Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
The quiet, wordless sound that escaped Rian was a gentle thing of sympathy, as if he rung with the echoes struck from Damon’s hurt. His hand tightened against Damon’s arm. “It’s not wrong to wonder that,” he whispered. “Haven’t you spent your entire life feeling like you don’t fit?” His head rested against Damon’s shoulder, angled to look up at him. “Who wouldn’t wonder if there was somewhere they did fit, and wonder what life would have been like if they could stay? Who wouldn’t ask themselves why?” He smiled, sad and small and sweet as candy. “You’re allowed to ask why.”
“But what good does it do, when I’ll never know?”
“It helps you know what you want.” A sigh, and Rian rubbed his cheek to Damon’s shoulder; that human contact, human warmth, shouldn’t feel so good—but it eased something awful inside Damon. “Maybe you can’t control what happened in your life before. You can’t know the choices made by people you never met...and you can’t change those choices. But you can know what you want; what you want to make for yourself, so you can choose a life you belong in and make that...” Rian trailed off, his eyes unfocusing, before clearing again. “...whatever you need. You can belong wherever you need to belong, Damon.”
Whatever I need.
He’d never really known what that was.
But a picture of something was starting to take shape, nebulous and yet...
No. He just—he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t want that, when it would just be a fucking catastrophe and there was some inner part of his brain, some ugly voice of pain and loss and frustration, that said he couldn’t accept those gentle words that told him it was okay to feel what he felt when Rian would never know what it was like, not really, and couldn’t absolve Damon of guilt Rian didn’t even understand.
But he has his own things. His own life. His own hurts. His own problems he struggles with. And he’s offering you empathy and you’re going to shove it away because...?
Because Damon just...didn’t know what to do with it.
And, swallowing back the bitterness in his throat, he pulled away as the coffee pot gave that sputtering exhalation that said the tank was empty and the auto-shutoff clicked, the carafe full of steaming hot water. His arm felt cold, where Rian had been; he ignored it, reaching out to tug the carafe out and pour water atop the tea, releasing its thick, slightly actinic scent in a cloud of rising mist, first one cup and then the other. Avoiding looking at Rian, Damon pushed one of the mugs at him.
“I probably should have asked how much sugar you take,” he muttered.
Rian didn’t say anything; in his peripheral vision Damon caught pale hands wrapping around the pastel blue of the ceramic mug, then the faint sound of Rian blowing on the tea, before murmuring, “It’s fine. It’s just right.” Listless, wondering, a tentative question in that rich, smooth voice—but it firmed as Rian outright asked, “Are you upset with me? I’m sorry if I crossed your boundaries.”
“No. It’s not that.” Damon sighed, lifting his head to look at Rian. “I just...” Fuck, what did he say, when those liquid hazel eyes looked at him as if Rian would accept whatever Damon said, no matter what? “I don’t know how to process things like that. I don’t know what to say.” He tightened his lips. “So I just don’t say anything.”
“And avoid. And change the subject.” Rian smiled—but it was a hollow thing, distant, as if...as if he was bracing himself to be hurt, and well aware of what he was doing when he said, “I think I’m not the only one who isn’t wholly honest, when he smiles.”
Damon clenched his jaw. “Then don’t smile at me like that.”
“Like what...?”
“Like you don’t mean it.” It got under his skin so damned much, and he hated admitting why. “Like...like you don’t even see me.”
Rian’s smile faded, but his eyes flickered, darkened, understanding flitting across his face—followed by another, shyer smile as he glanced away, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was blushing, Damon realized...and suddenly wondered just what he was asking of Rian, to expose himself with just a simple smile that he actually meant.
Especially when that smile lit his face up in such warm ways, firelight behind glass, making every part of him luminous and enticing, drawing Damon closer.
“Is this better?” Rian asked, and Damon could barely find his voice to answer.
“...yeah.”
Rian ducked his head, setting his mug aside on the counter. “I see you right now,” he murmured, and peeked at Damon sidelong through his lashes. “You’re hurting, aren’t you? All of this with Chris...it’s bringing up those old pains. Those old questions you never had answered.”
“I don’t want to wallow in it.”