“Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper, his hands twitch, like he wants to cover his face, but I catch them before he can.
He opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. I raise a brow, waiting, but he just shakes his head, eyes darting away like the words are too heavy to speak.
Gently, I free his lip from his teeth with my thumb, tracing the soft curve of it. He shudders beneath the touch,his breath catching, and when his eyes meet mine again, there’s a thousand emotions swirling there—longing, sadness, exhaustion, something deeper I can’t even name.
I kiss his forehead, slow and lingering. Then his cheeks. Then the tip of his nose. Each touch is a promise that I’m here, that he’s safe, that the world can’t touch him as long as I’m holding him.
That’s when his stomach betrays him with a loud, sudden grumble.
My brow lifts, and when I look at him, his face is painted with sheepish embarrassment. His blush deepens, and despite the heaviness of everything, it tugs a quiet smile out of me.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice small but honest. His eyes flick up, meeting mine with a vulnerability that squeezes my chest. “But I’m… really, really hungry.”
The words are simple, almost fragile. I pull back just a little, and for a moment, I just watch him breathe, watch him come back to himself, and my heart aches with tenderness that he’s asking for something as simple as food despite everything that happened earlier.
I reach over to the nightstand, grab his hearing aids, and hand them to him gently. He takes them, fumbling a little before sliding them into place. I wait until he blinks a few times, adjusting to the faint hum of sound returning.
“I can order from that restaurant you like,” I say once I see him settle. “Or do you want sushi instead?”
He shakes his head, his voice still small but clearer now. “None of them.”
I study him, tilting my head. His expression is quiet, but there’s a softness in it that makes my chest ache.
“You want me to cook for you?” I ask softly
His eyes lift to mine, and there’s a spark in them I haven’t seen ever since he got here. Not joy, not entirely, but a lightness,like the weight pressing down on him has shifted just a little. His lips part, and he nods.
“Yes… please.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, tightening and softening all at once. He doesn’t even know what that does to me—that this boy who barely lets anyone close finds comfort in my hands, my food, my care.
“Alright then,” I say, and before he can protest, I slip an arm under his back and another under his legs, scooping him up in one smooth motion.
He gasps, startled, but he doesn’t push me away. Instead, his arms loop around my neck, and he buries his face into the curve of it, his breath ghosting hot against my skin.
I press a kiss against his temple as I hold him closer. “Let’s go make something for you to eat.”
FIFTY
LUCAS
I watch Alex move around the kitchen as he makes something for me to eat. The silence between us isn’t heavy; it’s the kind of quiet that feels safe, soft, like a blanket I didn’t know I needed. The low tune of No. 1 Party Anthem by Arctic Monkeys hums through the Built-in speaker, filling the space with a calm warmth.
He always listens to music when he cooks or whenever he’s working on something that needs his full attention. He says it helps him focus and always keeps him calm, and I don’t doubt that. His playlist will never seem to amaze me—Arctic Monkeys, Hozier, Labrinth, Novo Amor, CAS… songs with a softness that you wouldn’t expect from someone like him. A man who looks like a storm, who carries the kind of presence that makes a whole room shrink.
But then again, unless you’re close to him, you wouldn’t know how romantic he really is. How gentle. How the rough edges melt away when he’s with me.
My heart tugs as I watch him plate the pasta with a practiced ease, as if this kitchen was made for him, as if feeding me was second nature to him.Fuck. I’m here. God, I’m here again. In his space. In his house. Watching him cook for me like he always has since I got to know him. Just yesterday, I was drowning in bed,weighed down by the storms in my head, missing him so much it ached. Fighting shadows I couldn’t name, begging silently for relief.
And now… now I’m here, and he pulled me out of that ache and into his arms, saying words I never thought I’d hear. Told me how proud he is of me. How strong I am, even when I don’t see it. Told me he can’t live without me. That I can lean on him whenever it gets too much, his voice was steady, sure, and I felt the truth behind it like a pulse. And it broke something open inside me. Not just his words—him. The way he held me. The way it felt like the ground I was slipping on finally steadied beneath my feet.
Walking into his house had been like stepping into warmth after freezing for too long. The familiarity of this place, the smell, the quiet, it felt like home. He felt like home to me. And when I finally let myself break apart, sobbing into his chest, it was like something inside me unclenched. I can’t even remember the last time I cried like that. Maybe years. Maybe never. But crying with him there… it felt like relief. Like letting go of weights that I have been carrying for years. It was raw, ugly, and freeing all at once. His voice, his hands, the softness of his gaze, it wasn’t just comfort, it was salvation.
The storms are still in my head, still roaring in the distance, and I know they won’t vanish overnight. But with Alex here, I feel anchored. I feel stronger. Like maybe I can battle it. Like maybe I can make it through.
He sets down a huge bowl of Alfredo chicken pasta in front of me, cutting off my thoughts. The steam curling up, rich with garlic and cream. The cheesy garlic bread on the side makes my stomach twist with hunger. My mouth waters instantly. Then something else hits me sharp and sudden. My chest tightens.
The bracelet.
