Page 68 of Redline Baby

"Now rest." He sits beside me again. His arm comes around my shoulders. I settle against his side. He kisses my temple. Totoro plays.

And I let myself be Little.

Chapter 18. Kit

I wake up before Soren does. His bedroom is dim, morning light only just starting to press against the blinds, and for a few seconds I just lie there with my back against his chest, his arm heavy and warm across my ribs. I let myself have it before my brain catches up and ruins everything.

At some point after Totoro ended last night, Soren brought me in here. We slept. That was all. He meant it when he said we weren't doing anything more. My brain ruins it anyway. It always does. Last night sits behind my eyes the second I'm awake enough to let it.

His hand coming down. The heat of it. The way I cried into his chest afterward and he just held me, called me his good boy, and stayed until I stopped shaking.

It was the best thing that's happened to me in over a year.

And underneath all the good of it, quiet and insistent, is the old fear dragging itself up out of wherever I usually keep it buried.

He's going to see all of you now.

All the ugly parts.

And then he's going to leave, the way everyone eventually leaves.

Except this time you handed him the keys yourself.

I go still. I don't mean to. My whole body just locks up and my breathing goes thin and quick before I can stop it.

Soren wakes like he can feel it happening. Maybe he can.

"Hey."

His voice is rough with sleep. His arm tightens around me instead of loosening.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? What's happening?"

"Nothing."

My voice comes out small.

"Kit."

He says just my name, gentle. It undoes something in me anyway. I turn over to face him, and the second I do, my expression must give the whole thing away because his face changes immediately. Soft. Focused entirely on me. His beard, his eyes.

"There you are."

He pulls me properly against his chest, one broad hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading slowly through my hair.

"Talk to me."

"I don't want you to leave." It comes out in a rush, thin and childish. Nothing like the version of me who tells jokes at the bar. "Everyone leaves. Charles left. My dad basically packed us up and left every six months my whole childhood. I don't—I don't know how not to think that's what's coming."

"I'm not everyone. And I'm not going anywhere because of last night. Or because you let me see you cry. Or because of anything else you're scared I'm going to find."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually." He presses an easy kiss to the top of my head. "Ni told me enough that first night to know you were carrying things. Everything else, you've shown me yourself." His fingers move through my hair again. "I picked this." My chest tightens. "I keep picking it, Kit." Another kiss. "Every day." I press my face into his chest instead of answering.

Breathe him in. I feel small. Smaller than I've let myself feel with anyone since Charles.

"Can we just stay here a minute?"