Gage stopped at his door directly across from his and leaned back against it.
With his head slightly bowed and a hint of a grin curving his soft mouth, he simply said his name.
“Scar.”
Even Gage’s voice sounded different. More mature, grounded, strong.
“Gage,” he gritted.
They stood there in the quiet, and Scar didn’t bother hiding the way he was eye-fucking his partner.
His mind betrayed him with ideas of pinning Gage where he stood to see if that composure would remain. Would he continue to stand tall and solid as he was now?
“Your thoughts are loud,” Gage smirked.
Scar huffed. “Oh yeah? What am I thinking?”
“That you didn’t expect me to look like this.”
“That’s true.” Understatement of the year.
“And?” Gage prompted.
He must’ve paused too long trying to think of something to say besides “you look fuckable” because Gage laughed softly.
“That good, huh?”
There it was again. That confidence rearing up and shocking him.
“I heard you also looked like a different man when you left with Meridian,” Gage said, leaning one shoulder against his doorframe while slipping his other hand into his pants pocket. “How’d it go?”
Scar didn’t want to talk about that. “It was a test. I passed.”
Gage nodded slowly. “Does it mean you’ve decided to stay?”
“For now.” He tilted his head. “And you?”
Gage turned, punched in the code to his place, before he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Yes, I’m staying…for now.”
The door closed softly, leaving Scar staring at wood, wondering and planning how long he could make for now last.
White Ravens
Gage
Twelve weeks later.
The night air was warm against Gage’s cheeks.
In spring, the forest was all damp leaf litter, budding branches, and the obnoxious buzzing of insects. The air tasted mossy and humid, with the mineral tartness of creek water somewhere to his left.
The woods weren’t quiet, as if nature didn’t sleep. Gage moved through it slowly, trying not to overanalyze every sound.
He held his cane tight in his right hand.
Through its accelerometer and contact sensor, he could feel the vibrations in the ground, the life beneath the soil. It read the terrain through the tip, and the handle answered with subtle taps and buzzes, a private language only his palm understood.
