Jonathan stood in the alley outside the Bronze, whimpering softly, his forehead pressed against the cool brick. "I don't get why the Dingoes are so popular," he muttered to Andrew who had followed him out. "They make my ears bleed."

"Literally," said Andrew, pulling a napkin from his pocket and gently wiping away the droplets that had trickled down Jonathan's jawline.

"Hellmouth," Jonathan shrugged, looking at his shoes. Not looking at Andrew. Definitely not shivering at the warm breath on his cheek.

Andrew nodded, pocketed the soiled napkin, and took Jonathan's hand. "Let's get you home before something smells it."