“I know you hate it when I ask. But… are you okay?”
Matthieu blinked up at Kieran, caught off guard by the tenderness in his words. Kieran looked down at him, brown eyes wide, wearing an expression that could only be described as patient.
For the first time since Kieran had barreled back into his life, Matthieu let himself really look, and it wrecked him to find that Kieran had hardly changed at all. Sure, he was bulkier now, every inch of him carved from muscle. His face had lost the last hints of baby fat. The rest remained unchanged as if no time had passed, as if their lives had been moving forward on a broken clock.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Matthieu said eventually, though the sigh that slipped from Kieran’s plump lips told him it wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for.
“I’m asking you,” Kieran said, firmer this time. “Don’t say ‘fine.’ It’s written all over your face.”
Matthieu hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “What I did, Kieran. It was…”Unforgivable. Disgusting. The actions of someone mentally unmoored.
Kieran cut him off. “Fucked up.”
“I know, I’m so?—”
Kieran cleared his throat. “Look at me.” Matthieu couldn’t, as if avoiding eye contact could undo the heinous thing he’d done.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Kieran continued. “What happened… it's like…” He stopped, and Matthieu could feel the silence pressing in. “Every time I fall asleep, it’s like I can still feel you against me.”
Jesus Christ. He was telling Matthieu that what happened had traumatized him, that Matthieu’s actions had left real damage. Deeper than the bruises. Matthieu knew better than anyone that marks on skin faded fast. The ones on the soul? Not so much. He’d left those marks on Kieran like it was nothing, without thinking of the consequences.
“You should report me,” Matthieu said, his voice scraped raw. “Call the cops. I’ll stay right here. I won’t deny what I did. I…”
“Goddammit, Matthieu, will you let me say what I have to say?” Kieran’s hand landed on the back of Matthieu’s neck. He hadn’t even noticed him stepping closer. “You crossed a line. You know that. I told you to stop, I told you no, I tried to push you away—it was fucked up, Matty. You fucked up.”
Matthieu flinched, bracing himself, waiting for the hit, the shove, for Kieran to slam him into the wall the same way he had a few nights ago. Instead, Kieran’s thumb traced soft, slow circles beneath Matthieu’s hairline.
“The worst part?” He exhaled hard. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop reliving it in every one of my dreams. I can’t stop wanting—no, needing. Maybe that makes me fucked up too.”
Matthieu stared at him, stunned. He must be losing it. That was the only logical explanation—right?
“I assaulted you.” Matthieu couldn’t say the four-letter word for what it really was, because that’s what he was, wasn’t he? A?—
But Kieran wasn’t running. He’d dragged Matthieu into a storage closet, out of sight of anyone who might stop this if Matthieu lost it again, and he was looking at him with… longing?
What the hell was wrong with both of them?
“I hurt you,” Matthieu forced the words out. “The marks are right there on your skin. I can’t live with what I did, and I shouldn’t. It’s unforgivable.”
“And yet, I’m choosing to forgive you.” Kieran’s voice had softened more than the moment warranted. “I’m choosing to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”
It was such a typical thing for Kieran to say that Matthieu couldn’t help but snap. “I don’t need your pity.”
How dare he waltz back into his life after all this time, acting like the savior to all of Matthieu’s problems when he didn’t know a damn thing about him anymore. He didn’t have the right to look at Matthieu the way he was. He wasn’t allowed to stand there acting like he cared, because Matthieu’s foolish heart might get ideas that he actually meant a single word he said.
Kieran sighed and shook his head, a look of defeat—or more likely exasperation—crossing his gorgeous face. “You never were good at accepting help.”
Why would he be? Matthieu had never had anyone he could rely on. Not once. It was always him carrying the weight of everyone else’s burdens. He didn’t get to complain. Didn’t get to fall apart.
“If talking about whatever is going on with you won’t help,” Kieran said, stepping closer, “then let me in another way.”
“Another way?”
“If having a safe space to lose control helps… if you need a person to take your frustration out on, let me be that person.”
Matthieu blinked up at him, trying to decode what he was saying.
“If you need someone to scream at, if you need someone to push,” Kieran continued. He reached up, brushing a piece of Matthieu’s hair off his forehead. The soft drag of Kieran’s thumb across his temple sent a shiver chasing down Matthieu’s spine.
