Ever nodded like he was committing this information to memory. For some reason, it bothered Arsen. Ever didn’t need to worry about sex with other people. Arsen couldn’t stomach the thought. He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time.
He focused on recalling the rest of Jericho’s talk. “If they say no, it’s assault. If they’re drunk, it’s assault. If they’re unconscious, it’s assault. Sex is about pleasure between two people. Assault is about power over another person.”
Ever seemed to chew on that for a while, once more resting his head on Arsen’s chest. “Then I’ve really never done any kind of sex.”
Arsen found himself kissing the top of Ever’s hair, something unknotting in his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But I want to,” Ever said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Arsen’s heart clenched. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
Ever waited a beat before asking, “With you?”
Arsen’s brain turned to mush, all rational thought grinding to a halt. He opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to think of any other reply thanyes, please. Finally, he said, “I—”
Ever cut him off. “Never mind. Good night,” he continued in a rush, wiggling free of Arsen’s arms and rolling to face the wall like he always did. At least, he wasn’t crying this time. And he didn’t run away. Probably because he didn’t like being alone. But Arsen would take it. He’d take anything that meant Ever was beside him, toxic or not.
He rolled onto his side then, after hesitating for only a moment, he folded himself around Ever, putting his arm around him and pulling him close. He breathed easier when Ever burrowed deeper against him, even if it meant his cute little ass was rubbing against Arsen’s crotch.
Fuck.
He pressed his face against Ever’s neck, inhaling deeply, recognizing the scent as one of the soaps he’d bought just hours ago. “Good night, Ever.”
“Good night.”
Things between Ever and Arsen were…awkward.
That was the only word Ever could think of to describe the last few days. On the surface, it didn’t seem like anything had changed between them. Each day, Ever would sit on the couch in the loft overlooking the garage while Arsen worked down below. He would read his book and covertly watch him work, and watch him laugh and joke with Jericho and the customers.
At lunch, Arsen or Jericho would make sure Ever had something to eat. Arsen would sit upstairs with him, watching intently as Ever tried whatever new food he’d brought for him. One day, it had been Indian food—Arsen’s personal favorite. Another, it had been Korean barbecue. Today, there were subs from the place down the street.
Everything had been delicious.
At least once a day, Arsen would take Ever out into the world. He seemed determined that he try one or two new things each day. The activities varied greatly. Blowing bubbles. Trying hot chocolate. Sitting on the roof and stargazing. Eating ice cream. Even a bubble bath. Sadly, Arsen had left Ever to that particular task alone.
It was all fun—everything Ever never even dared dream of, really—but nothing distracted him from the memory of their kiss and his pathetic attempt at flirting with Arsen after, or the weird tension that existed between them since.
At night, Arsen played his video games and entertained his adoring fans. Ever curled up in the corner of the bed and watched from afar, reading his book—casting him and Arsen as the main characters in his head—wishing more than anything he could go back to his seat between Arsen’s knees. He liked being boxed in by him. It felt safe.
And Ever rarely felt safe. Not that he worried about Arsen or Jericho, but every customer felt like a potential threat. Every trip outside the garage felt like it could be his last. It hadn’t been that way at first. When Arsen had liberated him, he’d been scared and confused, but elated to finally be free of Jennika.
But with each passing day, his unease grew. Maybe it was the tension between him and Arsen getting jumbled in his head. Or maybe this was the trauma that Arsen had warned him about. The trauma that seemed to make him untouchable in Arsen’s eyes.
Or maybe Arsen just didn’t want him. Not that Ever could blame him. Arsen had a life. He had a job and an apartment and friends. He had hobbies and fans. Ever didn’t even have a last name. He was a ghost, forced to rely on Arsen and Jericho for everything.
He wanted to help, but Arsen knew the loud noises of the garage scared him. No matter how much Ever tried to hide his discomfort, he jumped at every sound, and it was only getting worse. But he had no other options. He had no birth certificate, no birthday, no social security card. All things Jericho insisted he needed if he wanted a life in the outside world.
Did Ever want a life outside? Not really. Every day, his anxiety grew, this weird sense of dread that weighed on him, growing heavier with each moment. Jennika was dead. He knew that. He’d seen what was left of her body. His injuries were almost healed. But the scars remained. And they were ugly inside and out.Hewas ugly.
Ever shoved the thought away, glancing at the clock. Unease filled him like an icy finger down his spine. It wouldn’t be long until his doctor’s appointment. When Arsen had first told him about it, he’d just nodded blankly, but now that it was growing close to the time when he would have to go, he was having a hard time quelling the panic clawing up his throat.
Jericho had made the appointment—said the doctor was a friend of the family. Jennika had called her doctor friend that, too. He’d looked like a doctor. Had degrees on his wall, had all the things he needed to bandage Ever’s burns, suture up his cuts, set his broken bones. But it was Ever who’d paid the bill. Did all doctors expect to get paid in sexual favors from children? Had Ever finally aged out?
He wanted to pace. He wanted to tear at his skin or pick at his nails—something,anything, to drive away the fear. He knew it wasn’t rational. He did. He really did. But he couldn’t seem to get his body to understand. He hugged himself for a solid minute until something moving below caught his attention.
Arsen. He was talking to a boy his age with shaggy brown hair. The panic inside Ever was now replaced by something else at the sight of them. Jealousy. Ever folded his hands on the back of the sofa and placed his chin on them as he watched the two.
Watching Arsen was one of Ever’s favorite pastimes. Every morning, Arsen would start off in navy blue coveralls and clunky oil-stained work boots, a headband pushing the hair out of his crystal-blue eyes. But by noon, he’d stripped off the top half, tying the sleeves around his waist, leaving him in nothing but a tight tank top—today, it was black—that showed off well-muscled arms and tattoos just as colorful as his hair.
