"Mhmm." Neville's head drooped against Grayson's shoulder. "S'fine. Has a bed. Bathroom works."
"That's not..." Grayson trailed off and decided not to ask the drunken person.
Grayson already expected that since Neville was an orphan and had just started earning his wage, he would have a lot of items in his house. But taking a sweeping gaze at the items in this place, it didn't seem to be like any he had seen on the market. Some were a newer version of something he only saw in the antique shops.
Who was Neville really?
Grayson crossed to the bed in large strides and lowered Neville onto the bed carefully. Neville groaned at the sudden cold wind after Grayson let him go. His head started pounding; the pleasant pheromones were thinning out.
"Easy," Grayson murmured. His hand lingered on Neville's shoulder, steadying him. "Let me get your shoes."
Neville made a vague noise of protest, but Grayson was already kneeling—actually kneeling—to untie his work shoes.
