Chapter 15 - Alexei
I turned around exactly when the minute was up.
Marco stood there in the middle of his room, wearing soft baby blue pajamas that looked a size too big on his frame.
The shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, and the pants pooled at his ankles.
His dark curls were still a little messy from the towel, and his hazel eyes were wide as he stared back at me.
He looked like one of those delicate anime characters, the fragile, pretty kind that always got protected in those shows. It was ridiculous.
My heart actually melted a little at the sight. The thought was so foreign that I almost frowned. I wasn’t the type to have soft reactions like this. But there it was, this weird, unwelcome warmth in my chest as I looked at him standing there.
I didn’t like it.
So I stepped forward without thinking, closing the distance between us in two strides.
My hands came up and cupped both of his cheeks, fingers pressing in just enough to squish them together.
He really did have cute cheeks, rounder than I expected, the kind that made him look even more delicate when they were puffed out like this.
Marco’s eyes went wide with confusion. He looked exactly like a startled duck with the way his cheeks were being held, lips slightly parted and pushed forward. His voice came out muffled and small.
“What are you doing?”
I kept my face completely blank, no emotion showing as I studied him.
“You’re really adorable.”
His eyes widened even more, and a deep red flush exploded across his face, spreading down his neck.
His hands shot up and grabbed onto my shoulders, maybe to push me away, maybe just out of pure instinct.
His fingers pressed in too tightly for a second, gripping the fabric of my coat.
Then he suddenly shrank back, like he had been burned.
I let him go immediately, dropping my hands and stepping back half a pace.
That’s when I noticed it.
Marco was staring down at his own right hand, eyes locked on the small smear of blood that had transferred from my coat to his palm. The graze on my shoulder from the ambush earlier had been bleeding a little through the fabric without me paying much attention.
He looked up at me.
“You… are… hurt?”
I kept my expression flat, voice even. “Just a scratch.”
He didn’t look convinced. His gaze dropped back to the blood on his hand, and the way his face changed made something in my chest tighten in a way I didn’t appreciate.
He looked genuinely scared, not the usual nervous, stuttering kind of scared I was used to pulling out of him.
This was different. This was the kind of fear that made his shoulders curl inward and his breathing go shallow.
I studied him quietly. Was this how he reacted when he first opened that notebook and saw my blood smeared across the pages? The same wide-eyed, frozen terror?
I wasn’t sure I liked it.
My original intention with leaving the blood on his notebook had been simple.
I wanted to stain something of his with something that was mine.
Mark it. Claim it in a way he couldn’t ignore.
It had been between blood or cum, two very different but equally effective ways of making sure he remembered who he belonged to.
Maybe I should have gone with cum instead.
Because I didn’t like seeing this particular expression on his face. It made something in me feel off-balance. Almost… irritated. Not at him. At the reaction itself.
Marco’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to wipe the blood off but didn’t know how. He kept staring at it, breathing a little too fast, and I could see the exact moment his mind started spiraling. Probably thinking about the rooftop again. About the body. About me standing over it with red hands.
I found myself wondering if I had pushed too far with the notebook.
“Sit down.”
My eyebrow arched. Did he just command me? The words came out of his mouth so quietly but they were still an order. From him. To me. I wondered if the blood loss from the graze was making me hallucinate.
His hands came up and grabbed both of my shoulders, careful to avoid the side where the bullet had grazed me, and he pushed. I let him. I sat down on the edge of his bed without resistance.
I stayed perfectly still, face blank, but inside my head everything had gone strangely quiet for a moment. Did he just touch me on his own? Without me forcing it? Without me cornering him first? I think I might faint. The thought was so absurd I almost laughed.
Marco hovered in front of me, breathing a little too fast. His hands were still hovering near my shoulders like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now that he had actually used them.
“You shouldn’t stand if you are hurt… Can you…” His cheeks went bright red, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked down at the floor for a second before forcing the words out. “Take it off?”
Okay. What kind of universe had I been transferred into?
Marco Bellini, the same boy who usually couldn’t even look me in the eye without stuttering, had just pushed me onto his bed and asked me to take my shirt off. Because I was hurt. The graze on my shoulder wasn’t even that bad.
I reached up and started unbuttoning my shirt after taking off my coat.
One button at a time. I could feel his stare even though he was trying not to look.
When I finally shrugged the shirt off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, I heard the exact moment his brain short-circuited.
Marco made a strangled sound. His eyes went huge as they landed on my bare chest and the shallow graze along my left shoulder. Blood dried in a thin line, but it was still obvious.
“I—I’ll get stuff!” he blurted out, voice cracking. “Just—don’t move!”
He spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet again and bolted out of the room. I heard him fumbling down the hallway, opening cabinets, the sound of things clattering.
This was new. This was very new.
He came back less than a minute later, arms full of supplies - a bottle of disinfectant, cotton pads, a roll of bandages, and what looked like medical tape.
His eyes did a quick, frantic sweep over my chest and shoulders before he snapped them to the floor.
The blush that had started to fade came roaring back full force.
“I…um…I got the things,” he stammered. He was shy.
He finally reached me and set everything down on the bed beside me. His hands were shaking a little as he picked up the disinfectant and a cotton pad. He glanced at my shoulder, then at my face, then back at the wound.
“Does it… hurt a lot?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head once. “No.”
He nodded like he didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to argue. He poured some disinfectant onto the pad and hesitated again, hovering near my shoulder without actually touching.
“I—I have to clean it,” he said, almost like he was apologizing in advance. “It might sting.”
“I know.”
Marco took a shaky breath and finally pressed the pad to the graze.
His touch was light. I stayed perfectly still, watching his face the entire time.
He was focused, brows slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Every few seconds his eyes would flick up to check my expression, like he expected me to suddenly grab him or yell or do something violent.
When he finished cleaning the wound, he reached for the bandages.
His fingers brushed against my skin a couple of times, accidental.
I could tell from the way he flinched every time it happened.
Each touch sent a strange little spark through me.
Not lust this time. Something that made me want to pull him closer and hug him.
He started wrapping the bandage around my shoulder and I could feel the slight tremor in his hands.
“You’re bad at this.”
Marco’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I—I know! I’m sorry! I’ve never done this before on someone else. Only on myself sometimes when I—”
My eyes darkened.
“Only when you what?”
He looked up at me, blinking like he hadn’t expected the question. My gaze must have been harsher than I realized because he flinched, shoulders curling inward the tiniest bit. I forced the expression to soften immediately, easing the tension out of my face and lowering my voice.
“Only when you what, little star?”
I wanted to know. The answer mattered more than it should have. Did he get hurt often?
“I’m a bit clumsy,” he admitted quietly, not meeting my eyes. “So sometimes I cut myself when I cook on accident. Nothing serious. Just… little nicks. I’m used to it.”
I stared at him, processing that.
Okay. I was going to burn down a kitchen the next time that happened.
I didn’t like the idea of him getting hurt.
It actually pissed me off, which was weird because it was very hard to piss me off.
Easy to annoy me, sure. But true anger? That was rare.
Anger was a strong emotion that demanded an even stronger reaction, and I didn’t care about anything enough to feel it.
“Then don’t cook anymore,” I said flatly.
Marco blinked, pausing with the bandage halfway around my arm. “What am I supposed to eat then?”
“Doesn’t your mom cook?” I asked. “Her food tastes amazing.”
He gave a small shrug, still focused on wrapping the gauze. “My mom isn’t home all the time. I’m not a baby. I can cook.”
My eyes darkened again at the stubborn little note in his voice.
He tried to retreat, stepping back half a pace like he could sense the shift in me.
Fuck. I should control my expression sometimes.
Before he could move any farther, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Why did you help me right now?”
“You were hurt.”
I studied him.
“You were hurt,” he repeated, softer this time, like he thought I hadn’t heard him the first time. “So I helped.”
I kept holding his wrist, thumb brushing once over the delicate skin there.