Chapter 49 #2
Blonde curls spill over his forehead in soft, messy waves, catching the low light like threads of gold, and those tired brown eyes…
God, I’ve been seeing them in my head every night, haunting me, burning holes into me.
He looks thinner, paler, and exhausted, but I take him in greedily, like I’m dying of thirst and he’s the only drop of water in the world.
His expression is unreadable, some strange mix of exhaustion, sadness, and something I can’t name, something that makes my stomach knot.
But even like this—he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
My chest aches so violently I almost mistake it for pain, but it’s longing and relief that he’s here, even though he looks lost and still standing far away from me.
He’s here, in my space.
The air between us is so thick it’s almost hard to move through it. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, to pull him in, to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. But I don’t move, not yet.
I can’t tell if he came here to stay or to leave me all over again, and that uncertainty is like a live wire in my chest, burning me from the inside out.
“Lucas…”
His name slips from my mouth rough, low—almost reverent. Like a prayer I’ve been whispering in the dark for so long it’s etched into my bones.
“Don’t.” He says, voice small, strained, like it hasn’t been used in days. “Don’t call my name like that.”
“Like what?” My voice softens, tight in my chest.
He exhales, a nervous, uneven breath. His hands fold and unfold at his sides, restless, like he’s trying to hold his emotions in place before they spill over.
“Don’t do that,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
He bites his lip, eyes flicking over my face like he’s searching for a reason to speak or to shut down. Tears glint in his big brown eyes, trembling, waiting for gravity to pull them free.
“Why do you do that?” he asks, his voice almost breaking. “Why do you… Do things like this? Why don’t you give up? What’s so special about me that makes you want to be in my fucked-up life so bad? Sleeping in that stupid motel… sitting in your car all day waiting—”
He cuts himself off, drops his gaze to the floor. His arms come up around himself, his shoulders hunching in like he’s trying to make himself smaller, trying to shield something fragile inside. The sight makes my chest tight.
“You already know that I don’t want to see you,” he says finally. But the way it comes out—hesitant, uneven—sounds nothing like certainty. His eyes won’t even meet mine when he says it.
“If you don’t want to see me, then why are you here?” My tone stays calm, but the question lands heavy between us.
He looks up at me, startled, chest rising and falling faster. His mouth parts, then closes again like the words dissolve before they can leave him. Frustration etched in his features, so I pull him out of the misery.
“I can’t live without you, Lucas.”
The words come out steady, so he knows I’m not throwing them into the air just to see if they stick.
“I can’t function without you. I feel dead and hollow without you. Every part of me that feels alive is tangled in you, and when you’re gone, it’s like someone turns off the light and leaves me in the fucking dark.”
He makes a soft, breathy sound—like the start of a protest, but I keep going.
“I need you like the air in my lungs. Like a drug that’s in my blood now, it’s intoxicating, burning, impossible to quit. I’m obsessed with you, Lucas. Fucking feral about you. You have no idea how much power you have over me, how much it drives me insane—and I love it. I crave it. I crave you.”
My voice drops lower, the words pressing into the space between us.
“I love the way you look at me like I am your anchor. I love the way you touch me, like I’m something you can’t get enough of, how you kiss me like I am your whole world.
The way you smile for me. Everything about you is so fucking addictive.
More importantly, I love you and I’d burn the whole world down before I let it slip through my hands. ”
He’s staring at me like I just knocked the air clean out of his lungs, like he’s caught between breathing me in and pushing me away. His chest rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm, as if my words are taking their time to settle in his bones.
“But…” His voice is tentative, his eyes searching mine as though they’re looking for a trap. “But you saw… the video.”
“I did.”
I keep my voice calm, but I don’t look away because he needs to see I mean every word.
“And I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m so fucking sorry that you had to live through that.
That no one was there for you. That the world stood by and let it happen.
If I could tear through time and rip that night out of existence, I would. But I can’t.”
His throat works as he swallows, eyes glistening, the tears fighting to spill. I see him holding them back like they’re the last damn thing keeping him from breaking completely.
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you,” I continue, my chest tight.
“That video… that night… none of it changes the way I see you. None of it stops me from loving you—loving every clingy, sleepy morning you press against me, every quiet moment where you let yourself just exist beside me. It doesn’t stop my chest from swelling every damn time you look at me like I’m worth something. ”
I let out a deep breath as I continue.
“I know my love won’t be enough to silence every battle raging in your head. I know it can’t erase the storms. But I’ll be here anyway, step by step, every single day, whether you let me in or not.”
That’s when the first tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, almost angrily, still clinging to the strength that’s been holding him together all these years.
I take a step toward him, but he takes one back. It cuts straight through me, but I don’t move again. I understand.
“I…” His voice falters, his eyes so heartbreakingly sad it feels like they’re pulling the ground out from under me. “I didn’t step back from you because I’m scared of you. I’m not. I just…”
“You don’t want me to touch you,” I say quietly, the understanding settling heavy in my chest.
His gaze drops, and he gives a small, shaky nod. His throat bobs as he swallows again, lips trembling like they’re trying to hold back a thousand unshed tears.
“Why don’t you want me to touch you?” I ask, softer this time.
He lifts his eyes to mine, and the sadness there is a blade, sharp and clean, cutting right through me.
“Because…” His voice fractures, thin as glass. “…because I think I might fall apart.”
Fuck. My beautiful boy.
My chest aches, like it’s being torn open, because I’ve never wanted to hold someone so badly in my life. I shake my head slowly, pulling in a breath that quivers more than I want him to notice, and when I speak, my voice comes out softer, desperate with yearning.
“Then fall apart, baby.” My eyes never leave his. “Let me be the place where you fall. Let me be the one who catches every broken piece, the one who carries the weight with you until you can breathe again. You don’t have to hold it in anymore. You deserve to release it. You deserve relief.”
His body trembles, and I see it, the way his emotions war with him, written across his face like cracks spreading through porcelain. I take one careful step closer, but I don’t touch him, not yet. I want him to know I’ll never take what he isn’t ready to give.
“I promise you,” I whisper, my throat thick.
“If you don’t feel safe in my arms, if it’s too much, I’ll stop.
You are worth every second of my patience, every ounce of my restraint.
And also my love. Let me show you how much you mean to me, Lucas.
Let me be your safe place. Please, krasivy… let me hold you.”
A sound breaks from him — a sob, breathless and raw — and he nods, biting down on his lip like he’s trying to trap them inside.
I’m there within seconds. Wrapping him up. Pulling him against me. My hand slides to the back of his head, pressing him gently to my chest. He’s rigid at first, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, like he doesn’t know how to let himself be held.
“Falling apart doesn’t make you weak,” I murmur against his hair, stroking it with the gentlest touch I can give. “It makes you human. And fuck, you are the strongest human I know. You survived, Lucas. You’re alive. And I am so goddamn proud of you.”
That’s when the dam breaks.
His entire body convulses, and the sobs rip out of him in waves, jagged, gut-wrenching, like they’ve been locked deep inside him for a very long time, waiting for this moment.
His arms finally move, clutching at me, fists twisting in my shirt like he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him afloat.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, again and again, even as my own throat burns and my eyes sting. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.”
He chokes through the sobs, voice raw, words broken: “I hate… it. I hate that you saw what happened. I hate that you are seeing me like this.”
I press my lips to his hair, holding him tighter as he shakes.
“I know you do, baby,” I whisper, voice steady even as my chest tightens. “But I don’t hate it. I don’t hate seeing you like this with me. I could never hate any part of you—not your pain, not your tears, not your scars. Not ever.”
His shaking grows rougher, and I cage him closer, breathing him in like I could anchor him back to himself.
“I’m sorry for what they did to you, my love,” the words scrape out of my throat, thick, breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, shaking his head against me. His voice is shredded but firm. “Don’t. Please. It’s not your fault.”