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But at the sound of Eli's quiet tears, I go still, my entire body tensing like a bloodhound catching a scent. It's instinct to catalogue the noise as a potential threat, to brace for danger even here, in the supposed safety of this dingy little walk-up.
Except...there's no danger here. Just a lonely, lost boy mourning the normal life he's been forcibly ejected from. The realization sits sour on my tongue, an unfamiliar pang of something uncomfortably close to guilt needling at my chest.
I should tune him out, roll over and will myself into the oblivion of sleep. Tears are a weakness I can't afford, a liability that could bring my whole world crashing down around my ears.
But as the minutes drag on and the soft, hitching sobs continue to penetrate the thin barrier between us, I find myself incapable of ignoring them. Before I can stop myself, I'm rising from the bed and padding across the scuffed hardwood, my bare feet nearly silent.
I pause outside his door, my hand poised over the knob. This is a colossally bad idea. The smart move would be to turn around, to put as much distance between myself and Eli's messy, inconvenient emotions as possible.
But I've never claimed to be a smart man. Especially not when it comes to captivating little florists with summer sky eyes and too-big hearts.
"Eli," I call gruffly, tapping my knuckles against the door. "You good in there?"
The crying abruptly cuts off, replaced by a mortified sniffle and a rustle of bedding. "I'm fine," he calls back, his voice wavering tellingly. "Just...allergies."
A wry smile tugs at my mouth, though there's no real humor in it. "Allergies. Right. That must be why you're leaking like a sieve at 2 AM."
There's a watery huff of laughter, followed by the creak of floorboards. A moment later, the door swings open, revealing Eli in mismatched socks and an oversized Columbia sweatshirt. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, his nose pink from crying.
He looks achingly young and vulnerable, a far cry from the fiery spitfire who stood up to me this morning. It makes something clench painfully in my chest, a long-dormant protective instinct rising up to rattle the bars of its cage.
"What do you want, Nico?" he asks, exhaustion and resignation threaded through the words. "Come to gloat? To remind me who's really in charge here?"
I flinch before I can stop myself, the accusation landing like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Is that really what he thinks of me? Some strutting cartoon villain, kicking him while he's down?
"No," I rasp, my voice emerging lower and rougher than I intended. "I just...wanted to make sure you were okay."
Something flickers in his gaze, there and gone too quick to decipher. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude. "Oh. Well...I'm not, really. But I will be."
He lifts his chin, a defiant little gesture that sparks with echoes of the man who stood up to armed thugs this morning. "I'm tougher than I look, you know. I've survived worse than an uninvited houseguest with poor manners and a bad attitude."
Surprised laughter rumbles up from my chest, rusty but real. "Cute," I drawl, shaking my head. "But I'm not just a houseguest, Sunshine. I'm your warden and your own personal attack dog. Best get that through your head now, for both our sakes."
He rolls his eyes, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. "So you keep saying. But I'm not some blushing damsel in a tower, Nico. I can take care of myself."
"Maybe," I allow, holding his gaze. "But the sharks out there? They won't give a damn how tough you are. They'll rip you to shreds and use the pieces as chum without batting an eye. That's why I'm here - to make sure that doesn't happen."
"My hero," Eli deadpans. But there's a softness in his eyes, a glimmer of gratitude he can't quite disguise.
"I'm no one's hero, kid. Just a guy doing a job." I pause, weighing my next words carefully. "But for what it's worth...I'm sorry. For all of this. I know it's not what you wanted or asked for."
He blinks rapidly, his throat working as he swallows. For a second, I think he might start crying again, and I tense in preparation to beat a hasty retreat. But he just shakes his head, a wry little smile quirking his lips.
"Definitely not," he agrees. "But hey, at least I'm not bored, right?"
I snort, an unfamiliar warmth kindling in my chest. "Careful what you wish for, Sunshine. Stick with me long enough, you'll be begging for a little boredom."
"I'll take that under advisement." Eli hesitates, something uncertain and almost shy flickering over his expressive face. "And Nico? Thanks. For checking on me, I mean. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes I did," I murmur, almost to myself. Because it's the truth, even if I'm not ready to examine the reasons too closely. Eli is my responsibility now, for better or worse. His well-being, physical and emotional, is just another line item on the list of things I'll personally destroy anyone for threatening.
He's still looking at me, his eyes dark and fathomless in the low light spilling from his room. There's a heat there, banked but unmistakable, that sends an answering lick of fire curling through my gut.
Apologies for the abrupt cut-off. Here's the continuation and conclusion of Chapter 2:
It would be so easy to take what that look is offering. To push him back into the room and kickstart the desperate, clawing want that's rapidly replacing the exhaustion in his eyes. I can practically taste his surrender on my tongue already, hot and sweet as blood.
But I won't. Because Eli Bloom is not a prize to be won or a conquest to be claimed. He's a job, a responsibility, and the most dangerous kind of temptation. And if I give into this twisted thing sparking between us, even for a moment, it will consume us both until there's nothing left but ashes and regret.
