Ramin had dropped his backpack off earlier in the day, and the bell staff had left it on one of the stuffed armchairs in the corner. He grabbed it and locked himself in the bathroom, grateful to finally have some sort of barrier between him and Noah.
Part of Ramin wanted to hide in the shower forever, but the other part was conscientious enough to remember Noah waiting, wet and cold. He kept it quick. The thought of being naked with Noah on the other side of the door wasn’t arousing; it was terrifying, much too terrifying to jack off in the shower. Not that he didn’t try. The last thing he wanted was to spring a RAB while sharing the bed—God, it wouldn’t even be all that random-ass, with Noah literally in bed next to him—but the fear gnawing at his chest kept him from getting hard.
He dried himself off with the fluffiest towel he’d ever used in his life. Then he pulled out his wound wash to take care of his earrings. He carefully unwound the plastic wrap from his tattoo and studied the design in the mirror: a faravahar, the Zoroastrian winged man symbol that had come to more broadly represent Iranian identity. His artist had, surprisingly, done one before, and this one was perfect, centered over Ramin’s sternum. He looked kind of funny with part of his chest shaved, but whatever.
He liked it. Even if his chest was soft and his pecs sagged a bit and there were stretch marks on his stomach below. Even if his belly dunlopped a bit over his waistband. Even if his skin was cherry red from the hot shower.
He washed and dried the tattoo and applied the second skin the artist had recommended, wincing as he stretched the wrong way. Why the fuck had he gotten a tattoo, of all things?
He was Interesting New Ramin, that was why. Apparently InterestingNew Ramin liked spur-of-the-moment body modification, consequences be damned.
Now Interesting New Ramin just had to survive sharing a bed with Sad Teenaged Ramin’s old crush.
Ramin pulled on one of the shirts he had packed for tomorrow. Usually he slept naked, but that was out of the question with Noah here. He pulled on a pair of underwear too, plain black trunks. He flossed and brushed his teeth and did his skincare. Took a deep breath.
He could do this. He could share a room, a bed, with Noah.
He could.
Except when he opened the door, Noah was standing there.
Right there.
Hand raised, like he was about to knock.
“Oh!” he breathed. Ramin felt it across his cheek. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Ramin breathed back. When did his voice turn all husky? But Noah wasright there. He could feel the warmth of him, even through Noah’s cold wet shirt. Ramin was a hair taller than Noah, but he didn’t feel like it, pressed up like this. Noah loomed over him somehow.
The smell of Noah’s rain-soaked skin wound its way straight to Ramin’s core. His ass clenched.
Noah had said something, but damned if Ramin had heard.
“Huh? Sorry?”
Noah’s hand came up. Ramin held his breath. Licked his lips. Swallowed. But Noah’s eyes weren’t on Ramin’s mouth. They were to the side.
Noah tweaked Ramin’s left earring. It must’ve been off-kilter.
“Fixed it,” Noah said.
Ramin shivered again.
“D-did you need something?”
“Sorry. Uh, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” Noah plucked at his own, pulling it away from the swell of his pec.
“I think so.” Ramin knew so. He always packed like he was going tospill a pot of chili and shit himself three times a day. He tugged down the hem of his own shirt as he dug through his bag and pulled out a pink T-shirt he’d picked up the other day.
“My favorite color!” Noah said. “Thanks.”
Noah’s fingers brushed Ramin’s as he handed the shirt over. Ramin felt it like a shock.
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?!
He darted past Noah, holding the backpack in front of his underwear. “The bathroom’s all yours!” he squeaked.
He didn’t breathe until he heard the door close and the lock click.
