“I don’t remember why we’re in here,” I admit, small and wounded.
“Not remembering is probably for the best.”
Niklaus flexes and adjusts his arm underneath me. I realize it’s most likely numb, so I roll onto my side, snagging his left hand and tugging it with me so he’ll roll too.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Readjusting so your arm can wake back up.”
“Oh.”
Niklaus is hesitant with where to place his other arm. He hovers it over my side, studying my shape and wondering where he belongs against me. I don’t guide him or offer an appropriate placement. I wait.
After a moment, he hooks his arm around my waist, sliding his hand up my stomach between my breasts, and over my chest to pull me tighter to his body. The act is too intimate to be normal for either of us. It buzzes down to my toes as he buries his face into my hair and takes a long, dramatic breath.
The fluttering sensation reels through my fingertips. His nose nuzzling in the back of my neck dissembles me.
I may have forgotten small moments in here, but I remember who Niklaus is to me. I remember the horrors I’ve endured at his hands growing up. So, I must be deeply fucked in the head to be shamelessly experiencing these intense feelings from his touch.
“We’re delirious, I think,” I mutter, closing my eyes as the feverish bliss of being held takes hold of me.
“Why do you say that?”
“I—because.”What was the question?
“Mmm-hmm?” He holds me closer.
“Because—I want to keep feeling this…”
Niklaus breathes against my hair, slow deliberate breaths. He thinks about this for a long moment. It’s seconds longer than I anticipate, making me think I’ve broken the spell for him.
“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” he finally admits.
My heart stops. I can’t even take a breath.
And the door opens, disarming us of this moment, breaking my train of thought and probably losing it forever. As the orderlies collect us to return us back to our rooms, I think about how I should be relieved. Niklaus is the last person in the whole world I’d ever want to be forced into this ominous situation with. Cuddling? Traumatized? No.
But as they pull me away from him, gripping my elbows and forcing me upright like a used-up marionette, Niklaus snaps forward, restrained, the muscles in his jawline pulled tight, and a look of desperation and panic written in cursive across his face.
I’m used to that expression of boredom and annoyance toward me.
This…this isn’t that.
It’s a glimpse of protectiveness.
And he’s never looked at me like this before.
The storm in him stirs as their hands bruise my elbows, and I’m dragged away from him like a prisoner being paraded and stoned in the streets. It’s the edge of possessiveness that I’m unsure if I’m seeing right. Like these orderlies are touching something that ishis.
In the hallway, steps away from my room—I can tell it’s too early for the Intricate Section to be bustling with busy conformists and crying patients. The sun is probably just noticing the sky as it peeks over the horizon, and yet there he is.
At the end of the hall, a man I recognize immediately.
Light strands of silver on the sides of his slicked jet-black hair. A cleft chin. Five o’clock shadow. A tweed three-piece suit.
The man studies a patient file vigorously, flipping through papers and biting his lip in unshakable concentration.
My orderly fidgets with my clipboard as he takes his time unlocking my door.
