He fished the teddy out from under the bed, putting it in Brandon's lap before he left the room. As he walked down the stairs he ran a hand through his hair, its back still a little warm, still tingling lightly. If this was Brandon's place, Lucas would simply leave but it wasn't. This was his house and now he had a confused mess, plagued and riled up by bad dreams like a little boy, sitting in his bedroom.
While he waited for the water to boil, he left a message with Brandon's work place. Keeping him here for the rest of the week might not be the best idea but it still sat better with the Englishman than kicking Brandon out and leaving him to his own devices.
It was better than spending time with the man who wore his face and name and enjoyed screwing with his head - day and night and night and day, popping out like a jack-in-the-box when he least expected it (stacks of boxes filled with cookies neither of them ate) and pissing off when he could be useful.