Page 31 of Regal Feather
I could’ve done without the glistening hurt in his eyes when he eventually did. Or without the possessiveness that took over as I checked out the way my clothes engulfed his frame. It was stupid. I didn’t even know why he’d put on my clothes—he hadn’t said a word—but I liked that he didn’t feel the need to apologize for it. I liked that they’d smell like him after he took them off.
I would like it even more if he didn’t take them off.
Back when we were in boarding school and our frames were more similar, he ransacked my wardrobe on the regular. It was our secret while away from home.
“Uh, yeah?”
He had his hands clasped in front of him, the sleeves of the hoodie covering them completely.
More of that dread settled in my gut.
This was Ever, though. I knew him. I knew him better than anyone else did, and I refused to confirm that had changed. Clothes, kinks, friends, routines… None of that mattered.
“Get in the shower and come back down, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”
We were going to do the proper sleepover he’d been asking for ever since he’d asked me to sleep in his bed, as if that was normal between two friends who’d barely seen each other in a decade, only because they’d stayed in touch for the most part.
“Uh, okay.”
Yeah. The more I thought about it, the more the plan made sense. I’d make some popcorn with extra butter and salt the way he liked, we’d watch a recording of one of the fancy theater productions that were his guilty pleasure, and I’d keep him buried under so many blankets he’d wonder if he could actually breathe through them.
If anyone thought it was childish, they could fuck off.
Society’s perceptionson how any of us should be behaving went down the rails when I’d finally wrangled him downstairs to the couch and cocooned him with the blankets. I bet all his other friends could make better cocoons that would feel more satisfying, but he was under the blankets. That had to be the important part. His feet were freezing for some reason, but the rest of his body was warm, and he didn’t tense when Iwrapped an arm around his midsection and pulled him to me until his head rested on my shoulder.
I doubted he was paying attention to the screen in front of me, and he’d only stomached a couple fistfuls of popcorn I’d hand-fed him, but that was okay, too. I’d make sure of it.
“I’ve never been too much for you, have I?”
The question was muffled by the blankets he’d moved to cover more of his body, but it made me tense as if it had been screamed with a megaphone.
“Never,” I promised. I didn’t know if it was acceptable, if I should ask first, but I placed my lips against the top of his head and stayed there until I could feel he wasn’t trembling with the need to run away or get deep in his head again. “You and me, yeah?”
The words, the shortening of the promise we somehow had kept to each other without distilling its power or minimizing it as a kids’ thing, had him glance up at me. He had the roundest eyes. I didn’t know how he didn’t get more compliments on them.
“Even with all of this?”
My nostrils flared.
The anger wasn’t aimed at him, though. “Yes.”
I kept the answer simple. It was part the fact that I wasn’t good with words, and part the fear that some of that rising anger would make it into the words.
Ever wasn’t weak in the traditional sense people assumed; they thought he was shy and took longer to warm up to people, but that wasn’t a sign of weakness. He was sensitive, though. Always had been. It was the reason his relationship with his parents wasn’t the best, and the reason why they had him on a manufactured monthly allowance where he was technically the estate manager, but they handled it all for him and just asked him to do the things they couldn’t do from a distance.
I had always thought of it as a strength, the way he never thought twice about running to me, hugging me, and telling me he loved me when most of the time it took physical strength for me to initiate even half of that.
Our families weren’t the kind to appreciate that.
Definitely not in a man.
“I think…” He glanced down as he spoke. “I want to be a better friend.”
“You already are, babes.”
“No.” Now he glanced back at me. There was determination in his gaze. The hurt and the glistening that spoke of unshed tears were still there, but his jaw was clenched. “I don’t even know why you were discharged. You can’t mean that.”
“You…” I blinked. “You don’t?”
