Jordan’s brain turned that over and over again. What did that even mean? Was he a prize to be won? Was he saying he was worth waiting for? Was he saying he saw Jordan as something fragile? Or something valuable?
“You’re doing it again,” Cree said. “I won’t tell you to stop worrying. But I just want to lay here with you and watch this movie. Or if you don’t like this movie, we can find another. I just want to be with you. No pressure. No obligations. That’s all.”
Jordan’s heart did something complicated. “Oh.”
Something inside him loosened. Just a little.
Fuck it.
He nestled deeper against Cree, who set the phone down just long enough to bring the covers up around them. Jordan’s socked foot made its way between Cree’s and after a few minutes, he’d melted into him, letting Cree’s fingertips on the back of his neck lull him. The steady, absent motion felt hypnotic, like being stroked into stillness.
Overhead, the windows were coated with snow, making it seem almost like they were in a glass coffin, buried beneath the storm. But they were cozy and warm and Cree smelled delicious—clean and faintly woodsy, something familiar and grounding—and the pads of his fingers were calloused where they soothed over Jordan’s skin.
For once, his thoughts went quiet.
He didn’t remember falling asleep.
But when he opened his eyes again, he was on his back and Cree was on his side, his head propped up on his palm, staring down at Jordan, his other hand resting on Jordan’s stomach.
Jordan sucked in a breath, temporarily confused—disoriented in that soft, floating way that comes from waking up somewhere safe. “Oh, god. Did I—I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
“Mm,” Cree said, his large hand warm even through the thick fabric of Jordan’s hoodie.
“Sorry,” Jordan said, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.
“That’s okay. I didn’t mind.”
Jordan stared up at him. “So, have you just been…watching me sleep?”
Cree nodded. “Is that creepy?”
“Yesterday I might have said yes,” Jordan admitted, “but today…not really.”
“You look really sweet in your sleep,” Cree said, almost conversational. “You make these cute little sounds and you sort of huff every so often. It’s like puppy breath.”
“I—Is that a compliment?” Jordan asked, amused but also not sure if he was being made fun of.
“Mm,” Cree said. “You’re adorable.”
Cree continued to study him. Not hungrily. Not impatiently. Just…attentively, like he was determined to memorize every line and curve of his face. He lifted his hand from Jordan’s stomach, using a finger to trace a slow path down the bridge of his nose to his lips.
The touch was feather-light. Reverent.
Jordan forgot how to breathe.
“I like these,” he said.
Jordan’s brows went up. “My lips?” he asked stupidly.
Cree smiled, calloused finger tracing the gold rings on either side of his lower lip. “Your piercings. Snakebites, right?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Jordan said, cheeks flaming once more. “You like them?”
“Mm,” Cree said. “They’re sexy.”
The word hit Jordan like a dropped plate, sharp, loud, impossible to ignore.
Jordan caught his bottom lip between his teeth, but Cree tugged it free with his thumb, slow and deliberate. Jordan’s lids fluttered as Cree continued to trace the planes and angles of his face with featherlight touches, as if he were mapping him by memory alone.
