“Ig . . . gy . . . Pop . . .”
My eyes burned. “I’m here, Just Bodhi.”
God, I wanted to hold him properly. Wanted to kiss his face, his hair, his eyes. But his knees were still drawn tight between us.
When I pulled my hands away from his face, his panicked whimper cut through my heart.
“Don’t . . . go . . .”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I stood up and leaned over, wrapping my hands around his ankles and easing his legs down until his legs straightened out. He let me move him without resistance, pliant like an oversized doll.
Then I sank back down, settling my ass on his thighs, my weight grounding, solid. Not sexual, not right now. Just there.
His hands latched onto my thighs instantly, fingers digging in like anchors.
I kept some space between our chests, mindful of hisbreathing, and brought my hands back to his face. Then I leaned in until our foreheads touched.
“Breathe with me,” I whispered.
I inhaled. Held it. Exhaled.
Again.
He lagged behind at first, his breaths still too fast. Too shallow.
“Come on,” I murmured. “In.”
This time, he followed.
Out.
Again.
Over and over, until his breaths began to match mine. Until the shaking eased. Until his body slumped forward, heavy and spent, the panic finally bleeding out of him.
My cheeks were wet and I wondered when I’d started crying.
But when I leaned back, I realised it wasn’t me.
It was Bodhi.
He looked up at me, eyes bright and wrecked in the pale wash of moonlight from the tiny bathroom window. His lower lip trembled, and I leaned in, kissing him softly.
“You’re okay, Just Bodhi.”
His grip tightened on my thighs, fierce and desperate. I didn’t care if his touch bruised me. I’d gladly wear them. They were proof that he’d been here. That he’d made it through.
“Th-thank you,” he whispered.
I kissed him once more, then rested my hands over his heart, feeling it pound steadily against my palm.
“Are you okay?”
He shrugged, which was fair enough.
Talk about a stupid question, Iggy.
