Page 40 of Caden & Theo
Something inside me expands, like a balloon inflating in my ribs. It’s ridiculous—how just a small thing, like seeing someoneelseliving a little freer, can make me feel like the whole world might crack open for us someday. That maybe, somehow, it won’t always be this complicated.
But the feeling crumbles almost as fast as it comes, because it can’t be us. Not here. Not yet. Not when the price for being visible iseverythingfor him—scholarship, future, pro career. One whisper could undo everything he’s built.
Unless… unless someone else does it first. Unless a trail gets blazed that makes it even a little bit safer for someone like him. Like us.
Caden stops walking and turns to face me. His expression’s unreadable for a second, but his eyes—God, his eyes are sofamiliar. They tell me everything. “Wanna head to my room?” His voice is low, rough in a way that scrapes across my skin and curls under my ribs.
And just like that, the air shifts. Thickens.
There’s a gravity between us that snaps into place, taut and magnetic, like the whole world went still and the only thing pulling us forward isthis. I can feel him. The warmth of hisbody, the tension under his skin. His breath brushing the space between us.
And Iknowwhat he means. I know it without him saying another word.
And my body answers before I do—heat pooling low, my pants tightening, pulse skipping like I just hit a free fall. It’s been weeks. Six long weeks of distance and discipline, of holding back, of pretending that words in texts and pixelated smiles on grainy video calls were enough.
But it hasn’t been enough. Not even close.
It’s been building, quiet and steady and unstoppable—every lingering glance, every brush of his fingers across mine, every slow kiss that ended with me half out of my mind and aching.
And tonight… I can feel it down to my bones. Tonight is the night.
There’s no question in my mind. No fear. Just this fierce, overwhelming need to be close. Tofeelhim in the only way we haven’t yet. Something sacred and new and inevitable.
I step in. Just a few inches, but it’s enough. I feel the way his breath stutters, the way his eyes drop to my lips. I lean forward, close enough that my voice barely has to cross the space between us. “Cade,” I whisper, and his name tastes like lightning on my tongue, “I want you inside me.”
His eyes widen before going half-lidded. Lips parting just a little.
I don’t look away. Can’t. “I want it more than anything,” I say again, softer now. A confession. A promise. A truth I’ve known for weeks but couldn’t say until now.
His fingers find mine and curl tight around them. They’re warm and trembling and solid, grounding me when I feel like I might float right out of my skin.
He squeezes once, breathes in deep, then nods before releasing his hold on me. “Let’s go.”
We walk in silence, the space between us charged, humming with anticipation. His fingers brush mine once, twice, until finally they stay, linked loosely as we move down the dark sidewalk, away from the party and into something quieter. Something just ours.
By the time we climb the stairs to his building, my pulse is racing. I don’t know if it’s the climb itself or what’s coming.
Caden’s room is dim and quiet, the door clicking shut behind us like a seal on something sacred. It smells faintly of laundry detergent and his cologne—warm, familiar. My heart is thudding too fast. My hands won’t stay still. But he looks at me with this soft, open gaze like he’s just as rattled, just as sure.
We kiss first. It’s slow and deep. Every second of it’s charged. His hands find my waist, my neck, my back—like he’s mapping me. And I let him.
Sometimes it feels like this bed is the only square of the world that belongs to us. Everything outside is borrowed, performative. But here—here I get all of him. But after a while, I pull back and clear my throat. “I, uh… I should freshen up.”
Caden tilts his head, curious.
“I just… I want to be ready. Properly,” I mumble, cheeks hot. “I read stuff. Online. You know. Prep.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods. “Okay. Yeah. Um… take your time.”
I duck into the tiny bathroom. My hands shake a little as I go through the motions, doing what I’ve read about, trying to remember tips from LiveJournal threads and blog posts. It’s awkward. It feels clinical. But it also feels right, like I’m making space for him. For us.
When I return, Caden’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs apart, elbows on his knees. He looks up and shoots me a nervous smile full of warmth.
I cross to him and kneel beside the bed to dig into my bag. “I brought… lube. And condoms. If you want.”
He exhales a laugh that’s mostly relief. “God, thank you. I was hoping you’d know what to bring. I had nothing.”
We both laugh softly, and it cracks something open—a release of tension we didn’t know we’d been holding. Caden pulls me in again, arms warm and certain, and we kiss—this time deeper, hungrier, like we’ve both decided to stop pretending we’re not already halfway gone.
