Billy exhaled, slow, grounding. Goodnight's hands were cool against his skin, but his skin was hot and blazing. They were both, he thought, a little nervous. More than a little.

His gaze hadn't shifted even when Goodnight's did. He needed to know this was real, that this was happening, that he wasn't dreaming this right now. No, of course he wasn't dreaming.

"I'm not," he whispered, and then realized how that sounded. "I'm not saying that."