Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Cameron
Theo set his empty mug in the sink. “I have to start work. And once I get my head down, I only come up for breath. There’s food in the fridge. Please eat something.”
“Yes, Dad,” I said before I could stop myself.
Theo shot me a look over his shoulder, caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Don’t start.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But when Theo picked up his laptop, I saw the hesitation, the fraction of a pause before he opened the bedroom door, the glance back that lingered a second too long.
“Have a good day,” Theo said quietly.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice softer now. “You too.”
The door clicked shut. The flat felt smaller again. Too quiet.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled. ‘Bags’ by Clairo was the first that came to mind, but Troye was my go-to guy when it came to nailing my moods. A moment later the soft opening of Strawberries & Cigarettes drifted through the flat.
I went back into the kitchen for my coffee, Troye’s voice filling the quiet, singing about the kind of love you never quite forget.
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks. Even my playlist’s calling me out now.” When he started singing about love that lingers long after you think it should be over, I rubbed the back of my neck. “Six years,” I muttered. I let the music play, the bright pulse of the song filling the flat.
Funny how a song about not hiding who you love suddenly felt a little too on the nose.
I stood in the kitchen, coffee cooling in my hands, my pulse still uneven. I replayed every second of the conversation and wondered if Theo had heard me after all, if he knew.
Part of me hoped not, but part of me wanted to see that knowledge in Theo’s eyes, just once.
I sighed, set the mug down, then rubbed my face. “Smooth, Walters. Real smooth.”
The sofa bed sat open in the living room, the sheets tangled, a silent witness. I glanced at it, then at Theo’s closed door.
“Temporary,” I whispered, echoing Theo’s word, and let out a rueful laugh. “Yeah. That’s gonna go well.”
Then I realised our conversation had opened a door.
He knows I’m gay.
I don’t have to hide.
I’m free to be myself.
That freedom meant one thing to me.
I’m not about to hide how I feel. What he does to me. What he makes me want.
It was time to take the gloves off.
Theo
The morning had started quietly enough.
I spent it on my bed, the table strewn with notes, my laptop open, the low hum of traffic drifting through the window. My second monitor glowed with lines of code that refused to stay in focus.
I had work to do—a system diagnostic, an update request from a client—but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. Every time I tried to trace the logic of a network path, it looped back to last night.
That sound.
That realisation.
The stillness after.
Cameron’s confession had changed everything.
Did he think about me while he jerked off? It wasn’t vanity that prompted the thought, but hope. Part of me wanted to believe I’d made an impression.
The other part told me not to be so fucking stupid because if Gary could see into my murky little mind, he’d castrate me.
I’d taken a shower, hoping to rinse it out of my system. It hadn’t worked. The music coming from the living room hadn’t helped, either. It wasn’t the volume but the lyrics. I recognised Troye Sivan’s beautiful voice, and it didn’t surprise me.
Cameron doesn’t have to hide now, does he?
I’d retreated back to my bedroom and closed the door.
Except Cameron had gone out, and now every quiet moment between keystrokes echoed too much.
I typed another line, stopped, deleted it. My reflection in the monitor looked pale, tense, and unmistakably distracted.
“You’re fine,” I muttered to myself, clicking aimlessly through a spreadsheet. “You’re fine.”
Apparently, I couldn’t even convince myself.
The flat was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Cameron had left not long after I’d escaped to my room.
I wasn’t escaping. I’m working. There’s a difference.
Semantics.
Cameron had called out to say he wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, his voice bright and easy. If he was carrying any memory of the night before, he hid it well.
I’d envied him that.
By noon, the screen saver had kicked in, and my untouched coffee had gone cold.
I gave up pretending to work and went to wash the cup, the water running too loud in the small kitchen.
I caught sight of Cameron’s mug on the drying rack, a faint smudge of charcoal still near the handle, and my stomach churned.
Get a grip, Theo.
I made a fresh mug, then decided to move operations to the desk, taking advantage of Cameron’s absence. I buried myself in my work, shutting out the world—
Until the front door opened quietly at four-thirty.
Cameron’s voice followed, warm and light. “Hey, I come bearing groceries.”
I glanced up, startled. Cameron stood in the doorway, his hair wind-tousled, a large bag slung over his shoulder, and a paper bag balanced on his hip. He set the first down on the floor.
“I found your list,” he said as he kicked off his shoes. “Figured I’d save you a trip.”
I blinked. “My list?”
Cameron lifted a folded piece of paper from the paper bag, covered with my neat handwriting. “You left it on the counter. I assumed it wasn’t a secret document.”
“It’s—” I hesitated, then exhaled. “It’s not. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Cameron said simply, setting the bag on the counter. “You’ve been working all day. Go, sit, keep doing your computer wizardry.”
I almost smiled. “That’s not what I—”
“Shh.” Cameron shooed me toward the desk. “I’m cooking. Besides, you’ll ruin the magic if you supervise.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Didn’t you say something about your cooking being lethal? Should I have paramedics on standby?”
Cameron narrowed his gaze. “Sit. Or no dessert for you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. There was no point. Cameron had already rolled up his sleeves and was unpacking the bag, humming under his breath.
I retreated to the desk but didn’t reopen the laptop. I watched instead as Cameron moved easily through the small kitchen, the late sunlight catching in his hair. Every motion was unselfconscious, natural.
Stop staring.
I forced myself to go back to my laptop.
The scent of garlic and olive oil filled the air, and the rhythm of chopping vegetables merged with the muted hum of the computer. The domesticity of it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t expect.
It felt safe.
And somehow dangerous.
“I didn’t peg you as someone who cooks,” I said finally, just to fill the air.
Cameron glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “I didn’t peg you as someone who keeps alphabetised spice jars, but here we are.” He coughed. “Okay, I lied. The spice jars were no surprise whatsoever.” A pause. “Unless they belong to your aunt?”
I blinked. “They’re mine, and they’re organised by flavour profile, not alphabet.”
He smirked. “Somehow that’s worse.”
My lips twitched. “You’re mocking me in my own kitchen.”
“Yeah, but I’m doing it with affection.” Cameron turned back to the pan. “And I think you’ll live.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to look at the screen again, but my gaze kept sliding right back to Cameron. There was something about the way he moved, the ease, the quiet concentration, that made the room feel smaller.
Cameron stirred the sauce, tasted it, and frowned thoughtfully. “Needs more heat.”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t we all,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
He turned, his head tilted. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just—work.”
Cameron smiled as if he didn’t believe me but let it go. “Come over here and try it.” I walked over to him, and Cameron held out a spoon coated in sauce. “Let me know what you think.” He slid the spoon between my lips, his gaze focused there.
Heat crawled over my skin, and it had nothing to do with the sauce.
I swallowed. “It tastes good,” I said in a low voice.
Cameron smiled. “Then I’ll leave it alone.”
I went back to the laptop, conscious of being watched.
Something has changed.
Either it was my imagination, or Cameron was a little bolder, more flirtatious.
Sexier.
And infinitely more dangerous.
Cameron placed two glasses filled with water on the coffee table.
“This is your five-minute alarm call. Save whatever you’re working on because you are not going to work and eat at the same time. You’ll only give yourself indigestion.” Cameron grimaced. “Oh God. I’m channelling my mum. Kill me now.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “And doing it really well. I could almost hear her.”
He gave me a mock glare. “You really don’t want your dessert, do you? Because the way you’re going, I’m about to head out to the nearest pet shop to buy a dog, just so I can feed it your dessert.”
I mimed zipping my lips, then went to shut everything down.
When dinner was ready, Cameron set two plates on the coffee table. “Eat before it gets cold.” He sat on the sofa, a cushion on his knee, the plate nestled in it.
I joined him, awkwardly aware of how intimate the simple act felt: two plates, two glasses, the kind of shared quiet that didn’t belong to roommates.
The first bite stopped me. “This is really good.”
Cameron’s grin was pure satisfaction. “See? Magic. And you don’t need to sound so surprised.
I’ve been looking after myself for a few years now.
” He preened. “I can perform all sorts of useful tasks: use a washing machine, operate a Dyson, dust…” He pulled a face.
“Except that last one usually makes me sneeze. Dust allergy.”
“Then I’ll do the dusting.”
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Cameron’s soft voice broke the quiet.
“You don’t have to keep being careful, you know.”
I looked up, startled. “Careful?”
“With me.” He hesitated before continuing. “You keep… measuring your words, as if you’re afraid to put a foot wrong.”
My throat went tight. “I’m not—”
Cameron’s gaze was steady. “You are, and you know it. Well, apart from that crack about Mum. And I think that was only because you couldn’t resist having a dig at me.”
For a long moment, we looked at each other, the mooing from the freezer filling the space between us.
It was hard to be serious when it sounded as though there was a cow hiding out in the kitchen.
But he’s right, isn’t he?
I forced a breath. “I’m trying to be respectful.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so hard.”
I stared at my plate, my pulse hammering. “Cameron—”
“Okay, too serious. Abort mission,” Cameron interjected. He leaned back with a crooked smile. “I believe I mentioned dessert? I bought ice cream.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty this time. If anything, it felt alive, fragile, almost warm.
I finished my meal and stood, gesturing, for Cameron’s empty plate. “Thank you. For the dinner. And the shopping.”
Cameron’s smile softened. “Anytime.”
I stood there for a moment, unsure whether to move or speak or breathe.
At last, I cleared my throat. “I think I’ll leave dessert. I should get back to work. I have a little more to do before I can call it a day.”
Cameron nodded, his voice light again. “Sure thing, Maestro.”
But as I sat down at my desk, the code on my screen blurred once more into meaningless lines, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no amount of work was going to save me from this.
I glanced at the clock.
Where the hell did the time go?
Cameron sat on the couch, his attention focused on his sketchbook. No music this time, and I got the feeling that was because he didn’t want to disturb me while I worked.
Cameron was a disturbance all on his own.
Across the room, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m calling it a night,” he murmured.
I nodded. “Good idea. I think I’ll take my tea to bed.” I stood, mug in hand, and headed for the bedroom. I paused at the door. “Goodnight, Cameron.”
“’Night, Theo.” Cameron got up from the sofa and began the task of opening his bed.
I went into my room and closed the door. Beyond it, I caught the creak of the couch, the flush of the toilet, the tiny sounds of Cameron getting ready for sleep. Finally, the light under the door winked out of existence.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight through the window. I didn’t move until the soft rhythm of Cameron’s breathing evened out.
It was as if every one of my senses was attuned to him.
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. My mind replayed the conversation that morning, Luka’s name hanging between us, and then Cameron’s voice, low and certain, telling his own story.
He made me realise what I wanted wasn’t a phase. It was real. I could want someone, not just the idea of them.
I’d heard a lot of confessions in my life—students fumbling through nerves before performances, friends drunk on heartbreak or triumph—but never one that had felt quite like that. There’d been something in the way Cameron spoke that lodged under my ribs.
I’ve never really… been with anyone.
That had stopped me.
Not for judgment, not even surprise, but for what it revealed about the quiet, unshaken confidence Cameron carried. Most people mistook youth for recklessness. Cameron had a stillness beneath his light.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met someone who still had that.
I leaned back, staring at the window. The rain had begun again, soft streaks across the glass. The city lights blurred into halos.
For years, I’d measured people by predictability, the surety of their motives, the safety of their distance. Luka had taught me to distrust passion.
Cameron was dangerous in a different way. Yes, he was intense, but he was also honest. He wasn’t playing a game. He wasn’t trying to prove anything.
He simply was, open, warm, unapologetically present.
And that’s the problem.
I didn’t know how to meet such openness without protecting myself against it. I didn’t know how to be looked at as though I was worth understanding.
I set the mug down carefully on the bedside table, the ceramic clink loud in the quiet.
It’s nothing. It’s just empathy. Curiosity. The side effect of too much conversation and too little sleep.
But when I finally got into bed and closed my eyes, what lingered in my head was the memory of Cameron’s expression, its mix of courage and tenderness.
Maybe I just haven’t met the person worth breaking my streak for.
My pulse raced. What unnerved me in that moment wasn’t lust but possibility.
Maybe Cameron isn’t the only one learning how to open up.
My heart quaked.
You don’t have to survive me.
I stared at the ceiling, and when the words came to me, I whispered them into the night.
“Maybe I’m tired of surviving.”