WHERE TO NOW? (M/M) 18+

Chapter 49: Part 2

Okay so I've made a small YouTube playlist of all the songs I listened to while writing+editing this chapter. I've added the playlist into the External Link feature in Wattpad, which can be found all the way at the bottom of this chapter, just above the comment section (if I remember correctly)

I did try adding it to the banner above to make the listening experience a little smoother for all of you but it doesn't want to work unfortunately.

Also, some songs I used for specific sections of this chapter so they won't suit other scenes outside of the one I listened to them with. If you're wondering why a song doesn't suit the vibe, that would be because I wasn't listening to it for that particular section.

Now that that's out of the way.

On to the chapter😝

Damien

Part 2

Every step drags. The mud tries to hold me back, thick under my boots, but I move anyway. One step. Then another. Then more. And with each step, it starts, as it always does—his hands. Always restless, warm, finding me without thinking, or settling on my skin in that small, quiet way that steadied him and—without me realising—steadied me too.

And I realise how much I'd started to rely on it.

Those touches were nothing, barely there, but somehow they'd become anchors, even when neither of us said a word.

Another step.

And once I remember them, everything else follows, crowding in.

The concrete blocks scrape under my shoes. The backdoor is right there, swollen with humidity and secrets.

My hand hovers near the handle.

Memories crowd in. The way he sat by the fireplace one night, sketchbook balanced on his knees, eyes flicking up like he hoped I wouldn't notice him looking but couldn't help it anyway. The weight of him passed out against my shoulder on top of the van, mouthing some quiet dream I wish I'd heard.

And the shower—God, the shower won't let me breathe right.

Not only was he flushed, fevered, and quivering—it's the most aroused I've ever seen him. Begging. Needy. Gorgeous under the running water.

He was like that because of me. Because I'd touched him. Because I'd let myself want him for too long and finally slipped. The sounds he made—so soft, trembling, desperate. The quiet moans in his throat that damn near undid me. It was the first time I'd really touched him, really let myself go with him.

The door sticks slightly as I push it open.

Maybe that's why it hurts to think about. Because the look on his face right when I pushed him away—the hurt and confusion he tried to hide, the way he reached for me anyway, still trying to understand me instead of running from me like he should have.

How he'd reached for me in the water without thinking, like he believed I was something worth holding onto. How he always tried to understand before he judged, even when I gave him every reason not to.

The hinges creak.

His voice, quiet but clear, still telling me he cared even after everything I'd done to make him stop.

He looked up at me with something stupidly steady and unafraid, even though he should've been neither. And the sight of him afterwards—Jesus—sitting there, drenched, in nothing but his underwear, pretending anger when all I saw was hurt.