Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Cameron
The first thing I noticed was the light. It was too bright, the kind that sliced through sleep.
The second thing was the blanket tucked neatly around me.
And then I saw Theo.
He was asleep in the armchair opposite, slumped sideways, his head resting on one hand. The sight was so rare, an unguarded, human Theo, that I didn’t move for fear of shattering the moment.
My memory came back in flashes: the bar, Raquel’s laugh, a lot of alcohol, the ride home, the warmth of Theo’s hands steadying me as I nearly tripped. The rest was blurred at the edges, but the feeling of safety, of heat and want, lingered.
I sat up carefully, every movement deliberate so I wouldn’t wake Theo. The sheet whispered against my skin. Theo didn’t stir.
I smiled. “You stayed,” I whispered. Then I looked at the clock. 8:07.
Damn.
I had a morning class, a critique session I couldn’t skip, and I was late. The thought of fluorescent lights and half-finished canvases made my head throb, but the idea of explaining why I’d missed it was worse.
I swung my legs off the bed, wincing at the faint hangover blur behind my eyes. I still wore my clothes from the previous night. As carefully as I could manage, I eased myself off the sofa, still watching Theo out of the corner of my eye.
Theo murmured something in his sleep, unreadable, then went still again.
I wanted to touch his shoulder, to wake him gently, to say thank you for staying, but I wasn’t sure what the rules were anymore.
Instead, I wrote a quick note on a scrap of sketchbook paper, leaving it on the table beside the empty tea mug. I hesitated, then added a small doodle in the corner.
My way of saying I saw you.
Before leaving, I stood by the doorway for a moment, watching Theo breathe. The sight both steadied me and hurt at the same time.
Outside, the air was sharp with the scent of rain. I pulled my jacket tighter and started toward the bus stop, head down, heart loud.
I wasn’t sure what would happen when I came home. I just knew that nothing about this morning felt like an ending.
Theo
I woke to an ache in my neck.
For a moment I didn’t know where I was. The armchair, the blanket on the sofa bed, the light spilling across the floor—it all came back in fragments, like a dream I’d fallen out of.
I sat up slowly, rubbed at my eyes, then froze.
The blanket was folded. The sofa bed had been closed. The room was empty.
On the table lay a piece of paper, folded once. My name on the front in Cameron’s uneven hand. I opened it.
Had class. Didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for… everything.
I’ll see you later.
There was a small drawing in the corner. It was me, slouched in the chair, the faintest smile on my face that I hadn’t known was there.
I stared at it for a long time. My throat tightened.
I should have been relieved there’d been no awkward conversation, no consequences to navigate before coffee. Instead, I felt an ache low in my chest.
I placed the note back on the table. The pencil lines were soft, smudged at the corners. Then I leaned back, exhaling. The flat was still, except for the faint tick of the kitchen clock. The kind of silence I used to crave, but which now felt hollow.
I looked toward the door Cameron had closed behind him and tried to summon the right thought, the professional one: Boundaries, order, composure.
What came instead was the memory of a whisper, a hand against my chest, the sound of Cameron breathing my name.
“I should have walked away before this.” The words came out as a whisper.
But I hadn’t. I wasn’t sure I still could.
I stood, folded the blanket properly this time, and placed it over the back of the sofa. The apartment looked immaculate again, not that it helped.
My gaze caught on the note one last time. I slipped it into the pocket of my coat, telling myself it was to throw away later.
I knew I wouldn’t.
Cameron
By late afternoon, the sky had turned the colour of slate.
From the north-facing windows of the studio, the light looked metallic, making everything sharper: the charcoal lines, the shadows on the model’s skin, the quiet scratch of graphite against paper.
I hunched over my sketchbook, trying to focus. The model held a steady pose, all angles and soft muscle, easy enough to draw. But every time I moved my pencil, something went wrong.
The shape of the shoulders wasn’t quite right. The jawline was too defined.
I tore the page out and started again.
It happened once more.
A rumble of thunder rolled somewhere far off, and some of the students murmured uneasily. Then it rumbled again.
“It’s moving closer,” Dan murmured.
Next to him, Emma frowned. “How do you know that?”
“’Cause I can count.”
Outside, the rain began to fall in steady, cold sheets.
“Okay, folks.” Nora raised her voice above the sudden noise. “Five-minute break. Stretch your hands.”
I flexed my fingers, smudged with charcoal. I was thinking about leaving early when Nora stopped beside me, glancing down at my pad.
Her eyebrows arched. “Who is he?”
I blinked. “What?”
“The man you keep drawing.” She tapped one of the pages, where the model’s torso was right, but the face wasn’t. It was narrower, more serious, the eyes half shadowed.
“You’ve nailed the body,” she said. “But our model doesn’t look like that. So who are you seeing?”
I stared at the page. I hadn’t even noticed until now. Theo’s expression looked back at me, focused, restrained, all quiet intensity. I’d drawn him over and over, unthinking, as naturally as breathing.
I swallowed. “Just… someone.”
Nora smiled faintly. “Someone, huh. Well, whoever he is, tell him he’s a good muse. You’ve never been this precise before.”
I tried to laugh but it came out thin. “Yeah. He’s… something.”
“And you might want to think about doing a life drawing or painting for your next piece.” Nora smiled once more. “You know there’ll be an exhibition of all the pieces, right? I think you’d attract a lot of positive comments, generate a lot of interest.”
Rain battered against the windows, turning the city beyond into a blur of silver.
“Nora, the amber weather alert has been upgraded to red.” Ozzy held his phone up. “They’re talkin’ strong winds, flash flooding, train delays...”
Nora clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone. Get home before we have to fish you out of the Thames.”
I packed my sketchbook carefully, slipping the newest page inside without looking at it again. The hallways were already echoing with hurried footsteps. I pulled up my hood and stepped outside.
By the time I left class, the sky had cracked open.
Umbrellas flipped inside-out along the pavement.
People sprinted to buses, drenched before they crossed the street.
London rain wasn’t usually violent, but this was.
Sheets of water blurred the city into grey.
The gutters overflowed like broken fountains.
I tugged my hood and hunched my shoulders, clutching my sketch folders beneath my jacket. Within seconds, I was soaked through. Wind shoved at me from every direction, cold water sluicing down my collar. The streets were half empty; even the buses crawled under the weight of the storm.
I kept my head down, my trainers slipping on the pavement. Every flash of lightning made me flinch, every clap of thunder vibrated through my ribs.
Through it all, one thought burned steady, to get home. Not to shelter—home to Theo.
My chest tightened. I wanted warmth and dry clothes and a mug of something hot.
I wanted Theo.
Thunder rolled overhead, low and close, and I flinched again, my breath catching. Rain stung my face, cold enough to feel like needles. My fingers were numb.
Two more blocks.
By the time I reached the corner of the street, the gutters were overflowing, the water running ankle-deep. My clothes clung to ice-cold skin, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and around me the city roared. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see if Theo would look at me the same way again.
I fumbled the keys as I reached the front door. My hands were shaking, from cold or adrenaline, I couldn’t tell which.
I finally got the key into the lock, shoved the heavy door open, and stumbled into the entrance hall, dripping all over the tiles.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out with numb fingers.
8 missed calls
Theo Sinclair
My stomach plummeted. I tapped open the single text.
Where are you?
Cameron, answer me.
Please.
My breath stuttered as I climbed the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding harder than the rain. By the time I reached the flat door, I was trembling. Before I could unlock it, the door swung open, and Theo was there in the hallway, pale, wild-eyed, looking as though he’d been pacing for hours.
“Cameron.” Theo exhaled my name. He stepped forward then stopped himself, his fingers flexing at his sides. “You’re soaked. You didn’t answer your phone. I thought—”
Thunder cracked again outside, shaking the window in the front door.
I flinched. “I’m fine,” I blurted. “Just really, really wet.” I managed a smile. “Theo, I’m right here. I’m okay.” I gestured to the flat. “I’d be even b-better if I was inside instead of d-dripping on the d-doormat.”
Theo backed toward the kitchen, and I followed, closing the door behind me. Once inside, I began the task of peeling off my clammy, icy clothes, leaving them in a soggy heap on the kitchen floor.
“Get in the shower,” Theo instructed. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I smiled, my teeth chattering. “H-hot chocolate would be even b-better.” Then I hurried to the bathroom.
Hot water cascaded onto my shivering, cool body, and I rolled out a huge sigh. I bowed my head and let myself be surrounded by warmth. By the time I flipped off the shower, I felt human again.
Then I saw Theo’s bathrobe on the hook and knew it was meant for me.
I wrapped myself in the soft fabric and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. A fire blazed behind the grate, and I made a beeline for it. I knelt on the rug, holding my hands out, letting the fire warm my face.