𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 || Steven Grant & Zeremy Love Story (Book 1)

𝟐𝟑 ~ 𝗠𝘆 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗕𝗼𝘆 || ⚠ +𝟏𝟖

 🖤ZEREMY'S POV 🖤

Hurt Steven, I'll burn you down to ashes.

As much as I wanted to subject the bully to a fiery fate, I knew that using my fire manipulation powers in public would only lead to severe consequences. It was a secret I had to keep, especially since it might bring unwanted attention, especially considering the recent incident where I nearly set the museum ablaze with my bare hands. Exposing my ability could bring serious problems, so I held back, restraining my anger and desire for retribution.

My anger was still seething within me, and seeing the bully hurt Steven had me on the verge of losing control and unleashing my fire manipulation powers. By a slender margin, I managed to restrain myself in the nick of time, focusing my attention on the dead rat that lay on Steven's keyboard at the gift shop counter. I saw it as a chance to retaliate using violence and keep my fire abilities hidden from the onlookers.

Looking back, it was a clever maneuver and an effective way to handle the situation while keeping my true powers concealed. I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction with the outcome.

In the seclusion of the bathroom, it was only me and Steven present. I thoroughly cleansed my hands with soap multiple times, determined to scrub away the filth that had come from handling the dead rat. As I scrubbed, I muttered angrily, stewing in my seething rage. Steven observed me with a curious gaze, seemingly realizing that I had arrived just in time to save the day and assuming that I was staying in Seattle for a few days longer than planned.

But that wasn't the case, as I had returned to London for the sake of Steven's well-being. I knew that without me around, he would be lonely and vulnerable. It was my priority to ensure his safety and comfort, which is why I had come back to London.

"Un-fucking-believable!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with anger and frustration as I vigorously scrubbed my hands in the sink. "Why the fuck did that jerk treat you like that? He totally deserved that dead rat shoved down his throat for putting it on your counter."

Steven stood there, silently witnessing my intense emotions. He felt a mix of self-reproach for not standing up for himself, gratitude for my protective gesture, and a hint of trepidation as he absorbed my wrath on his behalf.

"I... I don't know," he muttered, still grappling with his words. "He's been like this ever since I started working here. I've never been able to muster the courage to stand up to him." He raised his gaze towards me, a look of awe in his eyes as he continued, "But you... you were something else out there. You didn't even hesitate to come to my rescue, and it was truly amazing."

I briskly finished rinsing and drying my hands with a paper towel, my anger still seething beneath the surface from the bully's cruel treatment of my boyfriend. With a tinge of irritation and determination in my voice, I spoke up.

"Of course I stepped in to defend you. I couldn't just stand by and witness him bullying you like that. You don't deserve to be treated like a doormat. No one should have to endure that kind of treatment. I won't allow anyone to hurt you or push you around." I asserted, turning to face him with a fierce yet somewhat softened expression, my concern for his well-being now clearer in our private moment.

Steven couldn't help but feel warmth spread through him as my words sank in. He knew that beneath my intense exterior, I held a gentle and caring heart. With a touch of appreciation, he reached out and took my hands in his. The depth of my concern for him made him realize that I was ready to fight for his sake, if necessary.

My fierce protectiveness warmed his heart.

There was a brief moment of silence as we stood together in the bathroom, holding hands, the initial adrenaline of the confrontation gradually subsiding. The only sound was the faint hum of the overhead lights and the soft dripping of a faucet in the background. I looked into Steven's eyes, searching for any signs of lingering distress. I could tell that he had been shaken up by the encounter, and a part of me wanted to reassure him that he was safe now that I was there. In this intimate moment, I gently squeezed his hands in a reassuring gesture, silently conveying my support and concern for him. I could see the mixture of emotions playing out on his face - relief, gratitude, and a touch of guilt.