“I...it...it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” Summer said quickly, even as his quick-skip heartbeat smashed its fists against his rib cage in protest. “I don’t...want to pressure you.”
“But you want me.” Husky, enthralling in that deep rolling voice, that voice that Summer had slowly started to pick up on the tiny nuances in, from the hint of an accent that had almost disappeared into precise American English to the fine peaks and valleys of emotion—and there was a question in that rumble now, a curiosity. “And you want to know what I want. If I want you...or if this was just a momentary lapse.”
Summer nodded slowly, and braced himself.
Braced himself for this to hurt more than he was ready for.
Fox... Fox didn’t want this.
He knew that already.
Knew Fox was determined to isolate himself one way or another, as long as he never had to hurt again. Indulging Summer was just a momentary thing.
But even if he’d steeled himself for it to sting, to ache, to lash him hard...
Still he wasn’t ready for the clutching jolt of pain that went through him as Fox looked away, his eyes shuttering, his voice neutral as he said, “I’m still retiring after this school year, Summer. And once I do, there’ll be no place for me at Albin Academy. No reason for me to stay in Omen.”
Couldn’t I be? Summer wanted to plead, but held himself back—clutching his fingers together and pressing them against his chest as if he could physically restrain himself from leaning toward Fox, reaching toward him. Couldn’t I be enough of a reason?
But instead he only asked carefully, “What does that mean, then?”
He was almost impressed with himself that his voice didn’t waver, didn’t fall.
But it was a bittersweet victory, when inside he felt like he was breaking apart.
Fox said nothing, at first, and the silence dug its hooks into Summer’s heart as he searched that impassive face for something.
For anything that might tell him Fox felt even the tiniest thing for him.
Finally, Fox exhaled, seeming resigned. “Could you live with it? With being with me for the rest of the school year, knowing I’ll leave you in the end?”
“Are you so sure of that?” Summer asked, voice cracking. “That you’ll leave me. That you’ll even want to leave me.”
With a small smile, so bitter, dark with something turned inward, turned on himself, Fox let his head fall toward Summer, watching him through the messy spill of hair looping across his brow. “Are you so sure you’ll even want me by then?” he asked, brittle words that came out slow, his red mouth shaping them as if he was bleeding them out. “You’ll grow tired of me, Summer. I’m still the same weary old man. I’m still quite dull, quite proper, quite stiff...and quite incapable of knowing how to be with someone like you.”
Summer closed his eyes—if only so Fox wouldn’t see.
Wouldn’t see the wetness springing to his eyes unbidden, so quick he couldn’t stop it, the burn deep and prickling in his nostrils.
“You’ve been doing a pretty good job so far,” he whispered.
Warmth covered his hand, then, trapping it against his thigh. Fox’s fingers, curling over his, gripping tight. Summer sucked in a broken breath, lifting his head, sniffling back hard as he opened his eyes, scrubbing his free hand against his nose and staring at Fox miserably. At that smile that seemed the vessel for every pain he’d ever seen, ever known, awful and dark and heavy.
“I’m sorry,” Fox said. “Maybe if I’d known you in another life...known you as someone else. Before...everything. But I can give you these few months, Summer...and I hope it will be enough.”
No—no, it’s never enough!
Nothing is enough...not until I can call you mine, and you call me yours.
It was almost cruel of Fox—cruel of him to let Summer know how it could feel to be with him, to be loved by him, to be wrapped up in his passion and the full unfettered force of the emotions Fox tried so hard to repress.
What had happened back there...
That hadn’t been just lust.
Not the way Fox had kissed him, not the way Fox had touched him, whispered his name like a prayer, nearly worshipped him with every touch and every crash of their bodies. Fox had given him so much, and God, when he’d laughed, when Summer had seen that brightness transform his face until he came alive...
It only left him that much more cold when Fox withdrew once more behind a wall of quiet melancholy more stubborn and impenetrable than the harshest rejections, so determined to believe he was nothing else.
Summer wanted to shake him, wanted to beg...
But he couldn’t.
His heart was too sore and heavy, right now.
He was too raw with all the emotions that Fox had touched, stroking the exposed nerves of his heart to leave them too quivering and sensitive.
He couldn’t take this tonight.
But he wouldn’t give up, he told himself, even as he turned his hand to press palm to palm with Fox’s, lacing their fingers together, blinking back the blurring in his vision and forcing himself to smile.
“If that’s what you want,” he said thickly. “A few months is more than I ever thought would happen.”
Fox’s gaze flickered back and forth over Summer’s face, searching—before he tugged on their clasped hands, drawing Summer in.
“Come here, you ridiculous boy,” he sighed. “Just...come here.”
Then Fox’s arms were around him, enfolding him like an apology, drawing him in close against Fox’s chest, his warmth, the strength of him.
Summer told himself he wouldn’t break.
Wouldn’t cry.
But he clutched tight at Fox, buried his face in his chest, and breathed in deep wet gasps until that feeling of desperation passed, until he no longer felt like...like...
Like he was losing something before he even had a chance to grasp it tight.
Fox’s
