His gaze drops, and he gives a small, shaky nod. His throat bobs as he swallows again, lips trembling like they’re trying to hold back a thousand unshed tears.
“Why don’t you want me to touch you?” I ask, softer this time.
He lifts his eyes to mine, and the sadness there is a blade, sharp and clean, cutting right through me.
“Because…” His voice fractures, thin as glass. “…because I think I might fall apart.”
Fuck. My beautiful boy.
My chest aches, like it’s being torn open, because I’ve never wanted to hold someone so badly in my life. I shake my head slowly, pulling in a breath that quivers more than I want him to notice, and when I speak, my voice comes out softer, desperate with yearning.
“Then fall apart, baby.” My eyes never leave his. “Let me be the place where you fall. Let me be the one who catches every broken piece, the one who carries the weight with you until you can breathe again. You don’t have to hold it in anymore. You deserve to release it. You deserve relief.”
His body trembles, and I see it, the way his emotions war with him, written across his face like cracks spreading through porcelain. I take one careful step closer, but I don’t touch him, not yet. I want him to know I’ll never take what he isn’t ready to give.
“I promise you,” I whisper, my throat thick. “If you don’t feel safe in my arms, if it’s too much, I’ll stop. You are worth every second of my patience, every ounce of my restraint. And also my love. Let me show you how much you mean to me, Lucas. Let me be your safe place. Please, krasivy… let me hold you.”
A sound breaks from him — a sob, breathless and raw — and he nods, biting down on his lip like he’s trying to trap them inside.
I’m there within seconds. Wrapping him up. Pulling him against me. My hand slides to the back of his head, pressing him gently to my chest. He’s rigid at first, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, like he doesn’t know how to let himself be held.
“Falling apart doesn’t make you weak,” I murmur against his hair, stroking it with the gentlest touch I can give. “It makes you human. And fuck, you are the strongest human I know. You survived, Lucas. You’re alive. And I am so goddamn proud of you.”
That’s when the dam breaks.
His entire body convulses, and the sobs rip out of him in waves, jagged, gut-wrenching, like they’ve been locked deep inside him for a very long time, waiting for this moment. His arms finally move, clutching at me, fists twisting in my shirt like he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him afloat.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, again and again, even as my own throat burns and my eyes sting. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.”
He chokes through the sobs, voice raw, words broken: “I hate… it. I hate that you saw what happened. I hate that you are seeing me like this.”
I press my lips to his hair, holding him tighter as he shakes.
“I know you do, baby,” I whisper, voice steady even as my chest tightens. “But I don’t hate it. I don’t hate seeing you like this with me. I could never hate any part of you—not your pain, not your tears, not your scars. Not ever.”
His shaking grows rougher, and I cage him closer, breathing him in like I could anchor him back to himself.
“I’m sorry for what they did to you, my love,” the words scrape out of my throat, thick, breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, shaking his head against me. His voice is shredded but firm. “Don’t. Please. It’s not your fault.”
His arms clutch around me tighter, desperate, and I don’t let go. I hold him through it all, through every wave of tears until his sobs quiet into hiccups, until exhaustion drags him under. And I carry him up to the bedroom. He falls asleep wound around me, clinging like I’m the only thing tethering him, and I don’t move.
***
Hours pass with him asleep in my arms, his face pressed into me, his breath soft and steady against my chest. He looks peaceful, and I’m grateful that his sleep isn’t haunted. My hand runs slowly through his hair as I stare up at the ceiling, thoughts circling, heavy and sharp. My fingers drift, brushing along thecurve of his ear, and my chest tightens. I’d removed his hearing aids as soon as I had laid him on the bed. Now, as my fingers trace his ears carefully, delicately, I feel him stir. He shifts faintly, body tensing before he exhales and softens again.
He’s Awake. I know it by the rhythm of his breathing.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. I let the silence sit, safe and warm, knowing he needs it.
After a long while, I shift. Carefully, I ease him back from my chest and hover above him—not crushing, just close enough to cage him in, close enough to look at him.
His cheeks are still flushed from earlier tears, but now there’s a blush warming them. His eyes flick up to mine before darting away, his face turning like he’s too shy, too raw to let me see him, like the weight of my gaze might undo him again.
I don’t let him hide. My hand finds his jaw, slow, careful, tilting his face back until his eyes meet mine. His lashes flutter, his lips part, but whatever words linger there die before they can leave him.
God, everything about him is so fucking beautiful. So fragile, and yet unbreakable. Five days without him felt like drowning, like walking through air too thin to breathe. The bed was cold, the house empty, every second dragging like a knife. But now that he’s here in my bed, my space, my arms, I swear I’ll never let him go again. I won’t put us through that pain again.
