He started to scramble off the bed, but Arsen still held his wrist. “Stop.”
Ever froze.
“Just lie down and go to sleep. Okay? You need to rest. You just need some sleep. You have to be exhausted.”
He was. He was so tired. He was tired in his bones, in his soul. But he couldn’t look at him. Ever turned to face the wall, close enough to smell the paint had it been fresh, hot tears sliding down his cheeks.
He hated this. He hated not knowing the rules. He was so stupid. It had never even occurred to him that Arsen didn’t want him. Of course, he didn’t. He met him covered in blood and dirt and smelling like a sewer. He was lucky he was even letting Ever lie there next to him.
He sucked in a breath as Arsen’s heavy arm settled over him, then his body curled around him, his chest against Ever’s back, his hips pressing to Ever’s ass, his knees pressed to the back of Ever’s. The warmth of his skin bled through the fabric of Ever’s hoodie and he could feel his breath against his neck and ear.
Arsen’s large hand settled on Ever’s belly over the fabric. “Just…sleep. Okay?”
Ever closed his eyes, testing the weight of Arsen’s arm, the feel of him around him. Was it too much? Not enough? It must have been just right somehow because he was fading into unconsciousness before he could formulate any kind of decision on the matter.
Arsen lay awake long after Ever’s breathing had evened out. He should have released him then. It was the right thing to do. But Arsen couldn’t bring himself to let go. Ever was warm and smelled like Arsen’s soap and he made the cutest sounds while he slept. Besides, he had wanted Arsen to hold him.
Ever—who had absolutely no reason to trust Arsen—had come to him for comfort, had come to him because he was afraid. Arsen knew what it was like to be afraid. He’d spent many nights listening to his father rage. Bottles crashing, glasses breaking, his mother’s screaming. It had been years but it was still all fresh in his mind. His mother smiling with blood on her face while she told him it was all okay.
“Go to sleep,zaichik.It’s just a bad dream.”
Arsen swallowed the lump in his throat. The violence was never forgotten, never far from his memories. His age had only protected him for so long, then his father had turned the violence towards him. To make him stronger. Tougher. A real man. Real men didn’t cry. Real men didn’t whine. Real men took their beatings in silence. Crying only prolonged the inevitable.
Arsen squeezed Ever a little tighter. Maybe he was the one who needed Ever. He’d told himself a million times he could never be comfortable with someone sleeping in his bed, but Ever was right there, taking up space in a way Arsen swore he’d hate. But he didn’t. Why?
Maybe because Ever had trusted him? Arsen wanted to be the one to protect him, comfort him. He’d found him. Shouldn’t he take responsibility? Wasn’t that the right thing to do? How could Arsen be sure someone else wouldn’t take advantage of Ever? He’d come to Arsen looking for comfort, but he’d been prepared to trade that comfort for sex. What if someone else said yes?
Ever had assumed Arsen would say yes and was heartbroken when he’d refused him. Why? Was Arsen simply the lesser of two evils in his eyes? That thought made Arsen’s heart ache. Had Ever known any kind of affection that wasn’t transactional? Had he been forced to give a piece of his soul away every time someone showed him any kindness? Had anybody even bothered to try?
He looked down at the boy, currently sleeping with his cheek smooshed against Arsen’s bicep, full lips parted as he softly snored like a puppy. Ever was sweet-faced—that was the only way Arsen could describe him. In the dim lighting, his hair looked almost black, but in the light, it was a dark chocolate brown, just like his wide doe eyes. He had a heart-shaped face and high cheekbones but enough baby fat to make him seem vulnerable.
But Ever wasn’t just cute, he was attractive. Arsen had been shocked when he’d seen him standing barefoot in his apartment, damp hair hanging in his eyes and a baby blue sweatshirt making his golden skin glow. He’d been everything Arsen hadn’t known he’d wanted. But he had wanted.
That was why he was still thinking about the way Ever looked up at him from beneath his lashes and the way his fingertips had trailed over his bare skin an hour later. Arsen never would have taken advantage like that, but he’d known Ever three hours and he was already tempting his resolve, his morals. He was a good person, damn it.
Ever was dangerous.
Ever squirmed a little closer, as if he could hear Arsen’s internal struggle and wanted to make it just a little more difficult. How could Arsen ignore how well Ever fit? How he seemed to be the perfect small spoon to Arsen’s bigger one? How his head tucked perfectly under Arsen’s chin? How his ass pressed directly against Arsen’s crotch…
Fuck.
Levi would call Ever pocket-sized, might even joke about hobbits or elves. But Ever was a fairy, something small and dainty and tempting, like in his game,Paladin. Arsen had fallen for the game the moment he’d played it. Knights and magic and round tables. Kings and wizards and mythological creatures. Maybe Ever was one of those creatures. Not a domovoi—they were ugly, and there was nothing ugly about Ever. Another tiny creature maybe?Mal'chik-s-pal'chikmaybe. He was tiny like that.
“You are about the size of my finger,” he murmured.
Ever rolled in his arms, a deep sigh escaping his chest. Arsen just stared. How could anybody hurt someone so sweet? So fragile? Arsen’s father had beat the hell out of him and his mother, but Arsen had been sturdy, strong. He had to be. His father never allowed for weakness. Even now. Even from behind bars.
No crying. No begging. Arsen had learned to mask his pain. But Ever…he looked at people like a dog who’d been kicked too many times. Suspicious but…hopeful. Like he just wanted one person to not let him down.
Arsen closed his eyes. Maybe he was just projecting. It was clear he wasn’t going to sleep. Not now. He might as well get up and get dressed. But he didn’t move. Minutes ticked by, but still he lay there, listening to Ever breathe, feeling his breath against his skin.
What if Arsen got up and it woke him? He needed sleep. Those wounds needed rest to heal properly. What if Ever woke up alone and panicked again? He hadn’t lasted long alone in Arsen’s old bedroom. Even with the lights on.
“The room is too big.”
That was what he’d said. But size was relative. When the room had been Arsen’s—when he’d shared the apartment with Jericho’s brother, Felix—Arsen had been grateful for a room with a door, but it had felt claustrophobic at times. There was barely enough room for his computer and the desk, which worked well when he was online with his friends, but not so much when he just wanted to hang out.
When the room belonged to Felix and Jericho had the master, Felix had often complained about it being ‘the size of a shoebox,’ which seemed like a major exaggeration to Arsen, but that was just Felix. Dramatic, over-the-top, excessive. That was why he was famous now. That was why everybody loved him and wanted to be his friend. Felix would love Ever.
