After his parents' sudden death, Chester Covington leaves everything behind and moves in with his aunt.
But nobody knows what is going on behind the facadé of a traumatized boy who has watched his parents die that he puts up ever single day of his...
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A yawn slips past my lips when my eyes flutter open. I attempt to rub the sleep out of my eyes but the arm that lies heavily on my waist prevents me from doing so.
My eyes widen as I jolt upwards - or try to, being held down by the arm that snakes around my hip tighter. "Don't move," a husky voice grumbles into the crook of my neck, puffing out a breath of warm air that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
In confusion, I take in my surroundings, noticing the pair of legs that is entangled with mine and the arm that is draped around my body like I'm some body pillow. I divert my gaze to the face that is nuzzled into my shoulder and instantly recognize the mop of disshelved black hair on top of his head.
The memories wash over me, sending my mind into a frenzy of shock, affection and shame. He has seen all of me. Every single scar, every single bruise. And I willingly showed him.
I let out a soft sigh, turning my head to get a better look at Riku's face. His eyes are shut, his lashes clashing together. The frown between his eyebrows is gone, his forehead looking relaxed in comparison to the glare that he always has plastered on his face in public that made it all wrinkly.
His lips are inches away from my skin, parted and puffing out soft breaths of air. His hair is all over the place, for the first time not gelled into messy perfection but just naturally sticking out however it wants to.
I let my eyes travel down to his topless chest, intrigued by the black ink that is carved into the right side of his chest which is unfortunately partially hidden by my shoulder. Nonetheless, the beauty of his tattoo takes away my breath just like the first time I had seen it.
But before I can dwell on it, Riku's hand shoots up to my cheek and cups it gently, forcing my face into his direction. Our eyes lock, my heart leaping inside of my own bare chest. There's a lazy expression on his face - one that feels foreign but at the same time heartwarming to witness on his features - as he speaks up. "Hey," he rasps out, his voice thick with sleep.
The corners of my lips tug upwards a tiny bit, my stiff posture easing as his scent floods my nostrils. "Hey," I reply, my own vocie sounding even more throaty and raspy than his'.
"What time is it?" I ask quietly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence that we spent gazing into each other's eyes.
He raises his head off my shoulder, ripping away the warmth of his body and replacing it with a breeze of coldness that brushes past my sensitive skin. His eyes snap over to one particular part of the room and squint slightly when a stray of sunshine hits him in the face, trying to make out whatever he's looking at.
