He was hanging on to the open patio door, pain etched on his face.
And I was just standing there watching him.
“I’m going to come in and lie down because I think I might faint if I don’t,” he declared dramatically, as I half caught him stumbling over the patio door rails. Into my arms, where I gently got him onto the bed, and he lay down, letting his leg move up so he could cradle it.
In pain. Obviously. And I still just stood there.
The complete fool and idiot and all-round imbecile I was.
“Can you just…get the sock off?” he asked. Eyes still closed. His breathing just small hitches, and as I got to rolling the cuff down, it made him grimace and grit out a breath through his teeth.
“You shouldn’t have walked on it,” I scolded him.
“Well, you shouldn’t have fucked off. Not fair, Noah.”
“I…” I started. I had no excuse. Absolutely none. “I…thought it would be for the best.”
“Seriously?” he said weakly. Then he went quiet. Just lay there as my stupid heart broke. Because I wanted just this. Someone who needed me. I wanted what he’d talked about. I wanted comfort. I wanted… Fuck. I wanted everything I couldn’t have.
“Riley,” I said quietly.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “We’re way beyond that, Noah. Fucking stop it. Just fucking stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.” Weak. Absolutely disgusting. I was standing here, and honestly? I hated myself. I hated my weakness. Hated my complete inability to do this right. And I hated… Maybe I even hated him for making me realise that I was the idiot here. I was probably doing the right thing, and I still believed that stopping this now was the correct and rational course of action. Yet?
“Lie down with me,” he begged, still curled up on the bed. His foot angry and red as I took a deep breath. Walked over to my bag and grabbed the burn gel. Sat myself down by his feet and gently moved his limbs.
He let me. The relief that he did was immense. Like I’d somehow passed the first hurdle of making this…not better, but maybe bearable in some way?
I gently covered his battered skin with gel, smoothing down every hiss and gasp from him. Pain. I knew it well, and he was obviously in distress. And as much as I tried to slip into my medical role here, treating this as another sign of his injury, or even his…past trauma manifesting into the need for support? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I simply…couldn’t.
I walked over to the bathroom and washed my hands, leaving him to just lie there in silence. Perhaps I wanted to gather my thoughts. Maybe I hoped he would say something. Explain what on earth he was thinking and make it easier for me to figure out what I was supposed to think in return.
The towel felt too rough against my hands. The light in the bathroom far too bright. Also, I could see myself in the mirror, and my reflection wasn’t a pretty sight. I looked weirded out and upset, even I could see that. Also? There was a mouth-shaped dark bruise in the middle of my chest. The way my finger shook as I tried to draw a line around it?
It was him. All him.
“Fox,” I said, walking back into the room.
He hadn’t moved, back to protecting his knee against his chest. His foot gently lying there, deep red against the stark white sheets. A warm breeze drifting through the room. The soft light. Everything making my heartbeat slow down. Calming. Just having him here was strangely calming.
“Fox,” I repeated, crawling onto the bed. And I had no right. I was in no state to make any decisions here, but I was too close and he crawled into my arms without a word. Just pressed his body against mine, his leg over my thigh. That injured foot against my skin. Breaths against my chest as I kissed his head. Those curls everywhere, making me breathe him in.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice suddenly stern. “This needs to stop now. Because I don’t think I can take it anymore.”
“Why?” My response was simply as juvenile as it sounded.
“Because you just left me there? Didn’t say a word? Perhaps you could have said, ‘Oh Fox, just nipping back to the room for a sec, I forgot something’? Maybe you could have been honest? There was plenty of time to grab my arm and say, ‘Hey, I’m freaking out a bit, just need some space’.”
He was moving now, getting up on his elbow so he could properly look at me. Stroking hair out of my face. Like we were something we were not. Something I clearly wanted, according to the surge in my chest. Also, a reminder? He was something I couldn’t have.
“You live in bloody Scotland, Fox,” I said, like it was an excuse.
“Long distance is not an option,” he replied softly. “Hence, we need to talk.”
“We’ve known each other for…what. Hours?”
“True.” More fingers on my skin. I couldn’t bear it but leaned into it. My entire existence was a mess of contradictions. I couldn’t even make sense of that statement in my head.
