The last thing I remembered was the steady rhythm of his breathing behind me and the quiet hope that I wouldn’t do something stupid in my dreams.
Then the dark took me.
It was one of those nights when you wish you’d dream. If I’d dreamed, they would have been the best, the sweetest, the most exciting dreams. But the night passed, and I stirred with a quiet gasp, opening my eyes and tensing all over, unsure what to do and where to move.
A dull ache pulsed in my crotch, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Bennet’s breathing shifted behind me, deeper for a moment, then uneven. Not awake. Not yet. Just hovering closer to the surface.
I stayed perfectly still.
My body was already betraying me in ways I didn’t want to think about, but it wasn’t the physical ache that scared me. I’d dealt with that before. That was easy, mechanical, something you could walk off or laugh about later.
This wasn’t that.
I’d always been good at keeping things light.
People thought that meant confident. It usually meant I didn’t stay anywhere long enough for things to get complicated. I smiled. I flirted. I let people want me without letting them actually touch anything real. It worked. It always worked. Everyone got what they wanted, and nobody asked for more.
Nobody looked too closely.
Nobody asked why I joked my way through half my life. Nobody stopped and said, “Hey, you don’t actually seem like you’ve got this together.”
Until Bennet.
He hadn’t shown up because it was convenient or impressive or fun. He hadn’t cared that I was the guy people stared at or talked about or assumed things about. He hadn’t treated me like something to collect or orbit or show off.
He’d just…shown up.
With papers. With patience. With that look he got when he was focused, like the rest of the world faded out and all that mattered was the problem in front of him. Like I mattered because I needed help, not because I was useful to him.
He hadn’t once acted like tutoring me was some kind of favor he deserved credit for. He hadn’t teased me about being bad at Stats in front of anyone else. He hadn’t tried to leverage it into anything.
He cared whether I passed because it mattered to me.
That was it.
That was the thing I couldn’t stop circling back to, lying there in the dark with his warmth just behind me.
How was I supposed to let go of that?
How was I supposed to pretend that wasn’t different from every other almost-something I’d ever had?
How was I supposed to resist kissing him when he was so sweet and cute and kind?
My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, staring at the wall like it might offer answers. I felt stupid for wanting more when I hadn’t even figuredout what more would look like. I felt selfish for wanting to hold on to him when I didn’t know how to give anything back without screwing it up.
Everyone thought I knew exactly what I was doing.
They didn’t see the way my chest went tight every time someone expected me to be easy. They didn’t see the panic that set in when things started to feel real. They didn’t see how badly I wanted someone to stay without asking me to perform for it.
Bennet wasn’t asking for anything.
That was the problem.
I let out a slow breath through my nose and stared at the faint outline of the door, willing myself to calm down. He deserved better than whatever mess I was turning into in my own head. He deserved clarity. He deserved safety.
And here I was, lying inches away from him, wanting to turn around and tuck myself into the space he’d already made for me without even realizing it.