Page 54 of Becoming Us
He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me back in. “Can we stay in?”
“Yeah,” I said against his lips. “Let me grab something to clean you up.”
I kissed him again, then stepped off the bed. I pulled on my underwear, then, on impulse, dragged his shirt over my head. On my way to the bathroom, I flipped the lights back on. When I returned with a damp towel, I caught him watching me.
“What?” I asked, sitting beside him and running the towel gently over his stomach, feeling the way it tensed and softened beneath my touch.
“I like how that looks on you,” he said at last.
I smiled. “I like wearing them.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you do it.”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the towel. “I kept a couple. Wore them all the time.”
He reached up and tugged on my necklace, drawing my gaze to his. There was a question in his eyes—quiet but heavy, the kind that sat behind your ribs and ached.
I took a breath. “When I packed…” I swallowed hard. “I couldn’t leave everything behind. I’m sorry I stole your shirts.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. He sat up, looking slowly around the room.
“I don’t like being here,” he said quietly.
My heart stopped. “What?”
His chest heaved as he let out a loud exhale. “It’s like we’re trapped in the past. I know it’s different—I know you’re different, we’re different—but being in this apartment…” He gave me an apologetic look. “I can’t escape the bad memories here.”
I nodded slowly.
Of course he couldn’t. This place had seen the worst of us. No wonder it still haunted him.
“Do you want to go back to yours?”
He hesitated.
“I could come with you,” I added. “We could watch a movie or something. I don’t have to stay, but?—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “Let’s go. And stay.”
“Okay,” I said, a little breathless.
Relief rippled through both of us. It softened his expression. This was progress—a step forward that felt monumental. A single brick laid in a new foundation. A stronger one.
And it wasn’t about sex. It was about vulnerability. About letting the walls down and showing each other the bruises.
As the moment broke and he started getting dressed, I took one more leap. So much had happened today, but I needed to get it out.
“Mathew wanted to have a chat with me,” I said.
Atty tied his shoes—still shirtless but otherwise dressed. A small crease formed between his brows as he turned to me. “Oh yeah? What about?”
“He just wanted to clear the air. Said he didn’t want to be in the middle.” I paused. “Told me he’s seeing someone.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that,” Atty replied casually.
I took the opening. “You still talk?”
He shook his head. “Not really. He texted after your first class together to give me a heads-up. That’s it.”
