“Why?” My voice cracks on the word and my eyes sting.
“Because you look like you could use one and no one does hugs better than me.”
My lips twitch in an effort to muster a smile but I remain firm, not moving.
“Puppy,” he says firmly. Our eyes lock as he moves forward, taking slow steady steps like you would when approaching a wounded animal. When we’re a hair’s breadth apart, Darius wraps his arms around my waist and presses his body flush against mine. On instinct I squeeze my arms around him and nuzzle my nose against his temple.
I wonder if this is what having a place to belong feels like? Because if it is, I never want to leave.
“I’m sorry.” His hand draws patterns up and down my back, and I melt, liquid pooling at his feet. “I’m so sorry, D.”
Darius breaks the hug, lifts onto his toes and kisses my forehead, linking our hands together. He doesn’t say it’s okay, or that he forgives me. He doesn’t say anything, just leads us into the kitchen.
His grip is tight, like he fears I may bolt if he lets go, while he uses his free hand to dish up pasta. Once he’s done, he turns his attention to me.
“I like you, Oliver.” My heart skips a beat.
“I like you, too,” I reply.I like you a little too much.So much it frightens me.
I’m acutely aware that this fear is not only because I’m terrible at hiding from him, but because I want him to want me in his life. Knowing full well that I am not easy to love, but incredibly easy to walk away from.
“Good. So we’re friends. And friends don’t treat each other like that, okay?”
I nod and he continues. “But friends also forgive. Let’s put the last twenty minutes behind us and eat this meal before it’s stone cold.”
Darius squeezes my hand and I let him drag me to the lounge.
We sit in our usual spots, food bowls on our laps.
I can’t eat. It smells amazing, but my mouth tastes like chalk, and my stomach is rolling. Darius tucks in and there’s those little noises again. I’m watching him, and he pauses, a sly grin on his face.
“Here, stalker,” he says, throwing the remote towards me. “You pick something to watch.”
“I already have,” I joke and he rolls his eyes, but puts another forkful of pasta in his mouth. This time he groans loudly, exaggerating the earlier noises. I huff in amusement, scrolling through a few choices before settling on a home DIY show.
Darius wrinkles his nose – his tell when he’s displeased – but accepts my choice and we sit quietly watching the team onscreen revamp an old cottage into an awful modern home. It truly is terrible. All the old country charm gone, replaced with sterile black and white.
“Looks like my father’s place,” Darius scoffs. His eyes dart to my lap where my pasta bowl sits, still full. “You not hungry?”
I circle my fork around the food, before putting the bowl down on the coffee table.
“No. I ate earlier.”
Darius raises an eyebrow, both of us knowing it’s bullshit, but like he did when I cried next to him, he doesn’t push for answers.
“Caiden is back tomorrow,” he says.
“Oh.” My stomach sinks. He said he wants us to be friends, but does that mean he wants to see me outside this bubble we’ve created the past three days? I should be okay with whatever this is between us ending. But I’m not. I don’t know why I’m so affected by Darius – it’s never like this for me. I don’t cling to people I’ve just met, not the way I want to cling to him. And I cannot put into words why. But I feel it, deep in my bones, that this – whatever we’re calling it – is different.
“We could keep hanging out at my place, if you’d like?” Darius suggests, as though he heard my earlier thought.
“What about Caiden? He’s not going to like this.” I gesture between the two of us.
Darius shrugs. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I think he’s going to be preoccupied for a while.” I don’t ask what he means. I don’t want to know.
“I’d like that. But I’m working tomorrow night. I could come to yours on Friday?”
Darius turns, so he’s sitting side on, plopping his bowl on the floor. The cat appears out of nowhere to inspect the dish.
