Page 92 of Phantom Faceoff
It earns me the barest hint of a smile. “That’s relative.”
We sit in a bout of silence punctuated by the sounds of our breathing, unsure where to even start until Julian finally steps forward and sits down in front of us.
“You scared us, Mal.”
He sits there, squeezing his arms around his knees in a repetitive pattern, staring off into one space as he shrugs. “Sorry. I just needed to?—”
“Mope?” Julian chirps and reaches over to smack Malachi on the thigh.
The sound rings loud throughout the quad, and I think I’m just as shocked as Malachi is. His brows are creased, frown pronounced, and a huff of irritated air is expelled from his lungs.
“I’m not going to baby you, jerk,” Julian says, voice gentle but firm. “You have skills for dealing with this. We have steps. You don’t ghostmeof all people.”
Malachi nods like a reprimanded child. “I’m sorry. Really.”
Julian’s smile is soft, and he leans over to stroke the top of Malachi’s head. “Thank you. But I’m not the one you owe an apology to.”
That’s when he looks at me, like truly looks at me, and instead of saying anything he holds out his hand.
I take it, fitting my fingers between his and holding as tight as I dare.
He stares at our joined hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of mine, until his head drops to my shoulder. I inch my thigh over to knock against his, creating as many points of contact as I can.
After a long time where I fear he may have fallen asleep—and I would have carried his ass all the way back to the dorms if I had to—he tightens his grip on my hand and touches the tip of his nose to my jaw.
“I love you,” he says—low and breathy like he’s about to swan dive off a precipice.
My own breathing stops. My chest burns, and then it all comes rushing in at once like a tsunami.
“Holy shit,” I say, which is far from an eloquent reply, but it makes him crack a smile. I feel it when he presses his mouth to my cheek.
“Holy shit, indeed.”
I turn my face to meet his wandering mouth, and it’s not so much a kiss as the two of us sharing a breath. When I finally press my lips to his, it’s tentative, and he responds with threading his fingers in the back of my hair and holding me steady to him.
We don’t push closer, just exist in each other’s touch.
Malachi’s skin pebbles where scratch over the surface with my fingertips, bare and cool from the whip of the air.
“How aren’t you freezing?” I ask, slipping both arms around his shoulders to pull him into me.
A soft noise comes from his lips, and I rub my hands along the planes of his back to create friction and warmth.
It isn’t long before Julian presses in beside us, covering Malachi’s other side with his body and wrapping him up in his arms.
“Silly, Daddy,” Julian mutters, and I feel Malachi’s smile as he trails it down my neck, burying his face in the crook and slipping his arms beneath my hoodie.
The three of us sit there in a human cuddle pile until the rhythmic sound of Malachi’s breathing begins to shake and little droplets cascade down my collarbone.
“We’ve got you,” I say, holding him as close as our bodies allow. “You’re safe.”
A soft rush of air skitters across my chest. Once the tears dry and his breathing settles, Malachi pulls away to rest his weight on the trunk of the tree. Julian and I let him have a little bit of space, but stay seated beside him should he want contact.
“I have to talk about it, don’t I?”
“You don’t have to,” I say, picking at the blades of grass between us. “But I’d like to hear it. I’d like to get to know this part of you.”
His face twists into a grimace. “It’s not pretty.”
