“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.”
“Wondering isn’t wallowing.” Rian took a step closer and rested his hand over Damon’s heart, pale fingers splayed against his chest. “It’s okay to be hurt, Damon.”
Underneath Rian’s touch, Damon’s heart thundered, rolled, stormed, rioted. He shuddered subtly; it hurt, the force of it, the way it beat and bruised itself with this constant pummeling, this violence of feeling. Something inside him wanted Rian, wanted that shy smile, that slim frame leaning toward him, everything about him—and it was determined to get to Rian even if it had to claw through Damon from the inside to do it.
His mouth and throat were dry, as he lifted one hand to cover Rian’s, held it against his chest, wondered if Rian could feel its fierce and hungry beat. “What if that’s not the only thing hurting me?”
Rian swayed closer; his face tilted up toward Damon’s, his eyes searching. “What else, then...?”
Don’t do it.
He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this again.
But he was a magnet telling himself not to be attracted to his opposite pole, trying to deny that intense force that just drew him closer and closer again, trying to hold himself apart when it was physics with its demanding pull, unstoppable and undeniable.
And he didn’t know if he was answering that question or saying his name just to taste it, as Damon whispered, “Rian.”
Then bent to close that last distance between them, and pressed their mouths together in a lush and lingering kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Rian hadn’t known how much he needed to be kissed by Damon again until it was happening.
He’d meant to let it go. He’d wanted to let it go, when Damon had been so clearly trying to brush that first kiss off as nothing; if Damon had his reasons, he had his reasons, and Rian hadn’t wanted to hurt him by pushing and infringing on him if Damon just...didn’t want to cross that line, whether it was because of Rian himself or because of something personal to Damon. It had just been a kiss. A kiss that had torn Rian up for a week, a kiss that had stitched through him like needles of light and warmth and loveliness, a kiss that had made him think maybe, just maybe there was something to that silly little thing about loathing masking desire after all.
A kiss he’d wanted again and again.
And a kiss he needed so desperately right now, when his heart was hurting and everything felt wrong and hopeless and helpless, and the only thing that made him feel right and calm and safe again was Damon.