13. Ryan
Ryan
You’d think that, after our nude art session, perhaps we would have talked about it.
Had a rational conversation about how we were both feeling or perhaps what we wanted to happen.
Maybe that would’ve happened if we’d been older.
But we were both eighteen. I sure as fuck didn’t know how to navigate this situation, and judging by his silence, neither did Dominic.
That didn’t mean I didn’t see him. My lunches were spent sitting on the railing beside him. Some evenings he appeared at my elbow, silently helping me with the dishes or putting dinner together. He didn’t always disappear with Max straight away either, waiting until we were done before joining him.
Max didn’t like that. He’d watch us from the doorway, looking confused.
He fit in well with both of us. Neither of us knew what the fuck was going on.
Then there were the nights when Dominic would show up at my window. Sometimes I’d let him in. Others, he’d just pop the window open before throwing himself onto my bed.
The nude portrait had been completed days ago, but I continued drawing him in different positions.
Straddling my desk chair. Leaning against the door.
Sat on the floor, arms resting on his knees with his cock hard between his legs.
He didn’t suggest getting off, and neither did I.
I didn’t know if I was more relieved or irritated about it.
I was definitely frustrated. That adjective applied to just about everything involving Dominic.
What we were doing now was more intimate. Barely a word would be spoken, but that didn’t stop Dominic stripping for me night after night.
Just as I knew it wouldn’t stop me drawing him.
My sketchbook was bursting with art, every piece of him. Worse were the pieces of me that snuck in there. The lines I drew after he left. Detailed close-ups of his dimple. The crinkle between his brows when he concentrated. The sardonic twist of his lips. His hands.
Oh, his hands.
I had pages and pages of nothing else. Just endless studies of the contours of his palms. The dents of his knuckles. The thick veins that made my mouth dry out. His long fingers. The memory of how it had felt to have them on me.
How it might feel to have them in new places. Places that, until Dominic, I hadn’t even considered as sexual.
My pencil flew over the page as I shaded yet another sketch of his fingers. Of them splayed over an arse cheek, the skin blanching from the pressure.
A noise at my window had me jumping, irritation and excitement racing through me as my head spun. I could never decide whether I looked forward to his impromptu visits or dreaded them.
That was a lie. I knew which it was.
Not that I’d ever let Dominic know. It was my secret.
I slammed my sketchbook shut and shoved it into my desk drawer before turning to glare at Dominic. I had all the usual statements on my lips. You can’t just let yourself into my room. Can’t you use the door? That porch will collapse one day and I’ll laugh when it does.
With one look at his face, they faded away. “Shit. Are you okay?”
It was a pointless question. Dominic was clearly far from being okay. Everything from his red-rimmed eyes to his shaking frame told me that.
His head was ducked low as he shrugged. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t, but my instincts were telling me not to push.
Instead, I stood up and went over to him. Without letting myself overthink it, I put my arms around him.
And hugged him as tightly as I could.
Dominic stiffened in surprise. “Um, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I snapped automatically, before cursing myself. When I spoke again, the words were softer. “Thought you could use a hug.”
There was a long moment when nothing happened, and I held my breath.
Had this been the wrong thing to do? Had I crossed some unknown boundary?
This wasn’t what we were about. It wasn’t like I didn’t touch him normally, but it was never like this.
Normally it was either because he’d pissed me off, or I needed him in a slightly different position while sketching.
As for him touching me, he did that a lot too. Usually to get my attention or to stop me accidentally hurting myself.
But never like this.
Clearing my throat, I started to let him go. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
My sentence cut off as Dominic’s arms came up around me. As he crossed them over my back, a hand landing on each of my shoulders. The bite of his fingers was almost painful, like he was using me to keep himself upright. Like they were the only things keeping him standing.
Swallowing hard, I tightened my hold once more. Thanks to our similar heights, we were chest to chest. I tried not to think about the other parts of our body that were aligned. Now wasn’t the time.
Maybe in future though…
I shoved that thought away as Dominic exhaled and buried his face in my neck. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t be putting this on you.”
My hand found its way to his hair, tangling in the soft locks as I held him to me. “I’m glad you did, Dom. You can put whatever you want on me.”
He gave a tired chuckle, his breath tickling my neck. “You know it’s bad when I can’t even make the obvious joke.”
I couldn’t find my smile. Not that it mattered when Dominic couldn’t see my face. But the fact that it was too hard to find was…unsettling. As was the yawning pit in my stomach, the one that had opened the instant I’d seen Dominic’s face and realised something was very wrong.
Why was seeing Dominic this upset bothering me so much?
It’s because you’re a kind person , I told myself reassuringly. You’d react this way to anyone who felt like this.
Would I though? Sure, I might feel bad. I’d probably ask them if they wanted a hug or if there was anything I could do. But would I hold them in silence? Gently stroking their back while caressing their scalp?
I didn’t think so.
I had no idea how long we stood there. It could’ve been a year. Could’ve been a heartbeat. Really, it was irrelevant.
I didn’t know what was going on with the two of us, but I knew this: I’d comfort Dominic for as long as he needed it.
Eventually, he pulled back, swiping urgently at his eyes. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I pretended not to feel the wetness he’d left on my neck. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” he said gruffly, scuffing his shoe on the carpet. “Can I…can I stay here tonight?”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Here? In my room?”
A ghost of Dominic’s smirk returned. “Well, I could sleep on the porch roof, but that might be pushing its limits.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he usually stayed with Max. That he’d never spent the night in my room. Even when we’d been up until three a.m. with him posing for me, he’d always left. Sometimes to go home, but normally just to go next door.
To Max.
The sight of his swollen eyes had me biting the reminder back. I didn’t understand why, but I wanted him here. Dominic was hurting, and I wanted to be the one to comfort him.
Me. He’d come to me. Not my twin.
That shouldn’t have meant anything, but it did.
“Sure.” I gestured to the bed. “You okay sharing?”
He nodded, still staring down at the carpet. “So long as you are.”
Ha. If only he knew how often I’d fantasised about this exact situation. Well, not him being upset, obviously, but him in my bed? That had definitely come up. “Course.”
I was already in my pyjama bottoms, but I grabbed another pair from my chest of drawers and tossed them in Dominic’s direction.
He twisted the material in his hands, glancing at the door. “Um…”
I followed his line of sight, hating when the connection clicked. He needed the bathroom but didn’t want Max to see him. The pit was back in my stomach now, but for a different reason. “Want me to make sure the coast is clear?”
Relief flashed across Dominic’s face. “Please.”
A few minutes later, we were both in bed. By some unspoken agreement, we were lying on our sides, hands tucked under our faces as we stared at one another.
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to pick out Dominic’s features. The sharp lines of his jaw. The rough stubble covering his cheeks.
The slight redness at the end of his nose. His abnormally puffy eyes.
This wasn’t the Dominic I was used to seeing, and I didn’t like it. Dominic shouldn’t be sad. I wanted his lazy smirk back. The arrogant crinkle to his eyes. His easy confidence.
My leg slid forwards under the duvet until my knee was pressed against his. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. So instead, I gave him a physical reminder that I was there.
That he wasn’t alone.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice hoarse. “I hate that I’m like this.”
“It’s normal to get upset, Dom.” I pressed my knee more firmly against his.
He rolled onto his back, staring at my ceiling. “My dad doesn’t think so.”
A bitter taste filled my mouth as I remembered exactly why Dom ate at our house so often. “Well your dad can take a long walk off a short cliff, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Can’t say I disagree with you there. Fucker would probably even make that my problem.”
I focused on the lines around his eyes. They shouldn’t be that deep, not on someone this young. “Is that what’s upset you tonight? Your dad?”
He nodded. Just once. “I don’t… I can’t talk about it, Shadow.”
“That’s okay.”
Dominic rolled until he was facing me again. “It’s not because it’s you. I don’t talk about this with anyone. Not even…”
His voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. We both knew he was going to say Max.
I pretended I wasn’t relieved to hear it. Admitting that, even to myself, would mean looking closer at what this was. What I was feeling.
I wasn’t ready to do that.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said. I meant it, too. If Dominic needed a safe space to just…be, then this room could be that for him. “You can be upset, cry, whatever you need. I won’t push you to talk about it.”
He studied me. “You really wouldn’t, would you?”
“Nope. You can just be yourself in here.”
Why was I offering him this? We weren’t friends. I didn’t know what we were, but it definitely wasn’t that.
Maybe it was because he was the only person I felt like I could be myself around.
It didn’t matter if I was angry or sarcastic, reading or drawing, chatty or silent, Dominic didn’t seem to give a shit.
He spent time with me regardless. Okay, so maybe we didn’t talk much outside of these four walls, but thanks to him, my life had changed.
For the better.
I realised then that I wasn’t wishing for October to arrive anymore. I wasn’t marking off time on my calendar. I wasn’t dreaming of what it would be like to have friends or be included. To not have to hide from my bullies.
Thanks to Dominic, I didn’t need to dream about it. It was my reality.
I hadn’t known how to thank him, but maybe this was how. By offering him a safe space whenever he needed it.
“Thanks,” he said finally.
“You’re welcome.”
We didn’t speak after that, just stared at each other in the darkness.
But when Dominic’s hand moved across the sheet, his pinkie brushing mine, I didn’t pull away.
Instead, I linked them together.