Chapter 35 All Your Deepest Darkests #3
“And it’s not just for that,” Wynter added, a small smile playing on his lips. “I wanted to do this for us, too. I want to see where you come from. To understand that part of you.”
The tears spilled over then, and I covered my face with my hands, laughing softly through the sobs. “You’re both ridiculous. And amazing. And…I don’t even know what to say.”
“Commonly I think ‘thank you’ works,” Cahya said with a wink.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Wynter knelt beside me, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to thank us, Yesoh. We care for you. Deeply. That’s all this is.”
Cahya threw an arm around my shoulders, his usual playful energy tempered with something quieter, something deeper. “We leave next week,” he said. “So you better get ready, because Soleh is already planning his Jakarta food tour, and he’s got about twenty spots on the list.”
I couldn’t stop smiling, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I can’t believe you did this,” I said again, my voice thick with emotion.
“Believe it,” Wynter said, his smile soft and proud. “I’m starting to realize that I would do anything for you.”
And for the first time in months, the ache of homesickness began to fade, replaced by the warmth of family, of love, of home.
The soft glow of the lamp bathed the room in a warm, golden light as I settled onto the floor between Wynter’s knees.
My hair spilled over my shoulders, a cascade of dark waves that I’d brushed out after my shower.
The scent of the coconut oil I’d set on the coffee table filled the room, rich and familiar, wrapping around me like a memory.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I teased, glancing over my shoulder at Wynter.
He smirked, rolling up his sleeves. “I think I can handle it. Just show me what to do.”
I handed him the bottle, smiling at his tentative expression as he poured a small amount of the oil into his palms. “Warm it up in your hands first,” I instructed, watching as he rubbed his hands together, the oil glistening against his skin.
“Like this?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
I turned back around, closing my eyes as his fingers gently threaded through my hair. His touch was careful at first, tentative, as though he were afraid of pulling too hard. But as he worked the oil through the strands, he grew more confident, his movements fluid and deliberate.
“You’re a natural,” I murmured, leaning into his touch.
“I aim to impress,” he said lightly, though there was a tenderness in his voice that made my chest ache.
For a while, we sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds were the soft rustle of my hair and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. Then, Wynter broke the quiet.
“So,” he began, his thumbs gently pressing against my scalp in slow, circular motions. “Tell me about Jakarta. What was it like growing up there?”
I smiled at the question, the memories flooding back in vivid detail.
“It was…beautiful,” I said softly. “Hot, crowded, loud—but beautiful. The city is alive in a way that’s hard to describe.
It’s chaotic, but there’s so much joy in it.
The food stalls on every corner, the smell of satay grilling on the street, the sound of the call to prayer echoing in the distance… ”
As I spoke, Wynter’s hands never stopped moving, his fingers working through my hair with a soothing rhythm.
“Did you have a favorite spot?” he asked, his voice low and curious.
“There was this park near our house,” I said, my smile growing wider. “Taman Suropati. It wasn’t anything fancy, but I loved it. My mom would take us there on weekends, and we’d feed the birds or sit on a blanket under the trees. Sometimes she’d bring her guitar and sing for us.”
“Sounds magical,” Wynter said, his voice soft with admiration.
“It was,” I said, my chest tightening with longing. “I miss it. I miss her.”
Wynter’s hands stilled for a moment, then moved to my temples, his touch firmer now, grounding me. “You’ll see her soon,” he said, his voice steady. “And when you do, you’ll show me all those places. Taman Suropati, the food stalls, everything.”
I tilted my head back to look at him, a playful glint in my eyes. “You think you can handle Jakarta? It’s not exactly quiet.”
“I think I can handle anything as long as you’re there,” he said, his lips quirking into a small smile.
The sincerity in his voice made my breath hitch. I turned back around, not sure how to respond, and Wynter resumed his gentle ministrations, his hands sliding back into my hair.
“Is this okay?” he asked after a moment, his thumbs pressing against the base of my skull.
“More than okay,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
The massage shifted then, becoming slower, more deliberate. His fingers traced patterns along my scalp, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary. My skin tingled under his hands, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the oil.
“Wyn,” I said softly, tilting my head back again to meet his gaze.
His eyes were dark, searching mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, he leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so soft it felt like a question.
I turned fully toward him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, and deepened the kiss, answering him without words. His hands slid down from my hair to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks.
“I—I um I need to go take a shower.” I cleared my throat.
“Now?” he wondered, lifting a curious eyebrow.
“Certainly now, this very instant.” I laughed nervously, grabbing my towel and locking myself in the bathroom.
This man was driving me insane.
I didn’t want him to think I was this insatiable creature who didn’t know how to control herself around him.
I had to pace myself, pace us. He was far more experienced than I was and yet I was the one who the very second I was alone with him wanted nothing more than for him to strip me bare.
It was almost embarrassing how desperately I craved him.
I took a long shower, pressing my forehead to the glass and praying to any god who would listen to have mercy on me. Having a gorgeous figure skater boyfriend didn’t necessarily come with a step-by-step instruction manual on how to control yourself.
The bathroom was still filled with steam as I stepped out, the scent of my vanilla body wash lingering in the air. Wrapping a towel snugly around myself, I padded barefoot into the bedroom, expecting to find Wynter planning out his next practice by pencil and paper like he usually did.
Instead, I was greeted by the sight of him sprawled on the bed, a book held precariously close to his face. His reading glasses he never let anyone see were slipping down his nose, and his free hand was absently scratching the back of his neck.
I paused in the doorway, curious. Wynter’s taste in books usually leaned toward history or fantasy—dense novels that I could never quite get into.
But this book was different. The cover, peeking out from behind his hands, was unmistakably romantic: soft pastels, a couple mid-embrace, and a title that practically screamed spicy content ahead.
“Wynter,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.
He startled, nearly dropping the book. His wide eyes met mine, and the faintest blush crept across his cheeks. “Oh, uh—hey,” he stammered, quickly snapping the book shut.
I arched an eyebrow, my lips twitching with amusement. “What are you reading?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, shoving the book under a pillow like a guilty teenager.
“Nothing?” I echoed, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. “Because it didn’t look like ‘nothing’.”
“It’s just…a book,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze.
I sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the pillow now serving as his makeshift hiding spot. “A book about what?”
“Love.”
I couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up. “Love? Wynter, you are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I am not being untruthful. It’s a romance novel, okay? Sydney lent copies to Jax and me, said it’d be ‘eye-opening’ for the male species.”
That caught my attention. Classic Syd. “Eye-opening, huh?” I reached for the pillow, but Wynter grabbed it before I could.
“Yesoh,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “Don’t.”
That only made me more determined. “Now I really need to see it.” I lunged, and after a brief but spirited tug-of-war, I emerged victorious, the book in my hands.
Flipping it open to the page he’d dog-eared, I skimmed the first few lines before bursting out laughing. The writing was vivid, to say the least, and Wynter’s ears were now fully red. God he got so worked up so easily.
“You were reading this?” I teased, holding the book up like evidence in a trial.
He buried his face in his hands. “Can we not make a fuss out of this?”
“But it’s such a big deal!” I said, my grin widening. “I never pegged you as the type to enjoy…explicit romance.”
“I don’t usually,” he mumbled, peeking at me through his fingers. “I was just curious, okay? And it’s not just explicit. The characters are interesting.”
“Oh, I bet they are,” I said, leaning closer. “What’s her name? Let me guess—she’s feisty and independent, but secretly vulnerable. And the guy? Broody and intense, with a tragic backstory, right?”
Wynter groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “Why must you terrorize me, darling?”
I laughed, poking his side until he squirmed. “I’m only teasing. But now you have to read it out loud.”
“What?” He sat up, looking genuinely horrified.
“You heard me.” I held the book out to him. “Read it. Out loud. I want to hear what you’ve been so captivated by.”
“No way.”
“Come on, Wynnie,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “You’re already halfway through the chapter. Don’t leave me hanging, tell me what you’ve been fantasizing about.”