All The Ways We Touch [BxB]

forty-two - a storm pt. two

"Fine. We've been outed." Pulling out his phone, Elliot turned it on and handed it to Jamison, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watched Jamison take it, his eyes scanning over the article and a photo of the two of them holding hands as they stood outside the science hall, completely beaming at each other.

"Sorry, ladies! Sources tell us that everyone's favorite Olympic champion, social media star, and heir, Elliot Astor, has finally exited the dating pool. The triple threat is seen here with Jamison Parker, a fellow student at the University of Forest Grove. Not much is known about his goth boyfriend but sources tell us he's an art major with serious talent working as a barista at The House, a quaint coffee shop in downtown Forest Grove," Jamison read, frowning more and more deeply as he went on. "Another source with firsthand knowledge reports that they recently moved in toget—" Then his phone buzzed, the caller ID taking over the screen. "Your dad is calling," he said, handing the phone back to him, his breathing so quick that it was on the verge of making him lightheaded.

"Yeah, he won't get the hint..." Elliot muttered, rejecting the call and slipping his phone in his pocket. "Now will you please go upstairs so we can warm you up? You're gonna get sick!"

Jamison barely heard Elliot as bile splashed up his throat. 'He can find me.' Racing up the stairs, Jamison's heart beat so hard that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he ran into the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, he vomited, panic gripping him. 'He's going to find me.'

Chasing behind him, Elliot followed Jamison into the bathroom, his heart pounding against his ribs. While he didn't honestly believe that Jamison was going to leave again, this was bringing up all those bad memories he was trying to bury.

Going to the cabinet, Elliot grabbed and wet a washcloth, watching as Jamison vomited again. While he wasn't sure exactly how to help, he approached Jamison and crouched down next to him. "I'm here," he whispered, rubbing his back and trying not to grow further concerned by how cold he was. It was awful to feel the way Jamison shuddered as he retched but knew that there was no way he could make him feel any better. Like most unpleasant things in life, the only way out was through.

Tears streamed down his face and snot poured out of his nose as his body dry heaved. Reaching out, he took the washcloth and let it drop to the floor, squeezing his wet hand. Despite his brain screaming at him that he was in danger, he was well aware that this had to be triggering for Elliot and needed to reassure him in some way. Though truthfully, touching Elliot was comforting for him too: the warmth of his hand was grounding and his soft skin soothing, both working to make him feel safer.

Clutching Jamison's hand tightly, Elliot's breathing slowed and his heart rate began to steady itself as they sat together. Fortunately, Jamison had stopped dry heaving after another few minutes, though his body language remained stiff and tense.

"Let me get you a washcloth," he said softly but waited to see if Jamison would let go of his hand before standing back up, he didn't want to pull away if Jamison preferred to have him by his side, vomit on his face or not.

After gently squeezing it, he let go and wiped the wetness on his leg before sitting back, his breathing still labored. Although he'd purged everything from his stomach and his body had thankfully given up on trying to get any more out, it hadn't reduced his anxiety.

Elliot quickly brought the new washcloth over to Jamison and gently wiped his pallid face clean, pain radiating in his chest as he saw the way terror gripped him. While this was like reliving one of the most upsetting moments of his life, he knew that his expression wasn't about him, he could see it in Jamison's eyes and feel it in the way he reached out for his comfort.