Harry realises that at some point he’s started rubbing little circles with his thumb against the silky, firm skin of Iain’s hip, and the other boy exhales and leans into him, shutting his eyes as their foreheads touch. They stay like that for one beautiful, suspended moment, breathing in sync, one with each other and the idyll around them, until a fat trout splashes out of the water and Iain startles, then giggles.
