Bullshit. Ferran met Nikolai's gaze with a smile. The curse was affectionate, friendly. Nothing the other man said would make him think otherwise. Dropping his knee, Ferran leaned toward Nikolai so that he was on all fours. He was close, too close to his friend, close enough to smell his hair gel. Ferran grabbed his shirt, clutching it in his hand as he returned to his previous position. He didn't want to leave. A familiar ache and longing settled in his chest as he faced his friend.