WHERE TO NOW? (M/M) 18+

Chapter 51

Something New.

Morning had only just begun to slip through the sides of the curtains, thin stripes of pale gold painting the floorboards. The room was quiet, save for the faint creak of old wood settling and the distant rustle of trees outside the window. Birds murmured in the branches somewhere beyond the glass—sleepy, slow calls that matched the rhythm of my half-waking breath.

I shifted, rolling onto my side, chasing the heat beside me. I nuzzled my face slightly into the pillow, a sleepy breath slipping past my lips as my hand reached out instinctively, searching.

Nothing. Only emptiness.

My eyes blinked slowly, hazily, open.

The space beside me was empty.

But not cold.

The pillow still held his shape, faint and ghostlike, and his warmth still lingered beneath the sheets. I shifted slightly, the fabric brushing against my skin, and I blinked blearily at the soft light dusting over the walls.

He'd been here. I remembered that.

I remembered the gentle weight of him curled protectively around me in the dark—his bare chest warm against my back, arm slung heavy around my waist like it belonged there. I remembered the rise and fall of his breathing, deep and even, and how it had lulled me back under.

And after that, later, when the room was still grey and hushed, I'd felt him stir—quiet, delicate. For a moment I'd felt him hesitate, fingers twirling in the soft hair by my ear, like maybe he didn't want to leave quite yet. Then the feel of his breath against my cheek—the press of his lips there, soft and lingering, like a quiet goodbye he didn't want to say out loud. I hadn't opened my eyes, just sank further into the feeling of him, the quiet tenderness in that touch.

My chest grew warm thinking about it.

Now, I reached out blindly, fingers grazing the sheets to feel something of him, his heat, his ghost, anything I could reach. But tucked around me, snug and careful, was the blanket—drawn high over my shoulders. As if he'd paused on his way out, just long enough to make sure I wouldn't feel the morning chill. My fingers curled into it instinctively, holding onto that last trace of him.

My heart felt full—still wrapped in something that hadn't quite faded when the night ended.

Memories flooded through my mind, soft and fleeting.

He kissed me.

The reminiscence came with a rush of something wild and giddy, light as it was disbelieving.

And I remembered it—properly this time. Not just his lips, but everything that came after. The way it hadn't stopped there. The way it had turned into something heavier, slower, harder to breathe through.

How his hands had roamed, how my own had found him, tracing the curves and planes that belonged only to him. The grinding, the friction, the desperate warmth that made it impossible to think, impossible to pull away from. How he'd touched me—careful, teasing, urgent—how I'd remembered every slide of his hands, the sharp catch of his breath in the dark. The heat of him pressed against me, skin on skin, close enough that there hadn't been space left between us. Just feeling. Just him.

It lingered now, low and quiet in my body, like something that hadn't settled yet.

My lips parted with the breath I hadn't meant to hold, and I let my eyes flutter closed again for a beat, replaying it—his warmth, his breath, the way he'd held me like I was the only thing he wanted in this world.