Chapter 6
Time blurs into a series of sensations behind the blindfold. A cool cloth on my forehead. Strong hands guiding me through my own apartment. GentlemanX’s deep rumble reading aloud from my dog-eared copy of Fairy Tales.
I slip in and out of sleep, recovering in darkness while trusting a man who refuses to show me his face.
“Your fever’s rising again.” His cool palm rests on my burning forehead.
The mattress shifts as he stands. Water runs in the bathroom, then the soft fall of his footsteps returns.
He removes the blindfold, replacing it with a fresh cold compress, and I gasp at the sudden chill.
“Too cold?” The question comes from right above me.
“No,” I breathe. “Feels good.”
“More medicine in an hour.” His fingers brush my hair back from my forehead, lingering at my temple, and my stomach tightens at the tenderness in the gesture. “Try to sleep.”
I drift in and out of consciousness, anchored by his presence in the room, experienced through the tap of keyboard keys and the occasional phone call, where GentlemanX drops to a murmur as he steps into the hallway.
When I wake again, it comes with a painful demand from my bladder.
“I need the bathroom,” I announce to the room, unsure of his location.
“Here.” He comes from my right, followed by the creak of my desk chair. Footsteps approach, and cool air rushes in as he lifts the comforter away from my body. “Can you stand?”
“With help.” The admission costs me, but pride won’t get me to the toilet.
His arm slides beneath mine, around my back. With embarrassing ease, he lifts me to my feet. My legs wobble, muscles liquefied by fever and disuse, and his arm tightens to support my weight.
“Lean on me.” He guides me forward, my bare feet dragging across the carpet. “Three steps to the door.”
We shuffle together, my body pressed to his side. He’s taller than I expected, and solid, warmth radiating through the expensive fabric of his sweater.
The cool tile of the bathroom floor signals our arrival, and he guides my hand to the countertop. “Can you manage from here?”
“Yes.” Relief floods me at the offer of privacy. “Thank you.”
“Call when you’re finished.” The door clicks shut behind him.
I fumble my way to the toilet, sitting down with the blindfold still on, so I’m not tempted to sneak a peek at GentlemanX by “accident”.
When I finish, I wash my hands, then call out weakly.
The door opens, as if he’d been waiting with his hand on the knob, and I collapse into his arms the moment he touches me, my energy sucked away by even this small effort. Without asking, he lifts me into his arms and carries me back to bed.
“You’re doing well,” he encourages, lowering me to the mattress. “The doctor said movement is good, even if it’s minimal.”
I drift off again, waking to the sensation of a straw at my lips. “Drink. You need electrolytes.”
I sip, too tired to argue or ask questions.
When I wake next, the apartment is different. Empty. I reach up, touch the blindfold still secured around my eyes, then pat the mattress beside me.
Nothing.
“GentlemanX?” His name scrapes my sore throat.
No response.
Panic flutters in my chest. Did he leave? The thought brings a wave of loneliness so strong that tears sting my eyes.
Then the sound of a key in the lock breaks the silence, followed by footsteps entering the apartment and the rustle of plastic bags.
“You’re awake,” he calls from the doorway. “How do you feel?”
“You went out.” The accusation slips past my lips.
“For supplies.” The mattress dips as he sits. “Your pantry consisted of ramen, stale cereal, and three cans of energy drinks.”
“A balanced diet,” I counter weakly.
His laugh warms me more than the blankets. “For a college freshman, perhaps.”
I reach out to catch his sleeve. “I thought you went home without saying anything.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.” His Alpha rumble rises, the vibrations soothing me. “You were sleeping so hard that I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I sway toward him, wanting to close the distance.
“Lie back down while I prepare your soup,” he encourages.
With a huff, I pull my blanket up and settle into my pillows.
He doesn’t stand right away. “Are you pouting?”
I jut out my bottom lip. “No.”
His chuckle fills the apartment as he stands and settles into my kitchen as if he’s always belonged there. While preparing soup, he updates me about the weather and the messages from my building manager checking on my condition.
When the soup is ready, I don’t even try to take it. I just scoot to sit up and open my mouth like a spoiled baby bird.
He rumbles with contentment as he feeds me, the firm vegetables and depth of flavor giving away that the soup is homemade and not from a can. Between spoonsful, I ask how his work is going.
When I’m done, he picks up where we left off in my book, and I snuggle onto my side, letting him lull me into sleep again.
By the following morning, my fever has broken, and I’m finally strong enough to leave my bed. With GentlemanX’s guidance, I learn to navigate my apartment blindfolded with him directing me around furniture and steadying me when I falter.
“One step to your right,” he instructs as I shuffle into the living room. “Now, straight ahead to the couch.”
My shin bumps the coffee table. “Ow!”
Strong hands grasp my shoulders, steering me away from the obstacle. “Sorry, that was my fault. A little more to the left.”
When I reach the couch, I collapse onto it and thrust my arms into the air. “Victory!”
“Congratulations.” He claps while laughing. “You’ve mastered walking while blind.”
“A valuable life skill.” I pat the cushion beside me. “Sit with me?”
The couch dips as he complies, and silence follows while I breathe in the clean scent of my soap on his skin, suggesting he’s showered here. I must stink.
“I’m bored,” I announce after several minutes.
He shifts beside me. “Want me to read to you?”
I turn toward him blindly. “Aren’t you tired of doing that?”
“Never.” The cushions lift as he stands. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returns, his weight settles closer than before, our thighs almost touching. “Any requests?”
“Rapunzel, please.”
Pages flip as he finds the story, and I close my eyes behind the blindfold, letting his voice wash over me. He reads beautifully, giving each character a different inflection without crossing into performance.
When the witch banishes Rapunzel to the desert and shoves her lover off the tower, blinding him, I find myself leaning closer, drawn to the vibration coming from GentlemanX’s chest.
Hours pass this way, him reading, me listening, our bodies shifting until my head rests on his shoulder. When he pauses to drink water, his arm slides around me, snuggling me closer, and the casual intimacy steals my breath.
His nose brushes my ear. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.” The word contains multitudes, and I almost wish that my Heat would come early as the doctor warned, just for the excuse to be even closer.
By evening, hunger drives us to the kitchen. He guides me to a chair, placing a plate before me.
“I’ve cut everything into bite-sized pieces,” he explains. “The fork is at two o’clock on your plate.”
My fingers find the utensil, but when I try to spear something, I miss multiple times.
With a frustrated sigh, I set the fork down. “This is humiliating.”
“Let me.” His chair scrapes closer, and the fork lifts to my lips, carrying a bite of roasted chicken. “Better?”
We fall into rhythm, him feeding me between bites of his own meal. The domesticity of the moment strikes me, with us sitting at my kitchen table, sharing dinner with a man whose face I’ve never seen but whose hands I could identify by touch alone.
That night, when exhaustion pulls at me, he helps me to bed as usual. But when I settle under the covers, he doesn’t retreat to the couch as he has on previous nights.
“May I?” he asks, his weight hovering at the edge of the mattress.
Understanding flows between us. “Please.”
The bed dips as he stretches out beside me, on top of the covers with me beneath them, remaining a gentleman even in closeness. His arm slides under my head, cradling me against his chest.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
“Yes.” I curl into him, ear pressed to his chest over his heart.
His fingers trace patterns on my arm, soothing circles that ease the lingering aches in my muscles. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
I drift off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, more content than I can remember ever being. Safe. Protected.
Cared for.
The scree of GentlemanX’s bag zipping closed sets me on edge, but I hide the reaction as best I can. After three days of his presence, his guidance, his touch, and his warmth, it’s finally time for him to leave my apartment.
My Heat never came, and I can’t find any excuses good enough to make him stay.
My legs wobble beneath me as I stand by the kitchen table, my hands in the pocket of my hoodie to stop from reaching for him.
“You sure you can manage on your own?” he asks from across the room, his concern evident.
“Sure.” I force a smile. “Fever’s gone, and I can walk to the bathroom without falling over. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
The floorboards creak under his weight as he moves around my apartment, gathering his things. I trail after him, following him into the living room.
“Careful of the coffee table,” he warns, and I adjust my path, sidestepping the obstacle.
My fingertips find the back of the couch, and I grip it for support. “When did you say the doctor wants me to follow up?”
“Next week, if your symptoms return. I left his card on your nightstand.” A soft thud follows his words. His laptop going into its case, I think.
The apartment smells different with him in it. Less stale takeout and unwashed laundry, more the contentment of us rolled up together. I’ve never shared this space with anyone other than Saint, never had someone integrate themselves into my daily routines.
“Did you remember to take your medicine?” His footsteps approach, followed by the rattle of a pill bottle.
“Yes, while you were in the shower.” My fingers drum on the couch frame. “Will your family wonder where you’ve been the past few days?”
A pause, then he says, “I told them I was handling a security matter.”
“Am I a security matter?” The question slips out with more vulnerability than intended.
His hand touches my shoulder. “You’re many things, Elliot. A security matter isn’t one of them.”
The weight of his impending departure settles in my chest, heavy as stone. Three days of not being alone have reset my expectations of what’s possible. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up to empty rooms and silence. No GentlemanX bringing me soup or reading to me until I fall asleep.
Keys jingle as he collects them from my kitchen counter. “I’ve stocked your refrigerator with meals for the next few days. Instructions are on the containers.”
My throat tightens. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” His footsteps move toward the door. “Your friend Saint texted again. I told him you’re recovering well, but I think he knew it wasn’t you responding. He wants you to call him.”
“I will.” I push away from the couch, testing my balance. My legs hold me up, though not steadily.
The door handle rattles, and panic floods my system that he’s preparing to leave.
“Wait.” I move toward him, hands outstretched.
His fingers catch mine, guiding me forward until I stand before him. The subtle scent of his pheromones wraps around me, familiar after days in his presence.
“Thank you,” I whisper, tightening my grip on his hands. “For staying to care for me.”
His thumb traces circles on my palm. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I want to.” My heart hammers. “Before you go, can I have a kiss?”
The air between us turns tense, and his hands freeze in mine, his breathing changing rhythm.
“A kiss,” he repeats, as if testing the words.
“Unless that crosses a line,” I add quickly. “Our arrangement has been… unusual.”
His silence stretches so long that heat rises to my cheeks.
I misread the situation and pushed for too much.