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.
Rian could almost hear it in that rumbling voice, dry and almost self-deprecating, and he half smiled, relief making his body go loose until he slumped down against the pillow, letting his chin sink into it and holding his phone out in front of him with both hands. I really am sorry, he sent. I shouldn’t have said any of the things I said. I should have minded my own business.
It’s okay, came back, followed by a photo—a selfie of Damon lounging back against the wall next to his bed, the patterned quilts draped over his hips, his bare chest gleaming faintly in the light of the phone screen and a lazy smile on his lips; his unbound hair drifted across his face, shadowing eyes that threw back the reflection of his interface. See? Nothing’s bleeding.
Rian laughed softly, then angled his phone and took a selfie of his own, sticking his tongue out and holding two fingers up in a little peace sign; he flushed when he saw himself, his hair a frazzled mess spilling out of the clean paintbrushes he’d used to pin it up loosely, the light washing out his skin and his ratty, paint-smeared oversized T-shirt bunching all around him.
Fuck it.
Damon had seen him naked; he wasn’t going to care if Rian was a sleepy mess.
So he sent it, watching the loading bar and wondering why his heart was beating so fast when the image went through, before he sent, Think you’re doing better than me. Sleep deprivation is getting to me.
:D, came back immediately, and Rian rolled onto his side, chuckling; he’d never thought Damon would be the type to use actual emojis. But that rapid beat of his heart redoubled as a little <3 popped up as a reaction in the corner of his photo, before Damon sent, You own any clothing in your size?
What’s wrong with my clothing? :P I like the way I look.
Yeah? Damon said. So do I.
Rian stopped breathing, just staring at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen. He...he didn’t know what to say to that; how to respond, if Damon meant it as...as...
Oh thank God, Damon was typing something else.
Rian buried his face against the pillow, letting the cool pillowcase soothe the warmth in his cheeks, and waited for the next message to pop up.
Listen, Damon said. I think one reason I get so fucking prickly about my birth parents is because it’s felt pretty damned useless anyway.
Oh, Rian thought. Oh.
Was...was Damon actually okay with talking about this with him?
He lingered on that photo of Damon, that relaxed smile; knowing that was him just a few moments ago felt like Rian had a window into Damon’s room right now, something that let Rian feel connected to him, as if they were sitting in the same space instead of texting from different floors and opposite sides of the school.
Maybe that was why it felt okay to say...is it all right to ask you something, then?
Yeah, Damon replied easily, without a moment of hesitation. It’s fine.
Have you ever looked them up? Rian bit his lip, rolling onto his back and holding his phone up over his head, looking at the screen. Aren’t there any kind of adoption records with the agency? If it’s okay to ask that.
I tried, Damon said after several moments of silence. When they gave me up, they didn’t leave names. Information.
So they could still be alive.
Or they could be dead, and whatever relatives dumped me off didn’t want me to know.
Rian thumbed the screen, scrolling upward to pull up that selfie that had scrolled off...and traced his thumb down the square line of Damon’s jaw, the high crests of his cheekbones. He just...wished he could ease away that bitterness, somehow. But Damon was probably wondering at his silence, and so he tapped back down to the composition box and asked, Do you intend to keep looking?
Damon’s little typing...went on for a long time, but what followed was only a simple No. But then, a moment later, I think the parents who raised me would be hurt if I kept trying. And I want to think about making something for myself, instead of trying to take back something I never had.
Haven’t you done that here, with the boys?
Maybe, Damon sent. But maybe one day I want a family of my own. Most guys are settled with a couple of kids by now.
Rian smiled to himself. He could see it; when Damon was such a dad with the boys on the football team, it wasn’t hard to imagine him with his own little gaggle of rug rats, swinging them up on his shoulders and wrapping them up in big bear hugs and tickling them until they giggled and grabbed at his hair with little baby fingers.
The thought just shouldn’t make Rian sigh so much, his heart beating slow and sweet.
No one says you have to operate on some timeline, he said. It’s not too late.
Maybe.
You okay...?
Yeah. I’m good. Still nothing bleeding.
Another selfie came through, then—this time, Damon lying down on his stomach, his head resting against the pillow he’d hooked an arm around until it bunched up in soft white mounds around his head, making the deep, shining black of his hair stand out even more starkly, fanning out over the pillowcase and drifting into his face. His eyes were half-closed, sleepy, and so...so...
Soft.
Soft, warm, the dark brown lustrous and deep and intense, and Rian’s heart skipped hard when it felt like Damon was looking right at him through the phone, unguarded and gentle and lingering with a gaze that made Rian flush all the way through, his entire body too warm.