I hug him tightly. “You don’t have to be alone, Felton,” I say quietly and kiss his head where I can reach. “You can always call me. Or show up at my door.”
He’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t want to intrude,” he says.
“If I tell you I want to spend time with you, will you stop thinking you’re intruding?”
His breath shudders against my skin. His nod is slight, but because he’s so close, I feel it.
“I want to spend time with you,” I admit. Maybe more to myself than him.
“To make sure I’m okay,” he says.
“Yes. But also because I enjoy spending time with you.”
“Why?” he asks.
It truly breaks my heart to hear the doubt and self-deprecation in his voice, and stupidly gut-wrenching to know that it comes through so clearly in a single word.
“Because you’re a good person. You’re kind and funny and you have a beautiful smile. You have a beautiful soul, a good heart. Fel, you’re smart and talented and sweet. I really love that you trust me to take care of you as much as you do. I’ve found that I really enjoy doing so. And I love to hold you like this and make sure you know that you’re never alone. I’m right here, Fel.”
He presses his face further into my neck and I swear, I can feel all the minute muscles of his lips and cheeks and eyelashes twitch against me. His breaths are shallow and rapid. Beneath my hand on his back, I can feel his heart race.
“You like to take care of me?” he asks.
I sigh and press my lips to his hair again. “Very much. All I want is to see you happy.” I pause before I let the words that want to follow come out. “I want to be the one to make you happy.”
Felton isn’t actually touching me. He’s tightly wrapped in his blankets, and then I’ve basically put him in a cocoon by wrapping myself around him. The most he can do is press his face into me.
But he tries. He tries to pull his hands out and get closer.
“Why?” he asks again.
“I don’t know. You snuck up on me, and I wasn’t expecting to feel this way.”
“Is it because you feel bad for me? You want to fix me?” he whispers.
His words make my eyes open, and I frown into the dimly lit room. The sun isn’t out today, it’s gray and listless. I have a feeling he’s been made to feel like he’s a project for someone to fix before.
Pushing him gently away, I roll him onto his back and hover over him. When he tries to turn his face away, I bring it back, so he doesn’t have a choice but to look into my eyes. “You’re not broken, so there’s nothing to fix. And even when I first stopped over here, I didn’t feel bad for you, Felton. I was concerned for my teammate and friend. I came here because I care.”
He inhales shakily. “Sorry,” he whispers. It’s almost inaudible.
Okay, maybe I’ve lost a bit of control right now because I press my lips to his. Lightly but firmly, too. He jumps, surprised. I can feel his arms try to rise reflexively, but he’s still very much pinned inside his blankets. Aware that he’s completely at my mercy right now, I take my mouth from his.
He chases it and that’s apparently all the encouragement I need, so I kiss him again. This time, he responds. Once again, he tries to pull his hands free. I shift to allow him one while I tangle my fingers in his hair. Kissing him the way I’ve been imagining whenever I close my eyes.
His hand lands on my back, fisting in my shirt. Pulling me to him.
It would be far too easy to let this progress right now—heisalmost naked under the blankets. But I don’t want to go there. Not like this. Definitely not right now.
It’s a struggle to pull my mouth from his again. His eyes are wide as he stares at me. Shocked.
I chuckle.
“Are you gay?” he asks, completely surprised.
This time, I laugh. “No. But I’ve kind of toed the line with bisexual for a while now,” I tell him. Since the femboy that I shared with my friends, though I leave that part out. Brushing my thumb over his cheek, I stare into his eyes. “This has nothing to do with your gender or the sausage you’re packing, Fel. It has everything to do with you. You as a person.”
I hit something raw because tears immediately fill his eyes. It’s all the confirmation I need to know that he doesn’t think much of himself. Anger fills me, knowing that he’s been groomed to feel this way about himself by the people who were supposed to support and love him.
