Chapter 17 #2
He sang like he was tearing himself open. Like he was cracking his ribs apart and offering his heart to the crowd, unapologetic and still beating.
His excitement was contagious, adrenaline flickering beneath my skin like static, threatening to overwhelm the second pill I’d taken just before the show began.
Both chemicals tangled together in my veins, sharpening my senses.
The world felt soft-edged and bright, like someone had turned the saturation up just a little too high.
Everything felt incredible.
When the show ended, the lights went out, but the ringing in my ears lingered.
The buzz in my bones mixed with the residual thrill from the dispersing crowd, making my heart pound.
Christ, it felt like I’d taken an upper.
Like I’d snorted a line or two. Maybe even a Viagra, judging by the semi I was sporting.
After watching Bodhi for the last ninety minutes, I was ready to crawl out of my skin and climb him like a tree.
And then he appeared backstage.
Sweat-soaked. Chest heaving. That same wild grin still carved across his face.
He looked . . . unlocked. Free in a way I’d never seen before. Not better than the version I knew. Just new. Fresh. Like a skin he’d always been meant to grow into.
Our eyes met, and his conversation with Riff cut off mid-sentence.
Everything else fell away, like the world had narrowed to this one pocket of air backstage.
Bodhi moved first. I followed. But he was faster.
One second I was watching him leave his friend behind.
The next, he was crashing into me, hot and breathless.
His arms wrapped around my upper body, too tight and too loose all at once, a faint tremor running through him and into me.
A laugh burst from my chest, and I opened my mouth to ask if he was okay. But his hands moved before I could speak, cupping my face, palms warm and slick with sweat.
Then he kissed me.
Right there. In full view of everyone. No hesitation or restraint. Wolf-whistles cut through the air. Catcalls. Shouts. Someone might’ve even clapped.
It was all background noise.
All I could focus on was Bodhi’s mouth. The way his tongue brushed mine.
His teeth catching my lower lip. His hands tangled in my hair.
Our hard groins pressing together, separated only by fabric.
Every brush of skin sparked, like flint striking stone, heat building fast enough that I half expected the whole arena to go up in flames.
I only pulled back because my lungs demanded oxygen. Bodhi’s hands tightened in my hair, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
He panted, his chest brushing mine with every rapid breath. Too fast. Enough to make me worry for a split second. But when I looked into his eyes, all I saw was startling clarity, edged with want, his pupils blown wide.
His mouth opened, words spilling out in a rush, tangled with laughter and swear words, tumbling over one another so fast they almost tripped.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he breathed. “I just—fuck—you make me feel things, Iggy. You make me feel safe. Grounded. You—” He shook his head, breathless. “You stormed into my life like a blaze of colour and forced me to look, and—Christ—”
“Bodhi—”
“I love you, Iggy.”
Wait.
Did he just—
“Stop,” I whispered, and his mouth snapped shut instantly.
Everything narrowed to those four words. Twelve letters. Five syllables.
My eyes burned, and I only realised I was crying when his thumb brushed the wetness from my cheek. His eyes went wide, the moment catching up to him all at once. Fingers tightening just slightly, tension bleeding into his grip as fear edged its way past the lust.
That was when I understood.
This wasn’t planned or rehearsed. It was a spur-of-the-moment truth. One that didn’t end in regret or shame or a morning-after apology.
No.
This was Bodhi losing control in the best possible way.
“Say it again,” I said, my voice rougher than I expected.
He blinked once. Twice. Like his system had overheated and was rebooting. The insecure part of me braced for him to backtrack. To laugh it off. To apologise and say he hadn’t meant it like that. I wasn’t sure which outcome would hurt more.
But neither came.
“I love you.”
This time, it landed.
Not like a punch or fireworks tearing the sky open. It settled instead, a warmth spreading through my ribs, slow and unfamiliar. Like something loosening that I hadn’t realised I’d been clenching my entire life.
I stared at him. At the way his chest still heaved. The sweat slicking his skin. The raw, unguarded look in his eyes. This man who stood in front of fifteen thousand people and screamed his heart out, then ran straight to me like I was the place he needed to land.
No one had ever said those words to me like this. Freely. Without obligation or expectation.
My parents had loved me in theory. In gestures that came with distance and conditions and cheques instead of hands on my back. A love that looked good on paper but felt hollow in practice. I’d learned early not to reach for it.
Friendship, I understood. Desire, I understood. But this? Love?
This was something else.
And yet, it hadn’t arrived loudly. It hadn’t announced itself. It had crept in through late-night conversations and shared silences. Through holding each other steady in group therapy sessions and hotel beds. Through laughter and fear and a pact to keep each other alive.
Somewhere along the way, Bodhi had stopped being just my friend. And I hadn’t noticed, because the change hadn’t hurt.
It had healed.
Emotion crowded my throat too fast, too full. I didn’t trust my voice yet, not when the wrong words could splinter something fragile and beautiful between us. So instead, I reached for him.
My hands came up to his face, mirroring his touch on mine, grounding myself in the reality of him. He leaned into it immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. Like he was bracing himself for whatever came next.
And I realised then I didn’t need to analyse it. Didn’t need to pinpoint the moment or dissect the how or why.
Love wasn’t always bouquets and perfect first dates and kisses in the rain. Sometimes it slipped in quietly, like a thief in the night, and took root while you were busy surviving. And by the time you noticed, it had already changed the shape of your life.
Like Bodhi had changed the shape of mine.
He stood in front of me with a split knee and a reckless smile, loving me without ever asking me to be smaller, quieter, easier to keep.
“I—” My voice cracked, and I let out a breathless laugh, blinking hard. “Christ. This is a lot for after a show.”
His mouth twitched, nervous and hopeful all at once.
I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in. Sweat and spice and something unmistakably him.
“But yeah,” I whispered, finally letting the words free. “I love you too.”