25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Emil

I’m groggy as consciousness greets me, everything muted and blurry around the edges. My eyes feel dry, and I have no doubt they’re still red from the crying I did last night.

Slowly, I turn my head, unable to see Christian clearly without my glasses but picking up on the slow rise and fall of his chest in the morning light. I ease away, my need to use the bathroom overriding my desire to stay in bed with my boyfriend. I make sure to grab my glasses before walking out the door.

After relieving myself, I wash my hands, clean my face, and then stare into the mirror for a good minute. I’ve always considered my looks to be average. And that’s never bothered me. I’m fine being average. It’s made it easier to blend in.

But now, I’m starting to wonder if I’d only convinced myself I was happy disappearing into a crowd. Expecting otherwise— expecting to be seen—would have meant setting myself up for failure.

My parents don’t listen to me. They ask questions. They say we’ll catch up. But they don’t hear me. They don’t try. Julian and Eloise aren’t much better.

It’s easy to say it’s my own fault. I don’t speak up enough. I don’t tell them it hurts. But for the longest time, I was just a child. I was a child who fell through the cracks, who learned how to shift sideways so it chafed less. They should have noticed. Why don’t they notice?

Christian sees me. Would it be so hard for them to try to see me, too?

I brush my teeth angrily, my motions stiff and jerky. I spit angrily, too. I wish I had an appointment with my therapist today because fuck do I want to rant and rave. But maybe I have something better.

Christian is still sleeping when I get back to the bedroom. I climb onto the mattress slowly, not sure whether or not I intend to wake him. But he stirs, deciding the matter for me. His eyes blink open, and a slow smile spreads across his face as I crawl over top of him, settling my weight on his body like a blanket. His arms come around me.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” I answer, brushing his hair back. The strands fall like silk between my fingers, and I repeat the motion, letting his hair cascade to the side again and again. “When do you want to go see your grandma?”

“I told her we’d be there around lunchtime. What time is it now?”

I check the analog clock on my nightstand. “Ten.”

He makes a rumbly sound, stretching slightly, even though he never lets me go. “Would you help me make songpyeon before we leave?”

“Um,” I say slowly. “Make what now?”

Christian chuckles, looking so damn beautiful I have trouble not kissing him. “It’s a Korean rice cake. They’re my grandma’s favorite and about the only thing I know how to cook.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’d love to help.”

Christian’s smile is like the sun, and I give in, leaning down to catch his lips. They’re soft, and he’s warm, and when his cock presses up against me, I shift quickly downwards.

His chuckle is raspy. “You’re in a mood, Specs.”

“I’m always in a mood around you,” I admit, tugging his sleep shorts past his hips.

Christian doesn’t complain. His cock stands proud, and I take it in my mouth, humming around him as he hardens fully.

“Fuck, Specs,” he says hoarsely, hand sifting through my hair. “Jerk yourself off. Let me see you.”

I shiver, pushing my pants down and getting a hand around my cock.

“Later,” he says breathily, “when we get home, you’re going to show yourself off for me. You’re going to fuck yourself with your fingers or one of your toys, and I’m going to watch.”

Yes .

I suck harder, stroke myself faster.

“And then, before you come, you’re going to take what you need from my cock, and you’re going to show me how beautiful you look with my name spilling off your tongue.”

I come across Christian’s leg before I can utter a word, my moan reverberating around his dick. He swears, pumping his hips up, fucking my mouth. I’m still shaking when his release coats the back of my throat.

“Jesus, Specs,” he mutters. “Get up here.”

I do, climbing up Christian’s body and fitting my mouth to his. It takes a while before we make it over to his place, but neither of us seems to mind.

“So explain to me what these are?” I request as Christian leads me into his kitchen. “What’d you call them again?”

“Songpyeon,” he answers, pulling a few items out of his pantry. The sun filters in through the small kitchen window, lighting Christian as he stands in front of the counter. “They’re a traditional Korean food made during the autumn harvest festival. Think sweet, chewy…basically a dessert dumpling.” He grabs a bowl next, setting it down on the countertop. “I already bought the rice flour and sesame seeds, but I don’t have pine needles, unfortunately.”

“Pine needles?” I ask in surprise.

“You don’t eat them,” he says, chuckling. “They get steamed with the rice cakes. It makes them smell nice.”

“Ah.”

“My grandma would make these in different colors. Pink and green and yellow. She made her own rice flour, too, but I don’t have the patience for that.”

I chuckle as Christian opens the bag of flour.

“Ready?” he asks.

I give him a firm nod. “Show me how it’s done.”

Christian mixes up the dough for the rice cakes with quick efficiency, and we let it rest while making the filling. Roasted sesame seeds, sugar, honey, a pinch of salt. When the dough is ready, he breaks off sections, showing me how to roll them into balls and then press a well into the center. Once the filling is inside, the dough gets crimped to look like a half moon. Christian’s look much neater than mine.

We steam the songpyeon in his grandmother’s bamboo steamer. After they’re done, Christian drops them in a cold water bath. He gives me one to try, and I moan around the honeyed seeds and soft, chewy dough.

“Fuck,” I manage. “We should make these every year.”

It takes me a moment to realize why Christian’s face has gone all soft. The implication of my words.

“Yeah, Specs,” he says, his smile almost bashful. “I’d really like that.”

My chest nearly bursts.

Christian loads up the songpyeon, along with the food from yesterday, and we head out the door. I’m used to the route to the assisted living facility, having made the journey several times for my research aide position, but this is the first time I’m arriving with Christian. He leads the way to his grandma’s room, knocking on the open door.

“Christian,” Mrs. Park says warmly. Christian doesn’t hesitate to walk her way, bending down to give his grandmother a hug. “And Mr. Reed. It’s so good to see you again.”

“Hi, Mrs. Park,” I respond.

“Are you hungry?” Christian asks. “We brought lunch.”

“Just in time,” Mrs. Park says, getting out of her chair. “I was starting to feel a bit peckish.”

Christian walks beside his grandma as we make our way down the hall to the communal dining area. Other residents are eating, too, most of them with the same prepared lunch from the facility. We sit at a table of our own, and as soon as Christian pulls out the container with the songpyeon, Mrs. Park’s eyes light up.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, giving his arm a squeeze. She sighs as she picks up one of the rice cakes, popping the entire thing in her mouth.

“They’re not as good as yours,” Christian says.

His grandmother shakes her head. “They’re perfect. Now tell me what’s new.”

Christian tells his grandma about making the rice cakes with me in her old kitchen. About Thanksgiving yesterday with my family, although he paints the evening in a delicate light. He shows her a picture of the floral skirt he’s working on, which she gushes over, complimenting the fabric choice and his impeccable design. She asks about my classes, too, and the research project. I had to give Mrs. Park’s sessions over to Lucy, seeing as my relationship with Christian could have made me biased, but she assures me Lucy is doing a fine job. “Although not as good as you,” she says with a wink.

Mrs. Park also regales me with a few stories from Christian’s youth. He doesn’t seem to mind, although he does blush when she tells me about his attempt to dye his own fabric. It didn’t go well, but he was only thirteen.

We sit together and talk for nearly two hours, and the entire time, Christian’s grandmother is present. It’s in the way she listens and encourages us to go on. It’s how she never once seems impatient or loses focus when I accidentally ramble a little too long about the philosophical concept of One Mind, in which all beings share a collective consciousness, our individual experiences like an endless spectrum of light cast from the same prism. She’s there, in body and in mind, and it’s such a stark difference from how I felt last night that I ache with it, both good and bad.

When Christian and I go, it’s with a promise to visit again soon.

We’re nearly to the door when I say, “Do I accept it?”

It’s clear I startled him, but Christian doesn’t falter as we walk toward the car. “Accept what, Specs?”

“Feeling small around them,” I answer, knowing he’ll understand what I mean. “Feeling like I don’t matter.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “You talked to them when Henry was feeling that way.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

I swallow, and we come to a stop in front of the car. “How do I tell the people who raised me that I want them to care more? How do I say that, Christian?”

“Just like that,” he says gently. “You be honest. Tell them how you feel.”

“I’m scared to.”

“Why? I know you have an answer, Mr. Psych Major, even if it’s not one you like.”

I huff a small, pained laugh. “What if I find out they truly don’t care?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What if I say something, and it doesn’t get better?”

Christian takes my hand in his, playing with the tips of my fingers. His are slightly callused from sewing. “If you never say anything, you’re going to hurt. You already are. Isn’t it worth the chance that it might get better?”

I let out a breath. “Will you be there?”

He draws me in, arms wrapping around me tight. “Of course, Specs.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Yeah, okay. Soon.”

“Soon,” he agrees, letting me go.

We get into the car, and for the second time in so many days, we head back home together. Desperate for a way to keep my mind occupied while we drive, I throw out the first topic that comes to mind.

“Christian? Do you ever want to bottom? Not that I need you to,” I’m quick to add. “But I know you’re an exclusive top for the studio, and I just realized I never asked if you have a different preference for your personal life.”

Christian hums, the sound low. “It’s not something I’ve ever enjoyed. Would that be a problem? If I never bottomed?”

“No,” I answer immediately, glancing his way. “If you ever want to try, just let me know. But… No, Christian. I like what we have. I don’t need that from you.”

He offers me a grateful smile.

“Besides,” I say, clearing my throat, “it’s probably for the best. I can be a little greedy when it comes to your cock.”

“Is that so?” he says, smirking now. “I had no idea.”

“Shut up,” I grumble.

He snorts a laugh, and I can’t help but smile to myself.

After we park, Christian heads over to his place to grab a change of clothes. I check on the crabs, putting some fresh grapes and broccoli in their terrarium because, “It’s good for you, Arthur and friend. Don’t argue.” They don’t, but Arthur steers clear of the green stuff.

With that done, I take a shower, making sure to wash myself thoroughly . Christian still hasn’t arrived by the time I’m done, so I flop onto my bed to wait.

My phone pings with a text.

Christian: Looking good, Specs.

I bolt upright, my pulse firing as I look out the window. Christian is in his bedroom next door. Another text comes through.

Christian: Take off your pants for me?

Holy fuck .

The request, near-demand, Christian made earlier comes racing back to me. He wanted me to show off for him. He wanted to watch.

I had no clue he meant like this .

How is this man so perfect for me?

Hands shaking, I fumble with my fly. It seems to take forever, but finally, I get my pants down and kick them off the end of the bed. My socks follow.

Christian: You’re gorgeous, Specs. Every inch of you. Touch yourself for me. Show me how much your cock is aching for it.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, setting down my phone and lying back. I slip my shirt partway up my stomach and let my hand trail down my abdomen. It feels as if Christian is right in the room with me, gaze hot and assessing. But he’s not. He’s across the alleyway, just like he was when we first met—when I fucked myself for him after getting that letter, not knowing who my mystery voyeur was, not even caring.

I care now. Because knowing it’s Christian watching me, wanting me for exactly who I am? It’s better than any thrill of the unknown.

I let out a breath as I slide my fingers underneath the band of my briefs, brushing the tip of my cock. He said to go slow, so slowly , I maneuver the fabric down below my cockhead, giving him only a peek. The band keeps my dick in place, and I stretch a hand over my head as my other rests on my lower abdomen, thumb running a slow circuit over my slit.

My phone pings.

Christian: Sexy fucking tease. Could you come like that, rubbing just the tip of your cock and your nipples?

Fucking hell . Probably, yes. But there’s something else I want.

I reply with one hand, my other still toying with my dick.

Me: You said you’d fuck me.

Christian: Mm. After you give me a show.

Instead of reaching for my nipples, I turn onto my stomach and lower my briefs, giving Christian a view of my ass. I spread my cheek to the side and pointedly make a middle finger, rubbing it over my rim.

Christian: You cheeky shit.

“You like it,” I mumble, pressing the tip of my finger inside my ass. I groan, rocking back on the digit.

Another ping comes from my phone, and I curse, fumbling to grab it.

Christian: Get the lube, Specs. Open yourself up. Pretend it’s my tongue.

“Fucking…” I hastily type out a one-handed response.

Me: Need 2 hear u.

The call comes through a moment later, and I accept it, tossing my phone on my pillow right after.

“Well hello, stranger,” Christian says.

“You’re an ass,” I mutter, reaching into my nightstand.

He laughs. “Because I like watching my boyfriend pleasure himself?”

My body rolls in a shiver, and I’m not sure if it’s because Christian is so good at pushing my buttons or because of the simple word that thrills me every time I hear it. Boyfriend .

“You’re an ass because it’s my finger and not your tongue,” I inform him, popping the cap on the lube. I wet my finger and bring it back to my hole, slipping it all the way inside with a sigh.

“You like it, Specs,” he says, voice hoarse. “You like fucking yourself for me. You like showing me how much your body begs for it. And I like watching you.”

“Why?” I nearly whisper, pumping two fingers in and out now.

Christian hums as my pulse hammers. “Because you’re beautiful like this,” he says seriously. “You’re real. You light up the same way you do when you talk about brains and biases and things I don’t entirely understand but want to learn more about. You let go of all the responsibilities weighing you down, and you show me living proof of what it means to be in the moment. To be transparent and wholly yourself, and I admire that. It’s how I want to live. I think you’re brave, Specs. And I thought I was brave, too. But you make me feel invincible.”

My breath puffs out of me, my fingers stilling in my ass. I turn my head, seeking Christian out, finding him watching me. He’s too far away.

“Get over here,” I rasp.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to play voyeur a little longer, my kinky exhibitionist.”

“Christian. Get over here now.”

“All right, Specs,” he says softly, walking away from the window. “I hope your door is unlocked.”

“It is. Hurry. Fuck .”

“On my way.”

Christian clicks off the call, and I blow out a breath, every nerve ending in my body alive and sparking. I have no doubt the pleasure centers in my brain are lit like a supernova right now. But there’s more, too. There’s warmth in my chest. A lightness in my lungs.

There are certain things necessary to our survival as human beings. Eating. Drinking. Breathing. But, sometimes, our brains deem love to be just as essential. It’s not a tangible resource. It’s not something we can hold or measure in our palms. But we can trace its path throughout our neural networks. We can see the very proof of love’s existence in our body.

I have no doubt that by coming into my life, Christian has altered my brain chemistry.

And in doing so, he’s changed my world.