But I was right the first time. If I’m not there to show you how beautiful you are… you’ll disappear.
I’m uneasy. All those days waiting and waiting, with no way to tell if you were getting better… It’s because of that uneasiness, that I turn the building’s cameras away and break into Lucia’s apartment.
It’s because of the new anxiety in my chest that I find myself stepping into her hallway and beelining straight for the living room, where Christian is.
And I feel like a spectre standing in the dark as I watch them sleep soundly, surrounded by stray popcorn, meat and cheese kabobs, and a half-empty bottle of white pinot noir.
You sharedhalfa bottle, and between the two of you, it knocked you out?
I should expect it really, from the man who drinks warm milk instead of coffee.
Weeks of being constantly on edge—of hunting men in an attempt to deal with this unbearable ache in my chest—
And it’s all gone with just one look at your sleeping face.
I huff. It’s nice to know at least you can sleep soundly.
Christian has taken one end of the couch, slouched down into the seat and sleeping soundly, whereas Lucia is on the other end—her face buried in a cushion and her feet buried in Christian’s lap.
Before I can stop myself, I’m cleaning up their mess—moving the wine glasses, setting the bottles aside, packing the kabobs into the fridge… After a moment’s thought, I take Lucia to her room down the hall and throw her onto her own bed, because the sight of herbothersme. My spite goes unnoticed as she rolls over to her pillows, deep in sleep, and my jaw twitches.
One day, when Christian has sorted through his demons, I think I’ll deal with you appropriately.
I close her door behind me as I return to Christian’s side, dropping into a crouch to get a good look at his face.
His shirt and sweats hang loosely from his frame, and I scoff. He’s wearingsocksfor fuck’s sake. He stores heat like a snowflake. His bedhead rushes in a new wave of nostalgia and just by being close to him, it feels like I can finallybreathe.
Those memories… do you treasure them like I do?
Or do their ties to Evie hurt you?
I don’t know exactly when I started brushing my fingers through his hair.
I don’t know when I started stroking my knuckles across his cheeks orpressing my thumbs over his lips.
All I know, is that the taste of him is a fleeting moment, stolen away in the dead of the night.
It is a sweet wine on my tongue, that makes the night seem brighter and the beating of my heart louder in my ears. I’d meant it to last only for a moment, but suddenly I’m a starving man who’s been yearning for him for days. An addict chasing the overdose. Wired to take more than he should.
When I finally find it in me to pull away, even in the dark, the pretty blue of his eyes is bright.
“Reuben,” he whispers. His voice is a warm shiver across my body. A torturous craving in my erection and an ache beneath my ribs. He raises his fingers to graze his knuckles against my cheek and I’m leaning into his touch without thinking. Closing my eyes against it becausefuck…
Fuck, I miss you.
“A dream?” The sad smile on his lips makes my heartbeat stumble, but his eyes are unfocused. Hazy. “Your hallucinations… are catching recently,” he mumbles.
When I reach out to cup his face in my hands, he leans into me too and I can't help but chuckle bitterly at us, “It's a dream… so you can say, or do, whatever you want.”
If that’s the only way to suspend this moment… If it’ll give me a few more seconds with you… I’d say anything.
His lips are right there. So close, I just need to lean forward to take them. Yet neither of us moves. His hands tangle into my hair as we stare at each other. As though we can read the thoughts in each other’s eyes.
I don’t know who moves first.
I just know the taste of him is better than any dream. I know it’s like the flick of a switch between us. Insistent. Desperate. I’d been suffocating this entire time, and his kiss is everything I needed.
His lips are swollen by the time he pulls away, his fingers deep in my hair.Yet, even as our foreheads touch, we can’t look away.
