Page 4 of Disarm
“Want me to turn it down?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
He turns then. His eyes find mine, dark and steady. It’s a look that says, “I’ve got you, even when you don’t know how to have yourself.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then his hand reaches out, slow and careful, and brushes a damp strand of hair from my forehead. My chest aches from how gentle it is.
“Clothes off,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel better once the heat hits you.”
He says it like a promise, not a command. Still, it sends a shiver down my spine.
By the time I step into the shower, the room’s fogged up enough to blur everything but him. Water runs down his shoulders, tracing muscle and ink, catching light. I stand there, useless, naked, my soul bared to only him.
Miguel reaches for me again, fingers sliding around my wrist, guiding me under the spray. The heat burns first, then soothes, until my body remembers how to open itself up and just breathe.
He tilts his head, studying me. “You good?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure it’s true.
He doesn’t call me out on it, even though he knows it’s a lie. He just steps closer, enough that I can feel the warmth of him even through the steam. His hands find my face, thumbs brushing over the bruised shadows under my eyes.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” he says quietly.
“Trying to.”
“Liar.”
A smile flickers and dies on my lips. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Not easy,” he says, “just not something you have to do alone. Stay here, Caleb. Fuck the dorms.”
Something inside me breaks at that. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just the quiet, inevitable give of something that’s been held too tight for too long.
I lean forward until my forehead rests against his chest. Water pounds against my back. His heart beats against my skin. A rhythm that’s soothing to my tired brain.
“Don’t let me fall apart,” I whisper.
He wraps his arms around me. “Then don’t hold it in. I’ll be right here to pick up the pieces if you do.”
So I don’t.
It all comes out in small, broken chunks, half sentences, and the things I never get to talk to anyone about. How hard school’s been on my mental health, the struggle with being the perfect son. All of it. Miguel doesn’t interrupt me. He just holds me there, steady and solid, while the shower keeps running, washing away everything I can’t keep inside anymore.
When I finally look up, his eyes are glassy. He presses a kiss to my temple. Not demanding. Not hungry for more. Just there.
“I told you,” he says softly. “You’re my mess. You can talk to me about anything. Will you stay here tonight? Please, Caleb.”
I want to.
But I can’t.
I lay my head back on his chest and shake my head.
“Just… consider it, baby. Iwantyou here. There is plenty of space.”
When I finally leave,the fog’s heavier, the night quiet. I sit in my car with the engine off, watching the light fade in his window. A part of me wishes I would have just stayed the night. Falling asleep in his arms sounds way better than sleeping alone in my dorm room with the weighted blanket that smells like him.
I should feel better.
