Billy sipped his own coffee, watching Goodnight fuss about the kitchen and move about. He did love watching him in the mornings, in his soft morning clothing that he'd gone to sleep in, whatever flannels those had been the night before, and sometimes not flannels at all. So he paused in his perusal to admire his lover unabashedly a moment, never really content, but at least momentarily satisfied by the time Goodnight settled.

"Not yet," he replied, pointedly cryptic.

There was a second, small stack of similar magazines arrayed on the coffee table. A few of them had pages marked.