But he was also clingy and needy. He pouted when he didn’t get his way, whined for cuddles when he was tired, demanded food or head scratches like an oversized puppy, and sobbed inconsolably over Setsuko’s death inGrave of the Firefliesevery single time they watched it.
His nature was as dualistic as Mal’s. And they ebbed and flowed together, each complimenting the other. When Nico was weak, Mal was strong. When Mal woke feeling soft and feminine, Nico became protective and possessive, his hands rarely leaving him all day. And when Nico desired his ego stroked, Mal was there to reassure him.
They just…worked.
No sappy ‘feelings’ discussions or talk of ‘what are we?’ Mal knew what they were. Nothing. Well, hehadknown that…up until thirty minutes ago.
Mal slipped his hand into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, wrapping his fingers around the gun’s grip reassuringly as he observed Nico’s silhouette. They were almost there. They had to be. They were in the ward now. Casey’s place couldn’t be much farther. She walked to the dance studio and it was two blocks south of the intersection they’d just passed.
Nico jerked his head towards him like he felt his heavy gaze on the side of his face. Mal reached out and tugged Nico’s lip from between his teeth, watching as it popped free, trying not to fixate on his swollen mouth. A mouth Mal had now tasted more than once.
They’d kissed.
Over and over again.
It seemed unreal. Another fantasy Mal created in his head when he jerked off in the shower. But itwasreal. Nico had let Mal kiss him, had let him grind against him and explore his mouth with his tongue. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the way he’d swallowed Nico’s desperate whines,the tiny shuddering breaths that escaped when Mal pressed against him just right.
Mal considered himself an expert in all things Nico. He knew he drooled in his sleep, knew he hated when things weren’t the right color or texture, knew his ADHD sometimes made him restless and frantic for any kind of tactile stimulation. He knew his favorite foods, favorite music, favorite movies and shows. And now…now, he knew how he tasted.
Mal couldn’t fathom how it had even happened. Four hours ago, Nico had gone out to fuck another guy. But he’d somehow ended up with Mal.
Nico—somehow—always ended up with Mal. Not that he was complaining. They were end game. Just because Nico couldn’t see past his childhood trauma didn’t make it any less true. Mal was patient.
Besides, Nico was already his in every way that mattered.
Sex was nice, amazing even when someone was willing to play his games with him, but it wasn’t necessary. Nico confided in him, cried in his arms, slept in his bed, watched TV curled around his body. Nico texted him all day, every day, sometimes not even words, just memes or emojis or happy hamster stickers. They were in a relationship. Their friends saw it. Strangers saw it. And clearly all those random would-be fuck buddies saw it, too.
Nico was the only one too stubborn to realize it.
Nico put his hand over Mal’s where he still cupped his face, threading their fingers together and lowering their hands to his lap. Mal stroked his thumb over the soft skin, something sparking deep in his belly when Nico trembled. He didn’t let go until the driver came to a stop outside a tall brick building.
Nico tugged his hand free, pulling cash from his pocket and shoving it into the driver’s hand with a rushedthank you. Outside the building, they ran into a new problem. The outsidedoor was locked, and there was a call box with dozens of buttons on the wall beside it. The air outside was muggy, stagnant.
“What do we do?” Mal asked.
Nico shrugged, then ran a finger down each and every button, setting off a chain reaction of ringing phones. It only took about forty seconds for a buzzing sound to fill the air. Nico gave him a smug smile that quickly died, then jerked the glass door open. The lobby was a small square room with mailboxes on either side and a large staircase directly ahead. The ugly hunter green carpet was worn but in otherwise good condition.
They didn’t spare much time looking around, bolting up the stairs, Mal’s mouth dry and heart thudding hard enough to make him feel faint. They took the stairs two at a time, like they were in an endurance challenge, Mal hitting the landing for the fifth floor a split second before Nico, who collided with his back when he stopped short to decide which direction to go as the stairs bisected the two sides.
Nico grunted on impact, then pointed to a sign with chipped gold numbers that showed which apartments were to the left and which were to the right. Mal grabbed Nico’s wrist and dragged him down the hall, ignoring his indignant squawk. The once white walls were now a dingy yellow, and there was a peculiar musty smell that made Mal think of the underground tunnel that ran beneath their building.
Casey’s door was easy to spot. It sat crooked on its frame, sagging like it was tired, splintered wood showing where the assailant had hit the lock hard enough to pull the short screws right from the wood. That was why Jericho always made them replace the lock plates on their apartments with three-inch screws. It was much harder to kick in a door that way.
The hall was empty, the neighbors silent. It didn’t matter which ward they lived in—if it was to the left of the train tracks, two truths were universally acknowledged: If you sawsomething, no, you didn’t, and don’t bother calling the police. They don’t show up after dark, anyway. That was the real reason the cops never gave Jericho’s crew much fuss. They were doing their jobs for them.
Mal drew his gun. Nico did the same, wincing as the door hinges protested. Mal went in first, squeezing through the tight space and clearing the tiny living room, dining room, kitchen combination, then gestured for Nico to follow.
Once inside, Mal noted the two doors to the left and one to the right. He nodded towards the single door, then slowly moved to the two on the left. It was eerily quiet, but there were obvious signs of a struggle in the otherwise spotless apartment. A glass coffee table had fractured into a thousand pieces, each glinting in the dull light of a floor lamp in the corner. Someone had emptied several drawers from a credenza beneath the television and there was a plastic vase on the floor surrounded by wet flowers and a puddle of water.
“Casey?” Mal stage-whispered, hoping if the girl was still there, his words were loud enough for her to hear but soft enough not to scare her any more than she likely was already. “It’s Mal.”
The silence stretched like a wire pulled tight. Mal’s stomach churned. He and Nico exchanged one more look, hands on the doorknob for their respective rooms. When Mal nodded, they both threw open their doors, guns raised. Mal’s room was empty, the bed impeccably made, nothing out of place, no closet where someone might be lurking.
“Oh, fuck,” Nico muttered.
Mal crossed the room to his side, stopping short at the scene in front of him. It was a bathroom, decently sized for an apartment that small. A large square mirror sat over a laminate countertop discolored from age. On one side was a toilet, on theother a drawn shower curtain, and right in the center…was a dead body.
“Jesus.”
