Chapter Thirty-Three
~ Nighttime Interruptions ~
Soren
The middle of the night is shattered by the sudden whoosh of my covers being ripped away. Cold air hits my skin and my eyes snap open. The only light comes from the hallway, spilling across room where the door is now open.
I roll over, blinking groggily, and find Kit standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his black boxers, my covers still clutched in his fist before he drops it dramatically onto the floor.
I groan, voice rough with sleep. “Kit… what are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”
He sways slightly, clearly still drunk, and looks at me with genuine offense shining in his glassy eyes. “You left me,” he slurs.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. “Kit, you’re drunk…”
“I knew you didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘love’,” he mutters, the words wobbly and heartbroken.
I frown, suddenly more awake. “Excuse me?”
What the fuck is this kid talking about? And are we seriously doing this at… I glance at the clock… three seventeen in the morning?
Before I can say anything else, Kit turns on his heel and sulks out of the room, bare feet slapping angrily against the hardwood as he heads downstairs.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, swinging my legs off the bed.
I’m never letting him drink that much wine again, not if this is the chaos it creates. I grab my robe from the stool at the end of the bed and shrug it on, too tired to care that I’m barely dressed underneath.
I pad down the long staircase, dragging a hand through my messy hair as I follow the distant sound of running water echoing from the kitchen. The house is hushed and still around me, the kind of heavy silence that only exists in the middle of the night.
I find Kit hunched over the kitchen sink, splashing cold water on his face.
I walk up behind him quietly. “What are you doing, kitten?”
Kit turns the tap off and looks up at me through damp lashes, water dripping down his chin. He looks miserable. “Trying to cool down and not throw up,” he mumbles.
He sounds a little more coherent now, but the sad slump of his shoulders tugs at something deep in my chest.
I move past him without thinking, reaching up into the cupboard for a clean glass. Fill it with cold water, then grab a few ice cubes from the freezer and drop them in.
“Here,” I say gently, pressing the glass into his hand. “Small sips.”
While he drinks, I crouch down and rummage under the sink until I find Lorraine’s little pink fan, the one she keeps for when she gets overheated while cooking.
I plug it in on the counter, angle it toward him, and turn it on low.
The soft whir fills the quiet kitchen as cool air brushes over his damp skin.
Kit watches me with wide, slightly glassy eyes, like he can’t believe I’m doing any of this.
I step closer, brushing wet strands of hair off his forehead with my fingers. “Come on,” I murmur, guiding him toward one of the kitchen stools. “Sit down before you fall down.”
He obeys, climbing onto the stool with clumsy movements. I keep one hand on his lower back to steady him, then grab a clean dish towel, dampen it with cool water, and gently press it against the back of his neck.
“You’re okay,” I say quietly. “I didn’t leave you. I just laid you in the living room because you were out cold, and I didn’t want to disturb you by carrying you upstairs. That’s all.”
Kit leans into my touch, resting his forehead against my chest with a small, miserable sound.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him steady while the little fan blows cool air across both of us.
My robe has fallen open slightly, but I don’t care.
Right now, the only thing that matters is the warm, drunk boy in my arms who somehow manages to make me do things I never do for anyone else.
After a few minutes, Kit nods against my chest and mumbles sleepily, “Okay… I feel better now.”
His voice already sounds clearer, the wine haze beginning to lift.
He sighs softly and pushes away from me, sliding off the stool.
I watch as he turns the small fan off on the counter, then wobbles slightly on his feet, lifting a hand toward his face like he’s about to rub his eye…
completely forgetting about the fresh scar.
I catch his wrist quickly before his fingers can brush the sensitive area.
Kit blinks at my hand, then looks up at me with a small, confused frown.
“Be careful,” I say quietly.
“Oh… right,” he mutters.
“You know I’m a busy guy, right?”
Kit tilts his head back to look at me. “Yeah?”
I let out a low, deep laugh. “I’d like to go back to sleep.”
He nods quickly, blushing harder. “Sorry.”
“Come on.” I turn and start heading out of the kitchen.
When we reach the bottom of the grand staircase, Kit pauses awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Should I…?”
I grin, unable to resist. “Oh, so you can talk to my mother about having children, but you can’t sleep in bed with me?”
Kit’s eyes go comically wide. His lips part in pure mortification as the memory of his drunken conversation clearly slams back into him.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are your ribs okay?”
He shrugs, still looking embarrassed. “Getting there…”
I gesture up the stairs with a tilt of my head. “Well, come on then. Hurry up.”
Kit blushes even deeper but starts walking up the stairs in front of me.
I follow close behind, yawning wide. I already run on very little sleep as it is, and I don’t appreciate being disturbed in the middle of the night…
but because it’s Kit, and because he’s been drinking, I’ll let it slide tonight.
We finally make it back to the bedroom. I close the door behind us with a soft click, the rest of the house quiet now.
Kit moves carefully toward the bed. I watch him for a moment before stripping down to my boxers and sliding in on my side.
He lies down on his back beside me, cautious because of the healing wound on his face.
The size difference between us has never felt more obvious than right now, my much larger frame taking up most of the bed while he looks small and delicate next to me.
I want to pull him against me, wrap my arm around his waist like I usually do, but I stop myself. The last thing I want is to cause him more pain. So, I settle for lying on my side, facing him, one hand resting on the mattress between us.
I yawn deeply, exhaustion settling into my bones now that he’s finally here where he belongs. I close my eyes, ready to drift off again.
Then, softly in the dark, Kit whispers, “Soren?”
I open my eyes. The room is dim, only faint moonlight coming through the window, but I can just barely make out the outline of his face.
“Yeah?” I murmur, voice rough with tiredness.
He’s quiet for a long second, shy and hesitant like he always gets when something important is on his mind. I wait.
“What…” He swallows. “What did you mean? When you said… you love me?”
I frown slightly, studying what I can see of his expression in the low light. “I think the words speak for themselves, Kit.”
He goes silent again. But I can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s still thinking, still turning it over in his head.
He wants to say more, he’s just too shy, and too uncertain right now to push.
I don’t press him. I just shift a little closer on the bed, careful not to touch his ribs, and let the quiet stretch between us.
He keeps shifting. Small movements… adjusting his position, then turning his head, then moving his legs again.
Every little fidget feels louder than it should in the quiet room.
It’s unsettling me more than I want to admit.
I’m not used to caring this much about someone else’s comfort.
I’m not used to lying here wondering what the fuck is going through his head.
After the fifth time he fidgets, I exhale sharply through my nose. “Kit.”
He goes still.
I open my eyes; I can see enough of him, lying on his back, tense, staring up at the ceiling like it holds answers.
My voice comes out rough and impatient. “You’ve been restless since we got into bed. Stop.”
I reach out and rest my hand on his stomach, just below his chest, grounding him.
“When I said I love you,” I mutter, the words feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue, “I didn’t say it because I was caught up in the moment and didn’t mean it. I said it because it’s true.”
I pause, jaw tight. I hate how this feels, exposing myself like this. I’m not the type to talk about feelings. I take what I want; I possess and control. But with him…
“I don’t do this shit, Kit. I don’t say things I don’t mean.
I’ve killed men for less than the things I feel when I look at you.
You’re mine. Not because I own you like some pet.
But because the thought of you not being here makes me want to burn everything down.
Because when you’re gone, the house feels wrong.
Because even when you’re pissing me off, I still want you next to me. ”
I squeeze his side lightly, possessive. “So yeah. I love you. And I’m not going to take it back just because it makes you fidget like you’re about to run.”
Kit stays quiet, but I feel the tension in his body ease just a fraction under my hand.
I exhale slowly, voice dropping even lower. “Now stop moving around and go to sleep. I don’t like it when you’re restless. It makes me think you’re still scared of me… and I fucking hate that.”
◆◆◆
I lie here trying to settle again when Kit suddenly sits up.
I sigh, already feeling the irritation of another sleepless night creeping in…
until he rips the covers off me in one sharp tug and swings a leg over, straddling my hips.
I rub a hand over my face, dragging it down, making sure I’m actually awake.
This is a first. Kit has never been this bold; never taken control like this. It’s a pleasant surprise, but I already know I’m going to be a grumpy bastard in the morning. Still… it’s completely worth it.