Page 75 of Close Quarters

“You promised!”

Well, I hadn’t exactly promised. He’d tried to get me to promise that if I woke up from a particularly nasty dream, I would wake him. What I’d actually done was agree to consider the idea. It wasn’t in my nature to turn to someone for help when I was dealing with something just fine on my own. I’m sure Elliot would argue against the idea that it was ‘just fine,’ while he tried to make sure he didn’t push me too hard.

“Fuck,” I muttered, feeling my chest ache at the thought. How in the frigging fuck had I managed to randomly find a person who accepted my desire not to be pushed and went out of his way to work around it while still making me feel special?

Well, now I supposed I couldn’t just up and leave him to lay there. Elliot asked for next to nothing from me, always letting things happen based on what worked for me. I’d feel even more like shit if I didn’t let him have this one thing. Even if this one thing was completely unnecessary because he already struggled to sleep as it was, his little random power naps through the day weren’t exactly making up for it.

How the hell did people deal with this? I wanted to make him happy because I liked seeing him happy, but it didn’t make sense to disrupt someone with bullshit you’ve been dealing with for years…because it made them happy?

Yet here I was, getting up from my bed and walking over to sit on the edge of his. I reached out, gently setting my hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. Only to feel his arms tense and lean back as he flailed, hands balled into fists as he lashed out. I wasn’t fast enough and caught a fist to the jaw that sent me off the edge of the bed to land on my ass with a heavy thump as he scrambled back, eyes wide with fear and sheer determination, before he caught sight of me.

“What are you doing on the floor?” the absolute jackass dared to ask me.

“Well,” I said, checking to see if I was bleeding and tasting the familiar coppery tang of blood, which answered my question. “I was trying to do what you wanted me to, and you decided to deck me.”

His eyes widened again, and he shuffled forward, reaching for me. “I’m so sorry! I was…well, it just?—”

“It’s fine,” I grumbled, trying to decide if I wanted to bat his hands away.

“I mean it,” he said in a voice edging toward panic. “I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s fine,” I told him again, trying to emphasize the word with force but not anger. “I’m just…it’s my reaction to get pissed when someone hits me. I know you didn’t mean it, and I’m not actually pissed, alright? Don’t…don’t freak out.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I am kind of freaking out, aren’t I?”

“A little,” I admitted because we didn’t generally sugarcoat things with one another, and this didn’t seem like the time to start. I pushed back onto the bed now I was no longer in danger of getting punched again.

“Shit,” he said, looking me over. “You were trying to wake me up like I asked.”

“I was,” I said, looking him over. “Maybe it was a good idea to wake you up if that’s your reaction. Bad dreams too?”

“I don’t know,” he said, cringing. “I…the last few years before I went to prison. I used to stay with a group of…well, they’re not friends and never were. They weren’t great people. They also had a fucked-up sense of humor. Sometimes, they’d get into fights and end up in my room with each other or other people. Sometimes they’d get tweaked out on shit and fuck with me in my sleep, or just…fucking start hitting me. Got to a point where I learned the best way to deal with it was to start swinging as soon as I woke up.”

“Heh,” I said, the laugh dry and humorless as I shook my head. “Yeah, I kinda know a thing or two about that. Sometimes, that was how my dad or older brother would be my alarm.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Assholes.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I said, reaching out and patting down his flyaway hair. It had been buzzed so short when I’d first met him, but now it was growing and getting a little shaggy. “You know, I like the tough felon look on you. But this shaggy skater look you’ve got going is working for me too.”

It was such a banal, stupid statement that should have sounded corny to his ears. Instead, he smiled, unconsciously running a hand through his hair and grinning. “Yeah? You have a thing for skater boys when you were younger?”

“Actually, yeah,” I admitted, tugging on one of his locks. “Davis was one of those kids whose older brothers grew up skating, so he was doing it. Made him impressive at our school because who the hell was still skateboarding at that age? But he didn’t give a shit, he still did it.”

“Mmm, ever see Fantastic Four?”

“Uhh, yeah, more than one. I’m guessing you don’t mean the cartoon but the movie with, uh, what’s his name? Ends up naked and barely covering up his bits.”

“Chris Evans as Johnny Storm. Seeing him cover up with a little coat or whatever was my awakening. I always watched that movie, and my dad never questioned it. Probably didn’t notice, and I sure as shit didn’t know why, but I did it.”

“You’re an idiot,” I told him softly, pushing his hair out of his face. “So, you wanna join me in the shower?”

“Only if you’ll join me in bed afterward,” he said with a small, private smile.

“I…” The idea should have been tempting, but…despite a flicker of interest in my gut, the rest of me wasn’t feeling it. All I wanted, especially after forcing myself to wake him up, was to have a little bit of closeness without sex. “I’m not really?—”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, slapping on a smile I didn’t believe for a minute.

“No, I don’t…I don’t want to have sex tonight. I’m not feeling it. The shower thing…I just…”

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