Chapter Seventeen Off the Medication, Into the Fire #2
Longer than Reece expected him to.
Cause he stayed until the next day.
And what followed was a golden sort of day.
Easy conversation, quiet laughter, and honest, meandering chats where time became irrelevant.
They talked. About everything and nothing, peeling back layers Reece hadn’t let many people see.
Reece cooked him dinner. Slow-braised short ribs with creamy dauphinoise potatoes.
He opened a bottle of red he’d been saving for something good.
Then afterwards, they curled up on the sofa with a film.
Some thriller neither of them fully paid attention to, too caught up in each other, and Reece tucked Trent into his side, stroking his arm absently .
At one point, Trent had gone quiet, eyes glassy as if the film had faded out of focus. Reece noticed the way he blinked hard, as though chasing off a wave of nausea or exhaustion. He didn’t say anything, just tightened his arm around him until Trent settled again.
Later, they found their way back to bed.
The sex wasn’t as tentative as that morning, but it was still intimate. Anchored in something that felt like care. Like want. It was hands and mouths and skin against skin. And it meant something.
By morning, though, reality called. Trent needed to get back to his flat.
If only to grab clean clothes. Reece gave him a lift, the bike roaring beneath them as they rode the familiar coastal route.
When they arrived outside Trent’s building, neither seemed ready to let go.
They lingered on the pavement, unable to stop touching, unable to stop kissing, each goodbye birthing another hello.
Trent invited him in.
Reece almost said yes.
And even though Trent’s smile was wide, his eyes were a little too glassy.
Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was the strain of keeping himself together, of pretending it was easy to be out in the world when his body still craved escape.
Reece wanted to follow him upstairs. Sink back into the warmth of him and forget everything else.
But he didn’t.
It took everything he had to walk away. Trust him. Because they were playing by his rules now. And if Trent came back later numb, wired, high, Reece wouldn’t touch him. He’d hold him, yeah. Hold him through the shakes, the silence, the aftermath.
But he wouldn’t fuck him.
Not like that.
Not anymore .
So he turned away. He had things to do. Shopping, checking on Nana, the small acts keeping him grounded. They made a plan to meet again that evening. And Reece spent the rest of the day counting the minutes.
By sundown, Trent was back. Clear-eyed. Still trembling, maybe. But there.
Back in Reece’s arms.
Right where he wanted him.
The next day, things took a new turn. While Reece was in the kitchen clearing up from another epic dinner and Trent was on the sofa, reading a battered copy of some book of his Nana’s, Trent’s phone buzzed on the cushion for what felt like the hundredth time.
His group chat was on fire.
Trent laughed out loud, clutching the screen to his chest.
From the kitchen sink, Reece glanced over, towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s funny?”
Trent sighed, holding up his phone. “My mates have issued a formal summons. Pub. Apparently, I’ve gone AWOL.”
“You wanna go?”
Trent blinked. “You…wanna come?”
Reece shrugged, stepping away from the sink. “If I’m invited. Might be time I meet the infamous crew behind the chaos.”
Trent arched a brow. “You realise once you meet them, you’re gonna rethink all this.”
“Why? Are they all like Dev?”
“Worse.”
Reece chuckled and leant down to kiss him. “Then I can’t wait to meet them.”
Trent grinned. “Fine. I guess we can go be… social.”
Reece dragged him off the sofa and…they went .
The pub was already humming when they got there. Crowds spilling out of booths, the scent of old ale and chip fat clinging to the air like part of the décor. The Dog and Duck was where it was at along the seafront.
Trent paused in the doorway, as if suddenly more aware of Reece beside him.
He glanced over. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Reece leant in close to him. “Only if I get to make you blush in front of your friends.”
Trent snorted. “I think they’ll give you a run for your money on that count.”
They found the group tucked into a corner booth. Loud, half a bottle of Pinot in. Dev spotted Trent first and let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest.
“Oh my God , he’s alive!”
Another bloke turned, brow arched, Reece vaguely recognised him but couldn’t place where from. “And brought a stray.”
Another bloke, femme, sparkly, striking silver hair, checked him out up and down. “ Hot stray.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Guys, this is Reece. Reece, this is Niko, Rory, and you already know Dev. Welcome to the circus.”
Reece smiled. “Nice to meet the people who’ve apparently been threatening to disown Trent for the last three days.”
“We like to think of it as loving coercion.” Dev shifted over to make space. Except there wasn’t space.
But soon there was when Rory plonked himself right in Niko’s lap. “Sorted.”
Niko held onto his waist. “This is my life now.”
Reece watched the exchange, brow raised. “So… you’re together? ”
Dev rolled his eyes. “No. They’re emotionally codependent and irritating.”
“Platonic life partners,” Rory said with mock solemnity, wrapping his arms around Niko’s neck.
Reece laughed, settling in beside Trent, and leant into his ear. “Okay. I get it now. You didn’t ghost these lot. You were in recovery.”
Trent smiled. “Exactly.”
The conversation flowed easily, and Reece did his best to blend in.
Sometimes he stepped back, letting Trent take centre stage with his friends.
Watching how he lit up in their orbit. Other times he chipped in with dry humour, an arched brow when the banter crossed into chaos.
But mostly, he stayed close. And couldn’t help from putting his hand on the small of Trent’s back, grounding himself in the quiet contact.
If he was honest, though, he hadn’t come here for a night out.
Nor to meet the people Trent leant on. The ones he called his own.
The same people Trent had told him knew nothing about the pills, or what work sometimes did to him.
Other than keeping a grim but oddly funny death tally, they knew nothing.
And if they hadn’t seen it, hadn’t noticed what Reece had…
then he felt more responsible. For Trent.
And maybe, in some twisted way, for keeping them in the dark too.
And keeping Trent going. Upright. Not reaching for anything but him.
“I’ve gotta go,” Niko said, standing and nearly launching Rory off his lap.
Rory landed with a theatrical “ Oof ” before dramatically adjusting himself and glaring. “Rude.”
“Time to open.” Niko stretched, patting down his pockets as if he’d lost something. “Where the fuck are my keys?”
“Open?” Reece finished the last of his pint .
“He’s the manager at The Lighthouse,” Dev said, already perking up.
“Ah, that’s where I know you from.” Reece pointed at Niko with mock accusation. “Didn’t recognise you with your shirt on.”
“So you recognise him ,” Dev said, giving Reece a smug grin while plucking at Niko’s sleeve.
“I actually met him, yeah.”
“Still wild you’ve got a twin.” Dev rested his chin on his hand and fluttered his lashes. “Doesn’t swing our way, does he?”
Reece snorted. “Nope. Straight as they come.”
“Tragic.” Dev slapped the table. “I could’ve fixed him.”
“You couldn’t fix your IKEA wardrobe.” Rory shot back, tossing a set of keys across the table to Niko. “And you’d lose your head if it weren’t screwed on, babes.”
Niko blew him a kiss. “Are you coming?”
Dev and Rory jumped up.
Trent turned to Reece, raising an eyebrow. “You up for it?”
Reece shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
So they went.
To The Lighthouse.
This time, there was no sneaking around the back, no shadows to hide in, no tension buzzing beneath his skin.
They walked in together. Shoulder to shoulder.
Reece ordered the drinks without needing to ask, and Trent’s quiet smile said he’d noticed.
Between rounds of laughter with Dev, Rory, and Niko, their eyes kept finding each other.
The music rolled low and sultry through the floorboards.
Something with a slow, smoky rhythm curling around his spine.
Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the way Trent stood close enough that Reece’s fingers kept brushing his wrist. Or maybe it was the way Trent looked tonight.
Unhidden, steady, and fully there in a way that made Reece want to pull him closer and never let go.
So he leant in, voice low in his ear. “Dance with me?”
Trent smiled. Nodded, and Reece felt that yes like a pulse beneath his ribs.
They moved through the crowd, the thump of the bass threading through his chest. When they found the centre of the floor, Reece settled his hands on Trent’s hips.
Steady, possessive, reverent. And Trent hooked his arms behind his neck as the rest of the place faded.
The lights. The noise. The people. None of it mattered.
They danced slow. Close.
Not for show. Not for anyone else.
For them. This .
Trent moved with him, but Reece could feel the tension beneath it. The way his fingers clenched tighter around Reece’s neck, as if the dizziness might take him if he didn’t keep hold.
Reece dipped his head, lips grazing Trent’s. “You feel that, sweetheart?”
Trent pressed his chest tighter to his. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I do.”
Reece felt it, too.
Every goddamn beat of it.
He didn’t kid himself. This wasn’t a fix. He didn’t believe in miracles. He wasn’t some magic cure. But holding Trent like this, moving with him, seeing him, it felt pretty close to hope.
For tonight, that was enough.
What came after… when work called, when life crept back in, that would be the test. But for now?
He held on. And didn’t let go.