Page 66 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
Rex just stands there, watching Phoenix's meltdown with that flat expression that could mean anything from homicidal rage to mild amusement. The candles are all out now, but chibi-Rex has definitely seen better days.
Then I see it.
The smallest quirk at the corner of Rex's mouth on the left side. Not quite a smile. Not even close. But something that suggests he finds Phoenix's frenzied panic at least marginally entertaining.
It's gone so fast I almost think I imagined it.
"It's fine," Rex says, his voice still flat but lacking the usual edge.
Phoenix looks like he might pass out from relief. "You sure? Because I can order another one, or?—"
"Phoenix." Rex cuts him off, but there's no venom in it. Just exhaustion. "It's fine."
But it's not fine.
None of this is fine.
Rex isn't angry, isn't lashing out, isn't being his usual aggressive self. He's just... empty. Like someone hollowed him out and left only the shell behind. It reminds me of those first few months after Nash died, when Rex would go days without speaking, would stare at nothing for hours, would exist in a state of such profound grief that even looking at him felt invasive.
I'd rather have angry Rex back.
"What’s the sleeping arrangement tonight?" I ask Rex as Phoenix cuts up the cake so we each get a slice with our chibi on it, because someone needs to address the elephant in the room before it tramples us all.
Rex's eye slides to me, then to Bells, who's still pressed against the counter like he's trying to meld with the granite. "I’ll take the couch."
"The couch?" Phoenix interjects. "You're six-five. The couch is built for normal-sized humans."
"I'll manage."
"Rex—"
"I said I'll manage." There's a hint of the old Rex in that tone. The one who doesn't accept help, doesn't need anyone,doesn't want to be reminded he's made of flesh and bone and not shadows.
"Raf and I can share my room and Bells can take Raf’s," Phoenix offers, and I whip my head around to stare at him.
"Excuse me?"
"What?" Phoenix shrugs his broad shoulders. "We've shared before. After shows, on the bus. It's not a big deal."
"That was different. That was falling asleep drunk after gigs. This is—" I gesture vaguely at the apartment. "This is planned sharing. Of a bed. For multiple nights."
"Oh my god, Raf, I'm not going to ravish you in your sleep." Phoenix rolls his eyes. "I'll stay on my side, you stay on yours."
I growl under my breath, but I'm already doing the mental math. Phoenix's bed is a king, and he's got that weird attachment to his Egyptian cotton sheets he won't shut up about. Theoretically, we could probably share it without being on top of each other.
"Fine," I say, because what the fuck ever at this point. "But I'm taking the side by the door. And if you snore, I'm smothering you."
"Deal." Phoenix flashes a bright grin.
Bells looks between us, those amber eyes tracking the conversation like it's a tennis match. "You sure about this? I can just?—"
"You're taking Raf's room," Phoenix says firmly. "It's settled. No arguments."
Rex hasn't moved from his position near the door. He's watching all of this unfold with that unreadable expression. His fingers tap against his thigh—once, twice, three times—that tell Phoenix and I have learned means he's processing something he doesn't like.
"I'm going to rest," Rex announces suddenly, already turning toward the hallway.
"Wait!" Phoenix calls after him. "The cake! You didn't even have any?—"
