You feel ill? Imagine what it’s like for him.
Jonah shivered, glad Sacha was paying him no heed. “…I was young…car accident…problem in my brain.” The only car accident Sacha had ever mentioned had been the one that had killed his mother. Never once had it occurred to Jonah that Sacha had been in that damn car with her, and he cursed himself for it now. Where else would he have been on a Saturday afternoon but with his mother? Idiot.
Maybe, and drunk Jonah might’ve let it run away with him, but with his head screwed on, Jonah knew it didn’t matter. Sacha hadn’t told him the details because he hadn’t wanted to. Hook-ups. Friends. Lovers. Whatever they were to each other, it wasn’t therapists.
The car pulled up outside Sacha’s building. Jonah thanked the driver and roused Sacha, helping him out. “I don’t know which flat is yours.”
“Twenty-three, like today.” Sacha found his keys and shuffled towards the entrance. “You can see my living room from the street.”
“Black curtains, right?”
“Of course.” Sacha opened the exterior door to the building. Another lift ride later, and they were outside his front door.
He slid his key into the lock with shaky hands. Jonah took over and let him inside. The door shut behind them and Sacha disappeared immediately into the bathroom, shutting Jonah out.
Giving him space, Jonah toed his shoes off and ventured further into Sacha’s home.
It was exactly as he’d expected it to be—clean, masculine, devoid of much that gave anyone clues to who Sacha really was. For that Jonah had to rely on tangible moments in time that on their own sometimes weren’t enough.
Added together, though, they were everything. Sacha was reticent, moody, and so contradictory Jonah could almost have hated him. But he was also fierce, kind, and funny, and there was nothing like his company.
Jonah moved around the flat, checking the fridge for food—there was none, the cupboards for coffee—there was plenty, and Sacha’s bedroom for no reason other than bald curiosity.
The room was dark and cool, with black bedsheets and charcoal paint. There was a flat screen TV built into the bare brick wall, and lamps with soft, low-wattage bulbs. Jonah flicked one on and fetched water from the kitchen. He set it on the bedside table as Sacha returned from the bathroom minus his shirt.
“I’d say you looked better, but it would only be because you’re half naked. You still look like shit.”
Sacha grimaced. “I do not want to know.”
“Did you take your medication?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is it? I’ll get it.”
“It is in the drawer in front of you.”
Jonah opened the drawer of the bedside table and found a brown prescription bottle tucked beside a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. He forced himself not to speculate when the lube and condoms had last been of use to Sacha and grabbed the medication.
He shut the drawer with a louder slam than he’d planned, and turned to find Sacha behind him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You seem angry,” Sacha said. “Did I do something I can’t remember? I am sorry I didn’t find you at the bar, I—”
“You didn’t do anything. I’m not angry, far from it.” He rattled the pill bottle. “How many of these do you need?”
“Two, maybe more later if they do not work.”
Jonah opened the bottle and tipped the pills into Sacha’s palm. “Will they stay down?”
“I think so. Is usually only once if…” Sacha blanched and shook his head. “I do not know the words today.”
“You don’t need them. It’s okay.”
Sacha swallowed the pills and drank the water Jonah passed him. Jonah took the empty glass to the kitchen. When he returned, Sacha hadn’t moved.
Jonah circled the bed, trailing a hand over Sacha’s cool skin as he went, stopping to check his pulse. “You should sleep,” he said, noting that Sacha’s heart rate had slowed from the jackhammer pace it had been at the office. “Do you think you can?”
“Hmm?”
“Sleep,” Jonah repeated. “As in, you should get into bed and try.”
“What about you? Will you stay?”
Jonah snorted. “Of course. You’d have to call the police to get me to leave you right now.”
“I don’t want you to stay because I’m sick, Jonah. I want you in my bed.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Sacha caught Jonah’s hand as he backed up to unbutton his shirt. “I mean, really? Because I have been very bad at telling you what I want.”
Jonah took his cufflinks off and placed them on the bedside table, then he knelt in front of Sacha, his hands on his knees, his gaze shifting from the bracelet tied around Sacha’s wrist to his pain-stricken face. “You are bad at that, and if this is going anywhere, at some point, you really need to fucking stop, but I haven’t been forthcoming with my feelings either, so I’m going to be now. Is that okay?”
Sacha nodded, the movement woozy. Heavy. Jonah wondered if he’d remember the conversation, but a dam had broken inside him. Everything he had to say was coming out whether Sacha remembered it or not.
“I like you a lot,” he said. “Like, as in, I can’t stop thinking about you. I care about you, and I think you care about me too.”
“I do.”
“Do you want to be more than friends who fuck?”
“Yes.”
Relief made Jonah sway a little. He gripped Sacha’s knees tighter. “So do I, and that’s all that matters right now. We don’t have to define it. But I need you to mean it, Sacha. I can’t play this ridiculous game of back and forth with you while you figure out if your feelings are real. I don’t have the energy for that, and I don’t think you do either.”
Sacha stared, for a moment so silent and still Jonah feared he’d made a terrible mistake. His blood roared in his ears, and Sacha’s gloomy bedroom closed in on him. Back off. You don’t get to tell him how to behave. He’s not a—
Cool fingers tipped Jonah’s chin, forcing his gaze up. Sacha blinked hard, and leaned forwards, pressing his forehead to Jonah’s. “It’s real. I promise. All of it. I think when my head is clear, I will tell you I am very close to falling in love with you, Jonah Gray.”
It was Jonah’s turn to stare, but Sacha was already gone. His head slipped from Jonah’s, and he rocked forwards, saved from falling only by Jonah’s presence in front of him. “Whoa.” Jonah caught him. “Come on. Let’s get you in bed.”
He helped Sacha undress and eased him into bed. He shed his own clothes, killed the light, and flicked the TV on, and by the time he slid under the covers, Sacha was barely awake.
Jonah lay down beside him, shifting around until Sacha was leaning against him, his head on Jonah’s chest. He was still cold to the touch. Jonah tucked the sheets around them and ran his fingers through Sacha’s hair.
Sacha sighed. “You are an angel.”
Smiling, Jonah kissed his temple. “If you say so. Go to sleep, Ivanov. I’ve got you.”
19