Lawrence could see that now, just like he realized how often he had left Ali, he knew he couldn't do it again. Not only would it tear him apart, but it would also destroy whatever had survived between them. Lawrence couldn't allow that. This time around, he would do better.
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Lawrence reached across the small distance between them, covering Ali's hand where it lay in the sand. His stomach lurched at the contact of skin against skin, but he persisted, breathing through the discomfort until all he could feel was the warmth of Ali's hand.
“I'll stay,” he promised, smiling shakily at Ali. “And maybe one day we'll travel to Europe together.”
“I'll take you with me as my entourage when I've become a politician.” Ali turned his hand, pressing their palms together and intertwining their fingers.
Lawrence chuckled and squeezed Ali's hand. “I'd like that.”