Seven started to smile, but it collapsed, tears welling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks, a sob catching in his chest before he choked it back down.
There it is.
“It’s okay,” Enzo said, hugging him tightly. “I got you.”
Seven was shaking his head, trying—and failing—to push him away. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he insisted, sniffling like a little kid.
Enzo gave him what he hoped was a patient look. “You don’t have to be fine, baby. That’s the whole point.” Seven stared at him dubiously, but Enzo didn’t waver. “Lie down…face down.”
“Why?”
Enzo held up the ointment. “I need to put something on those welts so they don’t get infected.”
“Oh. Right,” Seven said, the two words dripping with disappointment.
“What were you hoping I would say?” Enzo teased softly.
Seven pulled away from him, flouncing onto the bed so hard he almost bounced himself off the mattress and onto the floor. Enzo bit back a smile as he sullenly huffed out, “Nothing.”
He crawled over Seven, sitting on the back of his knees, opening the ointment as he stared down at his own handywork. Fuck, he was so beautiful like this. He was always beautiful, but the lines now criss-crossing Seven’s golden skin made Enzo’s chest tight. He carefully began dabbing the thick paste on the welts, earning a hiss from Seven, but otherwise, he stayed quiet. So quiet it took Enzo far too long to realize he was crying again.
He replaced the cap on the ointment and set it on the side table, then gathered Seven into his arms. He tried to break free, but Enzo held tight until he stopped struggling.
“Why am I crying again?” Seven wailed. “This is so stupid.”
Seven was always so hard on himself. There was no way his brother hadn’t thoroughly explained what subdrop was in their many lessons together. Vince never wanted anyone to hide their emotional needs from him or any other dom. It wasn’t healthy or safe.
“Hey, look at me,” Enzo said softly, brushing his thumbs over Seven’s damp cheeks. “This is all normal, baby. This is just…part of it. I’m sure you’ve read about subdrop.”
“Yeah, sure. But why is it happening to me? Vince said not everyone experiences it. I didn’t think I would. I wanted this. Idowant this. I like it. Now, you’re not gonna want to do it again.”
Enzo sighed, his chest constricting. “Whoa, okay. Let’s unpack that. First, if subdrop only happened when people were engaged in play they didn’t want, that wouldn’t be subdrop, it would be assault. Second, you crying isn’t going to deter me from playing with you like this unless it’s because you truly don’t like what we’re doing. I think you look pretty when you cry. Third, and most importantly, subdrop isn’t some gauge we useto measure how well you did or how much you wanted it. This is purely chemical.”
“Chemical?” Seven muttered.
“Yeah. You just went through a scene where your brain, your body, your emotions—everything—were firing on all cylinders. Your adrenaline was up, your endorphins were flooding you, your oxytocin was spiking. That’s what made you feel high and floaty and invincible while we were in it.”
He cupped Seven’s jaw. “Now? All those chemicals are crashing. Your body’s trying to level out again, and the drop feels like this—like confusion, like you need to cry, like you’re not sure why. This is what subdrop is. It happens because your body’s been through something intense, physically, emotionally, or both…and now, it’s recalibrating.”
Enzo leaned in, resting their foreheads together. “Nothing bad happened to you tonight. You’re not weak for feeling this way. It’s just your system resetting. My job is to take care of you while it does, to hold you through it, keep you grounded, feed you, get you warm, and make sure you know you’re safe.”
“Oh,” Seven said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
Enzo took the weighted blanket and draped it over Seven, tucking the sides underneath him so it was snug.
“Is this okay?” Enzo asked. “Doesn’t feel too…claustrophobic?”
Seven rested his head against Enzo’s shoulder, shaking his head. “No, it’s…nice.”
“Good,” Enzo said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But tomorrow, we’re having that talk. The one you’ve been avoiding for months.”
“What talk?” Seven mumbled.
“Thetalk,” Enzo emphasized. “We’re going to talk about all of this. Soft limits. Hard limits. Rules. Consequences. Boundaries.We’re gonna put it all in writing so that there’s no ambiguity. For both our sakes.”
Seven was quiet for so long Enzo worried he’d passed out, but when he glanced down, the boy’s pretty face was pinched with worry. When he caught Enzo staring, he asked, “Did I…suck at it?”
The question threw him. Suck at it? Was he crazy? He was amazing. He’d exceeded every one of Enzo’s expectations. This was just the subdrop talking. It often caused insecurity, uncertainty, and a need for constant reassurance. And it was Enzo’s job to give that to him. Sometimes, he forgot about how deep Seven’s self-esteem issues ran. It was all Stan’s fault. There was a reason Seven preferred to call Enzo Daddy.
