Page 62 of Dravin
I am scared.
Not for myself, because I know that Dravin will do anything to keep me safe. Maybe that’s the real moment I started falling for him. When I realized that he was more than capable of keeping his promise. Maybe all my grand plans of escape weremetrying to outrunmyself.
I’m terrified of letting go just enough to let someone close, to let them in with everything that I am, and then to lose them. Being hurt is one thing. I could survive that. But something happening to Dravin? Already, even after such a short amount of time, that’s unthinkable.
You know all those dumb sayings online about protect this person or that person at all costs, usually said by rabid superfans? Maybe I’m a fucking fangirl. I’m a fangirl of Dravin staying healthy and alive and of getting to know him properly. Of finding out the little things he likes. Of what makes him happy. Of learning how he thinks. Maybe parts of his past are off limits to me and the rest of the world. I can deal with that.
What I can’t deal with is him locking himself away and not letting me inside.
“I know that you think that you know what’s best for me, but respectfully, you’re wrong. If I don’t, you don’t. Maybe we can figure it out together. Not just for me, but for you as well. We’re kind of a package deal now. Percentage sharing, remember?”
His eyes practically cross.
I pinch him behind the neck, mostly to ground him and keep him from leaping out of his skin. The only way I can think of to deal with this is humor. There’s no sense getting mad about someone else’s insecurities. Not even trying to understand where they’re coming from is just wrong.
And I’ve spent days trying to figure that out.
Days down the dirty rabbit hole of endless looping thoughts.
I’d really like to get out of my head and I think he does too.
“Come on. I know you didn’t come here to just dirty me up and leave. I’m not that convincing.”
He groans, but he does set his forehead against mine in the most beautiful gesture of solidarity. Relief rushes into me in a flood. I can breathe again.
“I hate the termgo slow,orbaby steps.That’s so annoying. Nothing kills artistic spirit like token shit or getting shoved into a box. But boxes are for fucking packing things in and normal is just a token setting on… I don’t even know.”
“Washers?”
“Is it? Oh my god!”
He laughs. Actually laughs so that a puff of air washes over my face and his belly raises off of mine and touches down again. My whole being vibrates with the sound of his laughter. Vibrates with sheer happiness.
I know that trust is a dangerous thing. Joy is too. Bliss. These are all things that hurt immeasurably more when they’re taken away. I know that. It didn’t stop me from sharing this withDravin and wanting to do it again. Not even the fear of future grief and more pain could hold me back.
“Want to have a shower and get a cup of tea?” He’s not the kind of man who seems like he could ever be afraid of anything, but underneath those scars and his fearsome, ultra masculine exterior, is a soft heart. “Public service announcement—your clothing is now covered in…erm…”
“Right. I’ll throw them into the washer and double check, but I’m sure the cycle says normal on it.”
“I think it’s regular, actually. But you’ll… stay? For a bit?”
I hold my breath when he doesn’t immediately respond, but then his face tilts to me and it’s full of tenderness. “Even if I have to run out of here naked, I should damn well leave, but we both know that I’m not going to do that.”
“Let me put some music on.” I haven’t forgotten that he likes it. “Whatever you think is good because I have no idea. I’ll move the speaker into the bathroom, and you can focus on that instead of trying to pretend that this isn’t vastly awkward.”
His forehead presses against mine. “If we’re showering, the last thing I’m going to be focused on is the music. Not with you naked, right in front of me.”
“Technically, I could stand behind you. I could wash your hair. Conditioner it too. Give you the whole spa treatment.”
He groans. “Kael—”
“It’s rage music, isn’t it? It would pretty hard to ignore that.”
“Kael.”
“What?”
“This isn’t… how do you know that this is real?” He’s not telling me it isn’t. He’s asking me, searching me, probing my darkness and my light because he needs answers too.
