Theo swallows, throat bobbing.
“Liam,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to pretend you’re alright.”
The words unravel something tight inside me, something I hadn’t realized waswound so painfully.
I set the bottle down beside me, letting the cool stone press against my palm. Theo shifts, turning just slightly, the smallest movement offering me his attention more fully than his eyes ever could.
His hand finds mine.
Not forcefully.
Not hesitantly.
Just a soft, searching touch, patient enough to let me decide whether to pull away.
I don’t.
I can’t.
The stars blur overhead, and for the first time since Myrindale, I breathe without feeling like the world is closing in around us.
Theo’s hand lingers around mine, warm and steady, and the quiet between us grows thick with something I don’t have a name for. It settles over the observatory like a second atmosphere. His thumb makes a slow, idle pass over my knuckles as though he’s thinking, not touching, but the effect on me is anything but thoughtful. My chest pulls tighter. My breath stutters.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my body tips a little closer to him, not enough to be obvious, but enough that I feel the faint warmth radiating from his shoulder. It’s instinctive, a pull I don’t understand, a moment where the world seems to narrow to the space between our legs dangling over the ledge and the place where our hands meet.
Then consciousness catches up, and shame hits me like cold water.
This is not a world where closeness like this is simple. Where reaching toward another boy is harmless. And certainly not when he’s blind, unable to see the flush creeping into my throat or the way my gaze drops, embarrassed at how easily I lost control.
I edge back just slightly, pulling my hand away with as much gentleness as I can muster, hoping the motion is subtle enough not to be noticed. Gratitude swells in my chest, ugly, relieved gratitude, that Theo can’t see the confusion on my face, the foolishness of the lean I almost completed.
“Seeing those Shadeborne scouts today…” My voice is rougher than I intend. I swallow, try again. “It reminded me why I can’t be reckless.”
Theo goes still beside me.
The observatory hums with quiet. Lantern light flickers across his features, catching pale lashes, the soft curve of his mouth. His head tilts toward me, the movement sharp in its precision, as though he’s tracing the sound of my heartbeat instead of my words.
“Why did you move away?” he asks, the question low, sincere.
It catches me completely off guard. My breath falters, and I scramble for footing that isn’t there.
“I… didn’t want to crowd you.” The excuse falls weakly between us, barely formed.
Theo shifts. His hand lifts with a careful intention, and before I can react, his fingertips brush the inside of my wrist, light as a breath. He finds my pulse with effortless accuracy, settling two fingers over it as though he’s done this a thousand times.
My heart betrays me instantly.
It hammers beneath his touch, each beat louder than the last. His fingers rest there, unmoving, steady, hearing everything I’m not saying.
A slow breath escapes him. Not dramatic, not surprised, just… knowing. Quietly, painfully knowing.
“Your heartbeat says otherwise,” he murmurs.
Heat rushes up my neck, blooming hot across my cheeks. I pray the starlight isn’t bright enough to reveal any of it. Histhumb brushes once over the frantic rhythm tapping against his fingertips, a barely-there stroke that sinks straight through my composure.
I should pull back. I should. But the moment stretches, and instead of retreating, I sit perfectly still while his touch steadies over my skin.
“I-It’s been a long day,” I manage, though the words sound hollow to my own ears.
