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The face came easily enough now. Blond hair, blue eyes, a narrow face with freckles across the nose. Leo concentrated on that, hoping something else would follow.

It did. The boy pushed his hair out of his eyes with a shaking hand, and Leo could see the tears on his cheeks.

He opened his eyes again, frustrated.

He didn’t want to remember that part tonight. He wanted the boy sitting somewhere else, doing something ordinary. Complaining about the weather or something equally pointless. It didn’t have to be a particularly good memory. Leo would have been happy to remember an argument about something stupid, provided nobody had cried.

Instead, he could picture the blanket around the boy’s knees and the paper bag he’d held on to while the woman hugged him.

Leo rubbed his hands over his thighs.

He’d wanted to hold him too. The feeling had come back so strongly in the basement that he’d reached for someone who wasn’t there. Even now, thinking about his face made Leo ache to go to him.

And he still didn’t know his name.

That bothered him more than almost anything else. He must have said it all the time. There might even have been something silly he’d called him when they were alone. Now he couldn’t think about him without calling him ‘the boy’, as though he’d been some stranger Leo had happened to notice.

It felt strange to be so happy about having a boyfriend again when he knew so little about the one he’d lost.

He looked at Nate. If only he were awake. Leo would have told him what he was thinking. Nate wouldn’t mind; he’d listened to everything Leo remembered about the other man and written it down when Leo had asked.

Leo would have liked to give him something more to write down. Something that would let Nate understand why he’d loved him.

But maybe someone who saw the painting might be able to help. They might recognize Leo and remember who he’d spent time with. There could be photographs, or people who knew where the boy had gone after leaving the house.

He might even still be alive.

If he got out.

Leo hoped he did. He hoped he’d found somewhere safe to go.

Nate’s phone lay beside the sleeping bag. They’d checked the comments earlier, but there might be something new by morning. Leo would ask him to look before he got busy with work.

For now, he was going to let him sleep.

Nate rolled onto his back, dislodging the sleeping bag from his shoulder. He made an irritated sound, so Leo focused his powers to catch the edge and pull it up again.

Nate immediately tucked it beneath his chin.

“You’re welcome,” Leo whispered.

He watched until Nate settled, then lowered himself beside him. He couldn’t feel the warmth of him tonight, but he could hear him breathing.

That had to be enough for now.

They checked the comments after breakfast.

Nobody had recognized Leo yet. Several people had offered to share the painting, which he appreciated, but he would have appreciated his name more.

Nate was still scrolling when someone knocked at the front door. Leo followed him into the hallway. Through the glass beside the door, he could see a pickup on the drive.

“Walt?” Nate said as he opened the door.

Leo stopped.

Walt.

He knew that name. Of course he did. He’d told Nate he’d recognize it.