The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

31

Elias

I walk into the apartment, Joseph following behind me. I look around as I walk to the bathroom—dad isn't around.
I'm surprised he's in any state to even get out of bed. I thought he'd be immobile for at least a week or two. I remind myself that he's only readjusting to his medication, and I should be glad he's out of bed.
I drop the bag I held onto the sink and take out the bottle that's inside. I turn around and Joseph's watching me, seemingly waiting for direction.
"We have to get your hair wet, so-"
He interrupts me with a nod and walks over to the tub, and he sits at the edge—just below the shower head. I walk over and reach behind him to turn the shower on, and I feel as my body brushes against his. I lean back and meet his flustered gaze.
It's hard not to smile at how easy it is to get him flustered—even when I don't mean to.
A light laugh slips as I say, "Alright, lean back."
He stares at me for a brief moment before tilting his head back and the water hits his hair, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his head back once it's wet enough. He tenses underneath my touch.
"Is this okay?" I ask, and he nods wordlessly.
I smile and nod, and take the bottle from where I placed it on the floor and start rubbing it into his hair. He noticeably winces at my touch and grasps my sweater subconsciously. I pause.
"Does it burn?"
He shakes his head. "No, it just hurts a little. Keep going. I'm fine."
My gaze reverts to his head and I make effort to lighten my touch and move slower. His grasp loosens and his hand settles to rest on my side—it makes me smile.
"Is this okay?" He asks, his voice gentle.
My chest flutters at his consideration and my smile grows. "Yeah, it's okay." I reply.
His other hand takes my opposite side, and it makes my heart race—in a good way.
I want to tell him I love when he touches me, that it makes me feel safe and warm inside, but my anxiety stops me. He may think it's weird, and I don't want his touch to leave.
After a while of just rubbing it into his hair, I tell him to lean back again, and he does. I begin rinsing his hair out.
"You're getting your sleeves wet." He comments. And my heart drops.
"It's okay." I reply, hoping he'll let it go after that because I don't want him to have to see the condition of my arms again.
But he reaches out and pushes up my sleeves, and this time I'm tense.
He says, "You don't have to hide your arms, not from me."
A smile tugs at my lips as my heart melts at his words, and I'm not so tense anymore. I feel the urge to cry, but I shake away the feeling and focus directly on his hair. I feel his eyes on me, so I look down at him. His gaze is gentle, and it only makes the pushed away feeling return and intensify.
I've never felt so reassured about my scars before, and he didn't even say much about it and yet here I am about to breakdown. He's kind to me, and that makes me want to cry. The way he's staring at me; the flicker of love in his eyes makes me want to cry.
My smile grows, and I subconsciously lean down and press a quick kiss on his lips. His grasp tightens briefly on my side, and we meet eyes. I smile again, and he smiles back at me softly. My cheeks feel hot, and he's blushing too. His hand reaches around to the front of my sweater and he tugs me down and kisses me again, and it lasts a few seconds longer. I smile into the kiss and lean back.
"Okay, let's get this out of your hair." I say in between a light laugh, and he lets me go.
"Okay."
I can't stop smiling, and I don't try to hide it.
I finish rinsing his hair and turn off the shower, then I turn and grab a towel from the shelf on the wall. I hand it to him, and he takes it with a gentle thank you. I reply with a nod and watch as he stands; my head falls back as my gaze follows him. And I think he notices because when he looks at me, his expression turns into amusement as his eyes seemingly examine me. I look away in slight embarrassment.
"Let's go to my room." I say.
I walk past him and leave the bathroom to my room, and I close the door after him. I sit down on my bed, and he sits next to me. I wordlessly push him back against the headboard and lay my head onto his chest; my legs between his, and his hand rests on my back. And we just lay there, indulged in the silence. A fluttering sensation runs through me when his fingers brush up and down my back—it's a comforting feeling, but anxiety creeps in as I begin to ask a question that's been eating at me since yesterday.
I ask, "What are we?"
I feel his body tense underneath me. "What?"
My head tilts back to meet his gaze, and he looks just as nervous as I do. "I know I'm probably being stupid, but it's been bothering me. I realized when I got home last night that we never actually confirmed if we were, you know, dating..." I explain.
He noticeably gulps, and his gaze leaves mine. It only makes me more nervous.
He seems to be in some sort of trance as he thinks about his answer, and the more I wait, the worse my anxiety gets—but I try to conceal it as much as I can.
He looks at me, and he looks even more nervous than I do as he says, "That's been bothering me too." His voice is shaky, and he forces a smile.
A nervous laugh escapes me, but relief still washes over me because I wasn't the only one.
He watches me intently as I suggest, "I know you're not used to this, and I'm not either, so we could just take things at our own pace?"
He nods. "Yeah, that sounds good." He says, and there's a hint of relief in his voice.
I smile and nod. "Okay."
"Okay."
I lay my head back on his chest, and he leans his head against mine, his arms around my torso loosely.
It's comforting; this feeling, being this close to him—it's nice, and I can't ever see it not being this way. I don't think I could ever get sick of feeling this way.
I lift my head up to look at him, and a gentle smile spreads across my face. He fell asleep.
He looks so peaceful—not so sad when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
I reach up and touch his cheek, then the bruise under his eye—it's nearly gone.
My hand runs through his damp hair, and it's much softer now, and my hand moves back to his chest as I lean up to kiss his cheek; his hands effortlessly falling off me as I move. I relax in the presence of him—my head back against his chest as I turn on the tv and put on Rick and Morty, and I make sure it's at a low volume, so I don't wake him.

Some time passes, and I look up at the sound of a deep inhale and a brief grasp onto my sweater. Joseph meets my gaze briefly before he tenses and looks around for his phone.
"What time is it?" He asks, his voice; eager.
"It's okay. It's only been an hour and a half."
He reverts his gaze and exhales in relief, and he settles back against the headboard. I lay back against his chest.
"I'm gonna have to leave soon." He says, and a sense of disappointment runs through me.
"Are you sure you have to go? I like having you here." I complain, and a smile appears on his face, but I still see a sense of surprise flash in his eyes.
"Me too." He says, and his hand reaches up into my hair.
And holy fuck, the chills I get.
My smile grows, and my heart flutters. "Maybe, I can sneak over tomorrow and sleep over." I suggest.
He blushes and hesitation is audible in his voice as he says, "I don't know, if my father-" He stops almost instantly and exhales shakily. I watch him intently as he seems to be at war with himself—his brows furrow and his eyes shut tight, then he meets my gaze again. "Let me think about it." He says.
I nod. "Okay."
I leave it at that because I completely understand his hesitation—I would be worried too if I was in his situation.
He stares at me briefly, his gaze gentle before he moves me aside so he can stand from the bed, and he says, "I should go." It's breathy as he speaks; disappointment clear in his voice.
I stand. "I'll walk you out."
I follow him out of the room and to the front door. He opens it after slipping on his shoes, and he turns to me. I smile as he stares at me, like he's unsure if he should hug or kiss me or just simply walk away. And I let him decide because I want him to be comfortable with whichever he chooses.
After a short moment, he hugs me. I let my hands settle on his back as I wallow in his arms; in the warmth it holds. I take in his scent, like I always do when he hugs me, and he leans back and takes the side of my neck in his hand. His lips meet mine, and it's just as intoxicating as everything else.
He leans back after a short moment, and I step up onto my tippy toes and kiss him again briefly before I step back with a gentle smile. He smiles back, his cheeks red and nervousness in his gaze.
"I'll see you tomorrow." He says.
I nod, and his touch leaves me when he turns and walks away.
And even when he's gone, the butterflies never leave.