21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Emil

A textbook sits open in front of me. An empty energy drink is beside my arm. I’ve been studying for my Behavioral Neuroscience exam for so long I’m not even sure what time it is. Early evening, I think?

I rub my eyes, the words in front of me starting to blur together. When my phone pings, I nearly jump. Setting down my half-chewed pencil, I pick up the device to find a text from my brother.

Henry: Did you say something to Mom and Dad?

Shit . I blow out a breath and text back.

Me: Yeah, I did.

There’s a bit of a pause before his response comes through.

Henry: Thanks, Emil.

The tension in my chest uncorks.

Me: Of course.

They must have talked, then. I hope, for Henry’s sake, my parents do a better job of showing him they care.

I cut a glance out through the window. The blinds in Christian’s bedroom are open, but he’s not there. He mentioned going to visit his grandma today, so he’s probably still at the nursing home.

Usually, I have no problem studying all hours of the day or night by myself, the room around me quiet. But today, I can’t help but wish Christian were here, lying beside me, tapping away on his phone and occasionally chuckling in that soft way he does. It’s alarming how fast I got used to his presence, and how, now, everything that was once optimal studying conditions feels sterile and cold.

With a huff, I close my textbook and head into the living room. Arthur is hiding at the moment, as if he, too, decided to thwart me in my attempt to find company. With the new crab firmly underground and me left with nothing but my own thoughts, I sit down and open Christian’s Instagram.

He’s been posting photos every few days as Vixen, most of them suggestive in nature yet somehow still classy. He doesn’t show enough skin to need censorship, but the pictures have heat rushing through me regardless. I’m not surprised to see the massive following he’s grown in only a few short weeks.

Curious, I click on the most recent picture. Comments are all over the place. People telling him he’s hot. Others saying lewd things. A few asking if he’s available. There are a couple replies mentioning me . Or, well, Felix.

I heard from Alex that our fanbase went a little wild after the teensy tiny screw-up in our live. Frankly, I’m glad they suspect we’re dating. We are , as outrageous as that seems to me. Christian is so incredibly beautiful, and the fact that he somehow wants me ? I still don’t get it, but if I could, I’d lay the rumors to rest so everyone knows, once and for all, that the man is taken.

And fuck . I’m what—jealous now? Am I? No, not jealous. Territorial . That’s what I’m feeling.

I’ve never wanted to stake my claim on someone before, but with Christian, all of what I thought I wanted is being thrown out the damn window. That’s as scary as it is exhilarating. Like, for maybe the first time, I jumped without double and triple-checking my parachutes, and now I’m soaring through the air, not a single thought in my head apart from what it feels like to fly .

“Someone needs to remind me I’m not a bird,” I say to my hidden hermit crabs.

Neither answers, not that I expected them to.

The knock at my door is a welcome interruption. There’s only one person it’s likely to be. Only one person who drops by unannounced but always welcome.

There’s a grin on my face when I pull the door open. It quickly falters. “Christian?”

“Hey, Specs,” he says gently.

“What are you…”

Christian holds out the takeout bag in his hand. I grab it, and he sweeps into the apartment. After kicking off his shoes, he beelines for my bedroom, and I follow, at a loss.

Christian sets a small vase of white flowers on my desk, turning it until he’s satisfied, and then he starts carefully and deliberately dotting my room in tealights.

I finally find my voice. “W-what are you doing?”

He gives me a soft smile, his hair falling in front of his eyes before he swipes it away. “Date night in.”

“What—”

“You have an exam tomorrow,” he says, setting the last of the tea lights on my desk. “Which means you need to study. And since I’m apparently clingy, something I did not realize about myself, I’m giving you an excuse to keep me around.”

I don’t even have time to explain I wanted him around—that I always want him around—before he goes on.

“The candles are cinnamon scented because it’s supposed to help with focus and memory retention,” he says. “But if you don’t like cinnamon, we don’t have to light them. And I brought food because you need to eat.”

“And the flowers?” I ask, voice hoarse.

Christian looks nervous almost, his hand ruffling through the hair at the back of his neck. “Um, the flowers are because it sounded nice. I…I’ve never bought someone flowers before.”

Time of death: precisely now.

I set the bag of food down before approaching Christian. It only takes a couple steps to reach him. Without a word, I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him tight.

I’ve never been particularly good at physical affection. Ironic, really, considering my day job. But piece by piece, Christian has been making it easier for me to take that leap. To seek comfort. To give it. To trust that it will be returned and not a transient thing.

Unsurprisingly, Christian’s arms wrap around me immediately, his gentle wintergreen scent familiar and calming and right.

“So, uh,” he says quietly, giving me a squeeze. “The cinnamon is okay?”

I huff a laugh and lean back. “It’s perfect.”

He looks relieved. “Okay, good. Hungry?”

I give a nod and let my considerate-as-fuck boyfriend go. While he spreads a spare sheet out on the bed, I grab a lighter for the candles. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the room as Christian unboxes our food. Korean, he tells me, with pork bulgogi because he knows I like it. I do.

With the ambiance set for a far more romantic study session than I’ve ever had, Christian and I settle beside one another on the bed and eat our food.

“Christian?” I ask some time later, my pork mostly gone.

“Mm?”

I don’t really know a way to ask this other than to just do it. “Do you have any dreams? Things you want to do in life or, I don’t know, a dream job? I know you kind of fell into porn, and I realize I’ve never asked what you’d do given the choice.”

He hums, nodding as he finishes chewing his food. “I don’t know. For a long time, I just wanted to get out, you know? I wanted my own life.”

He doesn’t say “away from my mom,” but after hearing about her the other day, I’m guessing that’s what he means.

“It took me a while to realize I was…in stasis,” he says, setting his chin in his palm. “I was getting by. Going through the motions. I think if I could choose, I’d do something with sewing. I’ve always enjoyed it. I like expressing myself through clothes. I like the process of creating something new. I like shopping for fabric and seeing the potential in the cloth…making it come alive. So, yeah, I think that’s what I’d do.”

“Why don’t you?” I ask, hoping I’m not overstepping.

Christian offers me a wry smile. “Bills, I guess? I can’t just throw myself into something that has the potential to earn me nothing without a backup. Maybe, if I can get enough saved, I could try. But… It’s complicated. If I sold clothes online, there’s so many regulations and laws I’d have to follow. I don’t even know the half of it.”

“But it sounds like you know some,” I point out. “That’s a start. I could help you figure out the rest. Or at least try.”

He cocks his head slightly, the tiniest movement. “Why would you do that?”

Why?

“Because you’re my boyfriend, and I want you to be happy? And even if you weren’t… mine , I’d still want to help.” I try to figure out how to explain it to him. “Christian, you’ve…you’ve been there for me from the start. Maybe it was a weird sort of support when you were across the alley, texting me while I jerked off—”

He huffs a laugh.

“—but you were there . And even now, helping me find a friend for Arthur, and bringing me fucking candles and bulgogi to help me study? I…” I shake my head, somewhat in disbelief. “Honestly, Christian, I don’t even know how you’re real. But if you are—and not just a figment of my sleep-deprived, study-addled brain—then you deserve someone who’s there for you, too. I want to be that person, okay? I know you have your grandma, but… Well, you have me now, too.”

His lips hitch up at the corner. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” I say firmly. “You do.”

Christian’s smile is so vulnerable, softening the already youthful lines of his face. It makes me feel unbearably fond, and I clear my throat lest I throw myself at him.

“On that note,” I say slowly, “if you ever wanted to, like, post a picture of me? I’d be okay with that. I told you I’m not active on social media anymore because I don’t really trust myself not to get caught up in the thrill of an audience and post stuff I really shouldn’t. But, uh… If you wanted to, I’d be good with that.”

Christian is silent for long enough that I start to worry. But then he says, voice soft, “You want me to share a picture of you, Specs?”

“I mean…” I shrug a little. “Only if you want to. But if you do want to, then you know… You have my permission.”

His smile is slow. “Emil.”

“What?”

“You…” He shakes his head, lips twisting. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“I…”

“Take off your pants.”

“What?” I squeak.

He snorts a laugh. “I’m taking a picture. And you know everyone loves that ass of yours, so take ’em off, Specs. That way I can show you off.”

Blood rushes south fast .

Christian chuckles as I roll to my back and unceremoniously shuck off my jeans. He pushes our food containers out of the way, as well as my textbook, and once I roll back onto my stomach, pants-free, his hand smooths up over my tailbone, lifting my shirt.

“Perfect,” he says softly. “Now just turn your head a little this way. Yeah, like that. But don’t look at the camera.”

My heart pounds, and Christian’s palm shifts, pressing down on my lower back. He hums as my ass lifts the tiniest bit.

“Hot, Specs.”

Fuck .

He backs up, making a soft, satisfied sound. A second later, there’s a click. He takes a couple pictures before lying next to me. With his face an inch away from mine, we stare at one another, and his phone clicks again. Then, he’s kissing me.

It’s soft, and it’s gentle, and for the briefest of moments, I feel it again, that sensation of soaring through the air.

When he pulls back, I make a sound of protest, but Christian merely chuckles.

“Don’t give me that face, Specs. No funny business tonight. I came here with every intention of being good.”

“Good is overrated,” I mumble.

Christian grabs his chest. “Be still my heart. My boyfriend is a rebel. Next, you’ll be telling me textbooks should be shelved by color, not alphabetical order.”

I snort, my insides doing funny things. “That would be sacrilege, and you know it.”

“There’s the man I know,” Christian says happily. “Now put your pants back on, Specs, or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

I’m oh so tempted to keep them off just to see what would happen, but Christian is right. I really do need to study for this exam. Funny business can wait.

Christian cleans up the remains of our meal as I pull my pants on and get to work. When he comes back into the room, he flops down next to me, phone out. He shows me the screen. “Okay?”

I look at the photo that’s ready to post. It’s clear I’m on a bed at home, not in the studio, but Christian took the shot in a way that the background details are blurred. Even my face is obscured slightly, the focus on my ass. It’s a good picture, subtle somehow. Below, the caption reads, “In one of my favorite places.”

If he posts this, it’ll be obvious he’s with me outside of work. That I’m half-naked. That I’m someone important, considering he’s never posted photos of anyone else on his account. Christian’s fans will recognize who I am. It’s a clear message.

Vixen and Felix. Him and me.

“Yeah,” I say a little hoarsely. “Post it.”

With a smirk, Christian does. Once done, he bumps his shoulder lightly into mine, leaving it there. I try to focus on my class notes, but my mind is otherwise occupied.

“Is this bedroom really one of your favorite places?” I ask. Frankly, I like his bedroom better. His apartment has more character than mine. It feels like a true home, lived in with memories baked into the very walls.

Christian huffs a small laugh, although I’m not sure what’s funny. “ You ,” he says, shaking his head a little. “You are, Specs.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Christian has a smile on his face as he scrolls through his phone. My heart is racing, and for the longest moment, I can’t look away.

I’m one of his favorite places.

If I am a bird, I pray to a higher being I don’t believe in that Christian is one, too. Because for a man who’s never been in love, who’s never dated or had a boyfriend before me, Christian has masterfully stolen my heart.

And if I’m the only one climbing, the only one soaring through the clouds, it’s going to hurt a hell of a lot to realize my heart is still back down on Earth.