Page 63 of Goodbye Note

I stayed fixed to my place. Feet rooted into the tile. Eyes on the mirror watching his shadow lather up behind the curtain. His hands slid over his lanky form, and then he stood facing forward, head bent arm pressed into the wall, bracing himself.

For all the pain he’d been through in his life, for how many people had abandoned him, he wore it like a second skin. Not letting it affect his kindness. Not letting it change the person underneath.

He deserved all the good things in the universe, and I was lucky to call him a friend.

“Want to return the favor and hand me my towel?” Varian called out, spurring me into motion.

I hadn’t shaved. I hadn’t done anything but stare. What the fuck did that mean?

He stepped out of the shower, towel low around his hips, revealing a deep V and dark hair under his navel. “You’re not dressed?”

“I got lost in my head.” Which was the truth, even if I didn’t say it was about him.

“What about?”

Not anything I’m willing to tell you. “A ton of shit. I zoned out.”

He stepped up in front of the mirror, inspecting the writing on his arms while I crouched to dig boxers out of my backpack. I stood, pulling them on under my towel.

He met my eyes. “It came off fairly well.” He pointed to his collarbones. “Must be all the sweat.”

My heart picked up speed, hammering in my ears. I took off my towel and grabbed my bag to shove it in, remembering the Sharpie I’d shoved in the front pocket. I straightened, closing the space between us. “Turn around.”

He lifted a dark brow but did as I asked, pressing both hands into the sink behind him. “What for?” His tone was coy.

I wiggled the marker between my fingers before biting the cap off. “Now, what to write?” I rewrote the MINE, darkening the letters.

“So possessive,” he said in a gruff whisper.

“I’ve lived with the band long enough to know I got to label what’s mine.” I thought for a second, then grabbed his bicep, lifting his arm to make it easier for me to write on.

He cocked his head, trying to read it. “What are you writing?”

“Distilled happiness.” I released his arm.

“Why?” he asked, turning to look in the mirror again.

“Because that’s what you are.”

A smile broke out over his face, and he whipped around, wrapping me up in his arms. I froze, not sure how to react, but then I leaned into him, slipping my arms around his waist while his tightened around my shoulders.

Bare chest to bare chest, our skin still damp.

My face tucked into his neck. His scent was fresh, like clean linens. Lavender and vanilla, but still entirely him.

“This shouldn’t feel so good.”

“What? Too gay for you? No homo?” He laughed, pulling back, but I tightened my grasp. He got far enough to look into my eyes.

I shook my head, figuring his laugh masked a real question. “No. I mean… Fuck?—”

“Just say it. I’m not going to take it wrong.” His brow got a little line in it. Concern.

“I think I’m touch-starved or something.” I finally released him, stepping back, my body starting to respond to the skin-on-skin in ways it shouldn’t. My boxers wouldn’t hide a hard-on. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird,” I said when he didn’t reply right away.

“You didn’t. I think I am too. It’s hard to be on the road.” His expression softened, and he adjusted his towel.

“I thought you said you loved it?” I asked playfully, wanting to get out of this heavy shit. I turned around to put on the rest of my clothes.

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