Page 54

“Well.”

I touch the end of the bar with one fingertip.

Oliver doesn’t move.

I close two fingers around the bar and turn it carefully, studying the way it moves through him. Simple silver. Nothing decorative. Nothing I ever would’ve guessed was hiding underneath the charcoal sweaters and button-down shirts he wears to campus.

“You didn’t show me that.”

Almost a year. I’ve watched him teach. I’ve watched him buy coffee. I’ve watched him carry groceries into his apartment and grade papers through the window of the café near campus. I’ve seen him irritated, tired, amused, distracted. I’ve watched him roll his sleeves up and loosen his collar and once take his shoes off beneath his desk when he thought nobody was coming back to the office.

I didn’t know this.

My thumb brushes over the silver.

Oliver has secrets.

I leave the piercing alone for now and finish taking off his shirt. His belt comes next. I undo it and pull it free, then work his pants and underwear down his hips. I close my hand around his cock.

Oliver doesn’t move when I stroke him once, slowly, but his body begins to respond anyway.

“More secrets,” I say.

I give him one more stroke before letting go and reaching for the green sleep pants.

Getting them onto him is worse than getting his clothes off, but eventually I manage it, pulling them over his hips and settling the waistband where I want it. Now he looks like he belongs here.

I take his left hand to move his arm beneath the blanket and find dried blood across his palm.

Right. The parking lot.

I turn his hand over in mine. The scrape is shallow, but there are two little pieces of gravel caught in it. Such nice hands, and he managed to damage one within minutes of me getting him.

“This is why you should’ve listened.”

I get the first-aid kit from the bathroom and sit beside him again. He doesn’t react when I clean the scrape, even when I have to use the tweezers to get the gravel out. I hold his fingers still and work carefully until his palm is clean. The same hand that tried to call for help.

“These hands are for books, Oliver. Not phones.” I trace the center of it with my thumb.

I put a bandage over the scrape and turn his hand over once more.

Tomorrow he’s going to wake up angry. He’ll ask questions, and he’ll tell me his name is Nathaniel again, and he’ll probably test every rule I give him just to see which ones move.

I reach up and brush my fingers over the silver bar one last time before pulling the blanket over his chest. I thought I knew everything I needed to know about Oliver before I brought him home. I rest one hand over the silver bar and kiss him on the mouth.

He sleeps through both.

That’s all right. Tomorrow he’ll be awake.

I turn on the green mushroom light and lock him in.

Jamie is still asleep when I check on him.

I unlock his door quietly and find him curled on his side with Duck against his chest. One yellow foot is trapped beneath his chin, and Jamie has an arm wrapped around the rest of him. His hair is everywhere, tangled across the pillow and caught beneath his cheek. He’ll complain about that tomorrow when I brush it.

I close the door behind me and walk over to the bed.

He looks peaceful. The pill did exactly what it was supposed to do. He stayed where I put him while I brought Oliver home. Waiting for me.