Ash’s pupils dilated. His thumb traced along Danny’s jaw, pausing at the corner of his mouth. Time stretched thin between them, fragile as blown glass.
Then Ash closed the distance.
Ash kissed with firm pressure, confident, like he knew exactly what he wanted and Danny was it. His lips were softer than they had any right to be, moving against Danny’s with a patience that made his bones ache. Heat sparked along every point of contact—mouth, hip, the hand still cradling his head.
A sound escaped him, muffled against Ash’s mouth.
Ash responded by deepening the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of Danny’s lips until he opened for him. The first slide of tongue against tongue sent electricity racing down his nerves. He tasted chocolate and something darker, richer. Ash kissed like he had all night, like Danny was something to savor rather than rush through.
God, when was the last time someone had kissed him like this?
Danny’s palm pressed against Ash’s chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart through cotton, and that small proof of the effect he had on Ash made Danny brave enough to kiss back harder.
But then Ash’s hand moved, sliding down from Danny’s head to trace the curve of his spine. Lower. Right over the raised tissue where Brad had—
Ice flooded Danny’s veins. His whole body locked up, muscles going rigid as Ash’s fingers found the first scar through his shirt, then another, following the map of damage Brad had left behind.
“Don’t.” The word came out strangled. “Don’t touch my back.”
Ash pulled his hand away immediately, but his eyes stayed steady on Danny’s face. “I want to know you. Every part of you.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Every part. Including the ugly parts. The broken parts. The parts Danny kept hidden under black shirts and careful distance.
“I need to…bathroom.” Danny scrambled over Ash. “Sorry, I just…bathroom.”
His knee hit the coffee table hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t care. He had to get away. Had to breathe. Had to—
“Danny.” Ash sat up, hair mussed, lips still red from kissing. “Don’t run.”
“Not running.” Even to his own ears, the lie sounded pathetic. “Just… Bathroom.”
He was already moving, his feet carrying him down the hallway he’d walked through hours ago when everything had felt safer. The bathroom door appeared, and he practically fell through it, fumbling for the lock with shaking fingers.
White tile. Gray walls. A mirror that showed his reflection—flushed face, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wild with something between want and terror.
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
He paced across the small space, three steps one way, three steps back. His breathing came in short bursts that didn’t bring enough oxygen. The walls pressed closer with each pass.
Stop. Stop moving. Stop panicking.
His hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. In the mirror, his reflection stared back, accusing. Coward. Freak. Who was he kidding? Ash was normal. Gorgeous. Whole. And Danny was none of those things.
“I curse the day I met you,” he whispered to the mirror, to Brad’s ghost, to himself.
Fuck him for the scars. Fuck him for the fear. Fuck him for still being here, in Danny’s head, months after he’d finally gotten away.
Tears slipped down his cheeks. He scrubbed them away with the heel of his hand, angry at his body for betraying him. Angry at himself for thinking he could do this. Angry at the universe for dangling something good in front of him when he wasn’t ready to reach for it.
His reflection blurred. More tears. Great. Perfect. Exactly what he needed.
You’re pathetic. Nobody else is going to want you.
Except Ash had wanted him. Had kissed him like Danny was something precious. Had touched those scars and hadn’t pulled away in disgust.
Every part of you.
More tears. Danny grabbed toilet paper, blowing his nose as quietly as possible. His face in the mirror was blotchy, eyes red-rimmed. Perfect. Just perfect.
