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)
He didn’t know anything right now.
What had him so agitated, why he couldn’t settle.
Why it bothered him that he was no longer sore inside; could no longer feel where Damon had been.
Why he couldn’t fall asleep when it was well after midnight, and he had classes to teach tomorrow, and he’d already straggled through Monday’s classes in a daze after barely sleeping all weekend.
...or why Walden was still up at what had to be almost two o’clock in the morning, and from the sound of it...pacing, when Walden was an early to bed, early to rise type who kept his schedules as religiously as a nun and usually slept like the still and silent dead.
But apparently Rian and Walden weren’t the only ones awake.
Because while he was watching the silver coins of moonlight shower across the ceiling, his phone lit up on his nightstand, followed by the soft vibrations of an incoming text message. He rolled over, sprawling on his stomach and hugging a pillow to his chest with one arm, the other reaching out to snag the phone and drag it over.
Only for his heart to stop at the sight of that black and white icon on the incoming message.
He swiped it so quickly he didn’t even get to see the preview on the home screen, and called himself every manner of name for how fumbly-handed and breathless he turned as he tapped through to read the message.
You up? Damon sent. Really hope your phone is on vibrate, if not. Uh, if I woke you up...sorry?
Rian couldn’t help smiling, curling his knuckles against his lips. God, after he’d been lying awake miserable for three nights turning over this mess with Damon, the bigger mess with Chris...he shouldn’t be so giddy at just one text, or the way Damon seemed almost sweetly sheepish. Maybe it didn’t erase the tension between them, but...
It felt like a peace offering, at least.
I’m up, he sent back, propping his chin in his palm and Swyping with one thumb. Wondering why you are, though.
Worrying. Restless. Can’t fucking sleep, came back a few seconds later. You heard from his parents?
Rian frowned, sighing. Nothing. No call or email. You?
Not a thing. A pause, then before Rian could answer, another message popped up on the screen, scrolling up the messenger window. Should we go see him again tomorrow?
Even if it was just expressionless text...there was a soft worry there that at once melted Rian’s heart and made it ache, when it echoed his own concerns, half the things keeping him awake at night. I don’t know, he answered. What if putting more pressure on him makes it worse? What if he does something reckless because he feels cornered?
Yeah. That’s a real worry. I don’t fucking know, Rian.
Me either, Rian said—and suddenly wished he was just...
With Damon.
In that quiet lamplit room, that cozy space that belonged to Damon and Damon alone, but that Rian wouldn’t mind being permitted in now and then if only so he could somehow try to comfort Damon in all those small ways that had nothing to do with sex. Leaning close, brushing his hair back, talking to him, listening to all the troubles on his mind instead of giving him more things to worry about; more things to keep him awake at night.
But Rian was the one who’d asked for space, and now he didn’t know what to do with it.
Maybe it was better this way.
Talking to each other through text without all those little things about each other that just set them both off, volatile and so messy.
So maybe, in the silence, his phone still and quiet in his hand...
It might be safer to apologize, too.
Rian still hesitated, though, looking at that window, but there was no little ellipse animating, nothing that said Damon was typing; maybe he didn’t know what to say either, or maybe he was just done with Rian and already pulling away after that careful exchange of information.
Just do it, Rian told himself, then tapped out, I’m...sorry about last weekend. As soon as he hit the Send icon, he followed quickly with, If it’s okay to say that.
Please, he told himself. Please don’t let me be making this worse. Hurting him more.
From how long that little typing ellipse went on...he was ready for Damon to tell him never to talk to him again. To mind his own business, to stop...what had he said? Putting his fingers in open wounds, with a little salt and lemon juice for good measure.
But instead a new message popped up, pastel green against the custom background of Rian’s messenger window, while Rian’s own messages were a soft coral pink.
I know you meant well, Damon said. And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. But it’s not something I want to talk about unless *I* want to talk about it.