24. King at Rest
King at Rest
King
The knock at the door came and went. I probably could’ve answered.
Instead, I stayed where I was, watching the shadow of Asher’s lashes against his cheeks as he breathed deeply in his sleep.
Somewhere nearby, people on the sleigh ride were probably laughing their way across the snow-covered tundra.
But it’s clear we aren’t going—there’s no way I want to wake Asher.
That thought catches in my mind, and I examine it from all sides.
I’m just warm, I think. Cuddled up in bed with him, clothes halfway off.
My knee still hurts.
He’s tired and deserves to rest.
It’s going to be really fucking cold.
Excuses… all excuses for why I should stay cuddled up in bed with Asher fucking Harrison.
I bet Walter and Jacques will gossip about how we skipped the sleigh ride.
I can cite my knee, I suppose. But that doesn’t negate the fact that I just don’t want to get up for anything.
We’ve been lying here too long for it to be casual.
His foot resting against my ankle. My arm still under his head.
My eyes feel heavy, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable.
There’s a fragile stillness in the room, and I’m afraid moving will break it.
And I don’t think I’m ready for that.
Asher stirs, stretching his long body so that his feet hang off the end of the bed, like mine. These kinds of resorts aren’t built for tall people like us.
He speaks so quietly that I think I imagine it at first.
“I’ve never told anyone I’m bisexual.”
I turn my head to face him. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, like if he looked at me, he might take it back.
“You just did,” I said.
“Yeah. Guess I did.” His voice wavers.
“Okay,” I reply.
We lie in silence for another few minutes, our breathing syncing up as we take in the quiet, warm atmosphere of being tangled up together.
He finally looks at me, one corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
I hesitate, and my chest tightens. There’s a very large part of me that hates talking about myself—about anything real—but it feels unfair to let his confession hang there all alone.
Tit for tat.
“I’ve never had a relationship last longer than three months,” I admit.
His brows lift. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” My mouth pulls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I’m bad at letting people in. Or keeping them there. Usually both.”
For a beat, the only sound is the wind outside. Then Asher’s foot presses more firmly against mine, and even though it’s subtle, it makes me feel way less alone.
Neither of us elaborates, either. Which is nice. We let our confessions hang there, sitting in the cozy nest we’ve made out of hatred that rapidly turned to lust. Nothing’s fixed, per se, and we didn’t define what this is between us. And that’s okay.
We’re just two people who’d run out of excuses to keep pretending this was nothing.
Somewhere outside, laughter floats toward our cabin from the sleigh ride.
I close my eyes. “We missed the sleigh ride.”
“Oh well,” he says. And somehow, the way he says those two words makes it feel like it wasn’t a loss at all. “Bet we’re the talk of the night. We sort of disappeared, didn’t we?”
“Good,” I reply, surprising even myself. “Let them wonder.”
He laughs and rolls onto his side, facing me fully now. For a moment, it feels like the air shifts. Whatever this thing between us is, it feels less fragile, more solid. Tomorrow, we’ll have to face the others, but for now, we could stay exactly where we were.
“I was thinking,” he says a minute later.
“Hmm?” My eyes feel heavier now, and the feel of his body against mine is lulling me to sleep.
“About what you said. During therapy. I can’t believe you really graduated from Columbia at nineteen.”
I laugh. “Why? Is it so hard to believe? Left home early. Took extra units every semester so I finished in three years versus four.”
He makes a noise of assent before responding. “No, I guess it makes sense when I really think about it.”
He’s quiet as I doze in and out of sleep.
Normally, I’d let the adrenaline keep me awake, keep my guard up and never allow myself to be in a vulnerable position with someone like this.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep with another human.
I’ve faked it, waited until the other party was asleep before sneaking out.
But this? The comforting feeling of his skin against mine, the smell of coffee and sweat, the lush flannel sheets wrapped around us with the warm duvet…
“It’s impressive,” he adds a minute later. “But then again, everything about you is.”
“Thanks, Harrison,” I mutter, slurring my words from exhaustion.
He settles against me again, and when his breathing evens out, I match mine to his. The warmth wraps around us, pulling us under.
I told him the truth, and the world didn’t end.
For now, that’s enough.