Page 49 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

The release builds slowly. It rolls through me in broken waves rather than a single sharp peak, overwhelming because I'm being held and wanted while my mind keeps trying to return to the footage. I come with a deep, shuddering groan, face pressed to Theo’s, body tightening around Idris as the pleasure moves through me in long, unsteady pulses. Theo follows almost immediately, shaking against me with a soundless cry, his purrfinally breaking free and filling the space between us as he spills across my stomach without any direct stimulation beyond the closeness and the rhythm.

Idris holds on longer. His thrusts stay controlled even as his breathing grows heavier. When he finally lets go it is quiet. He knots me from behind with a low, muffled groan, his face pressed hard to my shoulder, his body locking us together in warmth. The pressure of the knot keeps me full and still. His arm bands around my waist. His other hand reaches over me to rest against Theo’s back, holding both of us.

I stare at the dark wall until the blur in my eyes makes it disappear. “I can’t take the medicine tonight.”

Idris' arm tightens around me. He doesn't argue this time.

“I know what it does to me,” I say, because I need him to understand that I'm not choosing collapse for the sake of collapse. “I know I’m not stable without it. But I can feel her. Barely. I can feel that she’s there, and if I take it right now, I’m going to lose the last piece I have.”

Theo’s hand slides over my chest, palm trembling against my heartbeat. He doesn't speak. His silence is still broken from the tape, but this one has presence inside it. He's here. He heard me. He's holding the same truth.

Idris kisses the back of my shoulder again. His voice is wrecked and certain in my ear. “We’ll find her.”

I close my eyes, and the bond burns faintly under my skin, painful and stubborn and alive.

Idris holds me through the shudder that follows. Theo presses closer, his mouth brushing my jaw in a kiss too tired to aim. Behind us, beyond the locked door, Zana has filings to make, Kade has declarations to write, and Garrett’s pretty structure has begun to crack in ways he can't polish away.

“We’re one step closer,” Idris whispers.

I keep the pill in my palm, untouched, and let the pain stay with me a little longer.

Calliope

The last question comes twelve minutes after class should have ended, from a student who already has one arm through her coat and her laptop balanced badly against her hip.

“If the greatest good depends on everyone agreeing what good means, then doesn’t the whole argument fall apart before it starts?” Priya asks, frowning at the board like it personally betrayed her. Two other students pause near the door, both of them pretending they’re still packing their bags instead of waiting for my answer.

“It doesn’t fall apart.” I close my copy of the reading and slide it into the stack on the front table. “It gets harder to defend, which is the point of Thursday’s response. I want you to make the cleanest version of the argument first, then tell me where the pressure starts showing.”

Priya’s frown deepens, but she’s already reaching for the notebook tucked under her arm. “So I shouldn’t start by tearing it apart?”

“You can tear it apart after you prove you understand why someone might believe it.” I hand her the pen she left beside my laptop, and she takes it with a sheepish smile before tucking it behind her ear. “Give yourself the harder job. It’ll make the paper better.”

She nods as she leaves, still mumbling something about impossible philosophers to the friend waiting for her in the hall. Their voices fade toward the stairwell, and I give the room one slow look before I start gathering the wreckage they left behind: a forgotten water bottle, two handouts with notes crammed into the margins, and a sticky note someone pressed to the edge of the table with a question mark written in the center.

The board still has half the class on it. I meant to erase it while they packed up, but Leon and Maya had started arguing over whether consequences could ever be separated from motive, and then Priya asked her question, and then the room became that particular kind of chaos that only happens when students forget they’re supposed to be tired.

I erase around the edges first, leaving the center question until the end.

Who gets to define harm?

The words smear under the eraser, black turning gray before disappearing into the dry dust along the tray. I wipe my hand on a tissue from my bag and check the room again, making sure no one left a charger plugged into the wall. Last week,Marcus abandoned his laptop cord and sent three increasingly distressed emails before realizing it was still wrapped around the leg of his own chair.

My phone buzzes as I’m putting my laptop away. Mara’s name appears across the screen, followed by a message that reads, Committee update: we spent forty minutes deciding whether “measurable proficiency” sounded too hostile. Academia is going to outlive us purely through spite.

I lean against the table and type back with my thumb. My class just attempted to apply utilitarian ethics to roommate disputes. Several people may never share yogurt again.

Her reply comes before I zip my bag. Were the roommates real or theoretical?

I glance toward the open doorway, where the hallway is empty except for the low hum of the lights and a distant burst of laughter from the stairwell. With students, I’m learning the answer is usually both.

Mara sends back one line. Eat something before you turn into a footnote.

I smile despite myself and tuck the phone into my coat pocket. The room is finally quiet enough for the tiredness to reach me, settling along my shoulders and behind my eyes, though my mind is still partly at the board with Priya’s question and the response papers I’ll have to grade this weekend.

Dash is sitting on the bench across from the classroom when I step into the hall. His tie is already gone, the top button of his shirt undone beneath his sweater, and an email sits open on his phone. He looks up before I have to say anything, locking the screen as he stands.

“You waited through the extension.” He takes the stack of books from my arms when the top one starts sliding, then shifts them against his chest like this is something he does every day now. “I thought they were almost done when I walked by.”