❝ROSWELL SCHOOL FOR THE TWISTED❞ | POLY BL

CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN:

SAVED.

Their dorm was quiet in that late-afternoon way, when the halls were mostly empty and sunlight filtered in through the blinds in thin gold strips. Wesley sat on his bed with his sketchbook open, though he hadn't drawn anything in the last twenty minutes.

Paris noticed.

Of course he did.

He always did.

"You're staring at the same blank page like it personally offended you," Paris said from his bed, voice light, teasing, his default tone. He was lying on his stomach, kicking his feet lazily in the air.

Wes didn't look up. "I'm thinking."

"You think too much," Paris replied instantly, rolling onto his back. "It's annoying."

Wes huffed a small laugh. "I can't help it."

"I know," Paris said, softer now. And then, "Come here."

Wes blinked. "Why?"

Paris stretched his arms out toward him. "Because you're spiraling. And because I want cuddles. But mostly the spiraling thing. Get over here."

Wes hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. Physical affection still didn't come naturally to him. Even now after everything, they had to ease into it.

But with Paris... it didn't hurt as much. Didn't feel as crowded.

So he got up, quietly, and crawled onto Paris's bed. Paris scooted back until his head hit the wall and tugged Wes down into the space between his body and the blanket.

Wes stiffened for a second, instinct, habit, nerves, but Paris didn't say anything. He simply let a hand settle on the side of Wesley's waist, his thumb brushing a soft, grounding pattern.

Wes exhaled slowly, tension melting out of him little by little.

"That's it," Paris murmured. "Good."

Wes rested his head against Paris's collarbone, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. His fingers curled lightly in the fabric of Paris's hoodie, needing something to hold.

"You okay?" Paris asked after a moment. Not teasing. Not dramatic. Just soft.

Wes nodded, though Paris likely felt the movement more than he saw it.

"You saw Chris today, right?" Paris asked gently.

Wes pulled back enough to look at him. "Yeah."

Paris studied his face, eyes searching, reading every shift in expression like it was a language only he spoke. "You look... happy," he said quietly. "Calmer."

Wes felt his cheeks warm. "Maybe."

Paris smiled knowingly. "Good. You deserve that."

Wes looked down at his hand resting on Paris's chest. "Do you think... I did something wrong? Letting things happen with Chris?"

Paris snorted softly. "No. God, no. Chris doesn't let anything happen unless he wants it to. You didn't break him."

Wes let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Paris continued, voice warm, gentle. "He's softer with you. Terrifying, but cute. It's like watching a rabid raccoon let someone pet it."

Wes choked out a laugh. "A raccoon?"

"A pissed-off one," Paris added, grinning. "But still. He likes you."

Wes lowered his eyes. "I like him too."

"I know," Paris said softly. "That's why I'm relieved."

"Relieved?"

Paris nodded. "You could've ended up with a psychopath who tries to isolate you and rip your shirt off in a bathroom. But instead you ended up with our cold French disaster man. That's a win."

Wes rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I guess."

Paris reached up, brushing a curl from Wesley's forehead. "Seriously though... I'm happy for you. Chris isn't easy, but he's safe. And you... you make him better."

Wes swallowed. "He makes me better too."

Paris's expression softened in the way only Wesley ever saw, some mix of pride and protectiveness and wistfulness. "Yeah," he whispered. "I can tell."

Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was warm. Familiar.

Paris's fingers threaded gently through Wesley's hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. Wes practically melted, his eyes fluttering shut.

"You're getting comfy," Paris teased.

"Shut up," Wes mumbled into Paris's chest.

Paris laughed, a soft musical sound. "If you fall asleep on me, I'm calling it my win for the day."

"I'm not—" Wesley's voice cut off with a sleepy sigh.

Paris's hand paused, then resumed its slow petting. "You can, you know. Sleep. I'll be here."

Wes's grip on his hoodie tightened slightly. "Stay?"

Paris's smile turned tender. "Obviously."

So Wesley relaxed completely, sinking into Paris's warmth, letting himself be held.

Paris stayed still, steady as a heartbeat, watching Wes's breathing even out.

After a long moment, he whispered quietly into Wesley's hair—

"You're doing better. I'm really proud of you."

Wes didn't answer already half-drifting, but Paris knew he heard.

He always did.

________________

SORRY IT'S SHORT!

I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WORD COUNT ON THIS, BUT I WILL GO BACK IN AND TRY TO FIX IT LATER!