“You’ve been on our minds, Em,” he says. “Both of ours. It feels right to take care of you. To be here with you.”
I glance over to my left. Stan stays silent, watching Nil with an expression that reads proud and patient.
When I stare at the man on my right, Nil continues. “We’d behonored if you chose us, Em. Even if it’s just for one night. Even if all you want is to lean on us because you want to.”
The room feels compressed around us, shaped by the sincerity in his words.
I draw in a breath, trying to make a decision. I hadn’t assembled these pieces myself before they laid them out, but in hindsight, the pattern’s quite clear.
With Stan, his attraction and desire was always apparent. He flirted freely, joked boldly, and never hid his interest. But Nil caught me by surprise. Until moments ago, I mistook his blushing for something else. Now I recognize it for what it is. Attraction and the potential to act on it.
My heart stutters, then resumes with renewed strength, easing some of the lingering pressure from my failed experiment.
All the lives I’ve affected—ruined—merely because I can’t keep focus and pay attention to every detail laid out in front of me. I don’t intend to miss any more.
Decision-making has been difficult, but I won’t overlook what’s in front of me again.
Stan brings my hand to his lips, pulling me from my thoughts. “That’s as clear as we can get,” he whispers. “Hope it wasn’t too much all at once, Em.”
I take in the intentness in their gazes.
My skin’s overly aware and slick with sweat now that I’m warm all over my body, from my damp collar to my fingertips, no longer freezing cold.
“I’m still processing,” I admit. “I didn’t expect this.”
I attempt a smile, but it doesn’t hold.
“You may already know this about me, but I pride myself in my observations,” I say. “Nothing goes unnoticed, typically.” My gaze drifts between them. “I notice details, patterns, symmetry. I noticethat you’re both—”
“—hot as hell,” Stan supplies.
A corner of my lips lifts, but the warmth drains almost immediately as my thoughts scatter. The room feels even more compressed, altered in a tilting motion that makes me nauseous, as images surface in my mind. Roaring fire. Warm blood. My mother’s emerald green eyes losing their sparkle. Sergio losing his eyes. Gerald losing his liver. And every single person—subject, staff, friends—on that ship or those still in the grip of an unclean Kys…
I’ve let them all down.
The crushing pressure of my glaring failures close in from every direction.
My breath shortens. My hands feel distant. I recognize the sensation. I don’t know how to stop it once it starts. I can only hope it ends.
There’s movement beside me. A voice cuts through, close to me. “Em,” Stan says, sounding oddly scared. “Hey, look at me.”
I can’t. I try, but everything inside my head feels loud. Information stacks faster than I can sort it. Nil’s blue eyes. Stan’s gray gaze. How they look at me as though I’m worth concern, when I’m wasting time cataloging data that leads nowhere except deeper into a mind that’s far too filled.
Nil’s voice joins his. “Idris said she might get overwhelmed sometimes,” he says, not to me but near me.
“What do we do?” Stan asks, urgency breaking through.
Nil answers in an instant. “Breathe with her. Idris said four counts. We guide it.”
Hands find me. I don’t register whose at first—only pressure, solid and warm. Arms around my shoulders, holding me so close that I can feel a heartbeat against my cheek.
“Em,” Nil whispers. “You don’t have to think. Just breathe.”
I try. Air stutters in.
Stan’s voice is right by my ear. “Hey, Em. Copy the way my chest moves, okay?”
They breathe for me. Count for me. I latch onto the sound of their voices, the rhythm of their breaths. The pressure around me pulls back a bit. It feels as if I’m finally taking in oxygen.
