I didn’t want to disappoint you, too.
“At least tell me you’re okay,” Brad said, his voice muffled.
“I’m okay,” Ian croaked breathlessly. It didn’t sound right.
On the other side of the door, Brad swore. “Open the door, please.”
Ian glanced at the door handle. Then he looked down at himself, two new cuts against a patch of silvery scars. He wondered how Brad ever managed to look past this. Brad probably wouldn’t now.
For a long moment, Ian hesitated, torn between hiding the scalpel and wounds, and letting Brad find him like this.
If he hid, he’d keep Brad around for longer. If he didn’t... then Brad would leave, and Ian wouldn’t have to worry about whether his alpha would stay.
He bit his lip, his throat growing tight. For Gwen’s sake, Ian should prolong their stay here. So he rinsed the scalpel under the faucet, dried it on one of the towels. Slipped it back into the box.
Then something metallic slid into the door lock, and it clicked. Ian stopped breathing.
The door opened, and Brad stepped in, sharp eyes locking onto Ian.
Brad will break up with me.
Ian wanted to look away. But he couldn’t, when Brad glanced at Ian’s chest, his wet arm, the cardboard box that held the scalpel.
Ian’s face burned. He turned himself away from Brad, his stomach twisting when Brad stepped closer.
“Hey,” Brad said, meeting his gaze through the mirror.
Ian couldn’t read his expression. Instead, he looked down at the sink, then his forgotten shirt on the floor.
Brad closed the bathroom door. Locked it. And now the bathroom was cramped with the two of them, Brad’s broad shoulders taking up most of the space.
Ian crouched, picking up his shirt. He’d started to bleed again, so he pressed the shirt to his arm. Stayed on the floor, waiting for Brad to leave.
Except the thought of Brad leaving him hurt, a lot. Ian bit his lip, his vision blurring. He didn’t want Brad to see. Didn’t want Brad to think Ian was crying to manipulate him.
He bent his head down, listening as Brad padded closer.
“Hey. Ian.” Brad knelt behind him, touching Ian’s arm gently. “You okay?”
“Mostly.”
He couldn’t bear to have Brad seeing him like this. The scars were bad enough, but the fresh cuts? Ian sucked in a shuddering breath. Brad wrapped those strong arms around him, dragging him across the floor.
Brad pressed his nose into Ian’s hair, reaching around to cup Ian’s face. He felt the tears, then. “Shit, Ian. Fuck.”
He turned Ian around to face him. Ian stared at the bathroom tiles. Avoided Brad’s eyes so he didn’t have to see Brad’s disappointment. “Sorry.”
Brad sucked in a breath. He really looked at Ian then, and Ian didn’t know how to explain himself. Wasn’t sure Brad would stay after he saw Ian this way, a mess of an adult.
“Is this... because of earlier?” Brad murmured. He touched Ian’s hand, the one that was holding the shirt to his arm. Then he pried Ian’s shirt off the wounds, and Ian closed his eyes. Waited as the shirt fell away. Brad swore.
“Sorry,” Ian said again. “I know I promised. I just... I can’t.”
Brad dropped the shirt. He curved his arms around Ian, and pulled Ian tight against his chest. “I should’ve been there,” Brad muttered. “Should’ve known better.”
Brad pressed kisses to Ian’s forehead. Ian trembled, his tears falling harder now.
“Why’re you still here?” he asked. He bit his lip, because of course now Brad would remember a reason to leave.
“Because I care,” Brad whispered. He ran his fingers through Ian’s hair, his breath warm on Ian’s face. “Should’ve found you earlier. Should’ve stopped you. I’m sorry.”
His touch almost felt like forgiveness. Like love. Ian leaned carefully into Brad, filling his lungs with walnut. And now his nose was stuffed, and he couldn’t breathe.
“Should’ve brought you home sooner,” Brad murmured, stroking Ian’s back. “I didn’t... I thought you’d stopped with this.”
Ian shrugged. “I thought I did, too. I’m sorry.”
Brad huffed. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. Quit apologizing.”
He stroked Ian’s face, down his shoulder, pausing at Ian’s arm. Then he pressed gingerly around the cuts, and brushed his hand down to Ian’s fingers. Ian trembled, just watching him. Didn’t know why Brad was still here, faced with the sight of years of self-harm.
Instead, Brad cradled Ian’s face in his hands. Tilted his face up so their eyes met.
Ian looked away first.
“You’re still beautiful, you know,” Brad said quietly. “I still love you.”
That made Ian cry harder.
How was he so weak, that he needed to hear Brad’s words to pull himself together?
Did Brad really want a bondmate who couldn’t stand on his own feet?
Ian leaned into Brad’s shoulder, struggling to hold down his sobs. Brad held him. He stroked Ian’s hair, ran his wrists over Ian’s back. Ian shuddered. Buried his face in Brad’s shoulder and prayed Brad’s warmth wasn’t just a dream.
Ian lost track of how long they sat on the bathroom floor. He sobbed against Brad, relief replacing his terror, until things didn’t seem so bad anymore. When he was no longer worried about the college, and when he’d almost forgotten about the scalpel, he sank bonelessly against Brad, breathing in shakily.
And Brad was still there, still holding him, his hands gentle on Ian’s skin.
“Better?” Brad murmured, brushing a kiss down Ian’s neck.
“I think so,” Ian said thickly.
He lay his head on Brad’s shoulder, just staring at the bathroom wall trimmings. Wondered where they would go from here, how long Brad would continue to stay with him.
“Can you stand?” Brad slipped his hands under Ian’s arms.
Ian nodded, so Brad helped him to his feet. Brad picked up the cardboard box by the sink. He tipped the open end down, and Ian’s scalpel clattered onto the counter, incriminating.
Ian winced, embarrassed.
“I’m gonna take this away from you,” Brad said, sliding the scalpel back into the box. “Okay?”
Ian hesitated.
“I’ll give you something better.” Brad kissed his temple. “Something that’ll help you.”
What would help him, Ian wasn’t sure. But Brad hadn’t
