Chapter 11
ELEVEN
ROMAN
Two days. That’s how much it takes for our restraint to crumble.
Two miserable, infernal days of looking at him from a distance and pretending I don’t remember every single detail of my birthday; the way he felt lying against me while we watched that movie, the black cupcakes he got for me, that fucking kiss afterwards that went on for hours.
The way he looked as he sat in front of me in his powder-blue hoodie, peering at me expectantly, smiling, and asking me to make a wish.
How do you make a wish for something that’s right there, in front of you?
A perfect fucking day, followed by a weekend of torment when Jesse doesn’t hang out in my room to study as he usually does, even though I leave my door wide open to steal glances at him every time he walks by outside.
When he doesn’t lean against me or kiss my cheek, even though he still smiles at me and says hey.
When we’re never alone in the same room for more than a few minutes.
It drives me insane. I have barely even thought about the fact that my father managed to find yet another excuse not to be here for my birthday, just like he’s done for more than a decade.
He doesn’t make any effort to hide it either.
He’s made it perfectly clear how much he’d like to forget this day even exists.
I don’t give a shit because I can’t make my hands stop shaking from the need to grab Jesse every time I see him move outside my door, to drag him inside and lock the door. There’s a constant buzz in my ears that doesn’t let me focus for one goddamn second on anything I’m trying to do.
Except I don’t want to focus on anything else. I want to focus on nothing but him, be around him all the time until nothing else matters.
Fuck.
No.
“This isn’t normal, Roman.”
The words echo like a ruthless reminder.
I can’t be like this. I can’t let him see this side of me. I have to tone it the fuck down.
By Sunday, I’m so on edge I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin.
If the pull towards him was strong before, now it feels like fighting gravity. Now that I know what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him melt in my arms and feed me his sounds.
What it’s like to fall into those baby blues as they look at nothing but me.
I miss him.
There’s only a wall separating us and it’s not even been two full days, but he might as well have taken all the light with him.
I don’t even know how many times I’ve stopped myself from going to him and—
And what?
As much as I hate it, Jesse has a point. Our parents are married, he’s very much my stepbrother and we are all living under the same roof like a happy fucking family.
I shouldn’t want to barge into his room and kiss him until I meld us together, until there’s nothing that can get between us.
A growl of frustration builds in my throat and I only smother it because of how late it is and I don’t want to disturb Jesse in case he’s sleeping, balling instead the piece of paper with the drawing I’d been working on and chugging it at the wall.
I leave the sketchbook and pencil next to me on the bed, and my head slumps back against the headboard, the pressure in my temples throbbing with every beat of my heart.
The sound of soft footsteps shuffling in the hallway makes me still, all my senses in high alert.
I could probably stare a hole into my door with the way I’m looking at it, and when the footsteps halt right outside, I don’t dare move.
For a moment, nothing happens and, fuck, it wouldn’t surprise me if I actually hallucinated the sound.
But then the door cracks open, and he’s here, stepping inside, closing the door behind him and leaning with his back against it.
My Jesse.
He looks at me from across the room, perfectly awake, and I can’t help devouring the sight of him, finally allowed to drink in every single detail of him. From his socked feet, gray sweats and baby-pink long-sleeved T-shirt, to his loosely braided hair, rosy cheeks and beautiful eyes.
My eyes widen when he takes the first step towards me, and then a second, and a third, until he’s standing next to my side of the bed, bathed in the amber light of the lamp on my nightstand.
I want to touch him so bad.
I need to feel his skin with my hands to convince myself he’s here and this is not a dream.
He looks so soft, so perfect it makes me ache, but I don’t reach for him not knowing why he’s actually here.
Maybe there’s an explanation, another reason why he’s in my room this late.
Maybe—
Jesse’s hand lifts tentatively towards me, his chest rising with his inhale, his lips parting with his exhale, as his fingers brush against my arm.
And something in me breaks because I’m done.
I’m so fucking done staying away from him.
Grabbing his wrist, I tug him forward until he’s toppling on me with a startled gasp, until we’re a mess of limbs.
His mouth finds mine before I’ve even pulled the covers around us, and I can finally breathe. With him lying on me, our chests rising and falling in tandem, I feel everything in me finally settle after two torturous days.
The kisses are soft and deep, slow and bruising. He wraps himself around me and I pull him in so tightly I’m crushing both of us, but neither of us cares.
The comforter is almost too hot around us, but we curl under it all the same, feeling like there’s nothing but us.
We don’t say anything for a long time. We only separate for brief moments for much needed air and I make the most out of those moments to simply look at him, and bask in his lazy, relaxed smile, a smile I can feel against my own when we fall into each other again.
I can’t stop touching him—running my hands through his now loose hair, caressing his warm cheeks, kneading his nape. And he’s the same—cradling my face, keeping me fused to him, goosebumps breaking all over my skin when his nails graze the sensitive skin behind my ears.
We’re both hard against each other but we do nothing about it, feeling too fucking good like this to do anything to mess it up.
Eventually, Jesse lets out a sleepy sigh, his eyes drooping when he tries to keep them open with difficulty, so I simply shift him a bit more on his side, making sure he’s comfortable, tucking his head under my chin and holding him close.
“Roman…” he mumbles, burrowing deeper.
“I’ve got you, Blue,” I whisper against his hair, nuzzling his sweet scent. “Go to sleep.”
I feel him nod, his breathing evening out.
I’ve got him, and he’s got me.
That’s all that matters.
It has to.