Chapter 185: Relationship Counseling By Oliver Reyes
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That night, we ended up where we always did: in bed. His arms wrapped around me before I could even get comfortable, pulling me back until my head rested against his chest, his familiar warmth settling around me like a cozy blanket that had opinions about personal space.
The sheets were cool at first, then slowly warmed under the combined heat of our bodies. Outside, a distant car passed, its headlights briefly sweeping across the ceiling before vanishing again.
Usually, I’d complain. I’d joke about being treated like a giant teddy bear or maybe threaten to charge him rent for using my back as a headrest and push him away just to watch him fight to pull me back into his arms just for fun.
But tonight, I just let it happen.
His embrace was tighter than usual, almost protective.
As if he believed that if he held me tightly enough, nothing from outside our apartment could reach me. Unfortunately, anxiety wasn’t deterred by physical barriers. It climbed into bed anyway, uninvited, and made itself at home somewhere behind my ribs. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against my back, a rhythm that should have been soothing and almost was.
I stared at the ceiling, tracing the same water stain I’d memorized months ago without ever intending to. The irregular shape of it looked a little like a lopsided heart if I squinted hard enough in the dark.
"...You’re still awake." Damien’s voice was barely a whisper, low enough to belong solely to the darkness.
"So are you."
Silence fell again, softer this time, less like a wall and more like a held breath. After a minute, I spoke up.
"Can I ask something?"
"You just did."
I lightly elbowed him, more out of habit than force. "Smartass."
"I learned from you."
"...Fair." I hesitated, turning the question over in my mind a few times before I finally asked. "Why haven’t you gone home?"
He didn’t answer right away, and the pause stretched long enough that I began counting his heartbeat against my ear just to occupy myself. One... two... three... the beats were steady, but I could feel the faint tension still lingering in the muscles of his chest.
"I mean, Dianne said they keep calling."
"...Mm."
"Your sister came all the way here."
"...She did."
"There has to be a reason."
"There is."
I waited. He didn’t elaborate.
"...Damien."
"Hmm?"
"You don’t have to share everything." I paused, softening my tone. "But..."
I turned slightly to see him better, catching the faint outline of his profile against the dim hallway light. The soft glow caught on the curve of his cheekbone and the dark sweep of his lashes. "...Running away doesn’t quite seem like you."
His expression softened. "I’m not running."
"It kinda looks like running."
"I’m avoiding."
"That’s just running dressed up differently."
He actually laughed, genuinely surprised by it. The sound vibrated lightly through his chest and into me. "You’d be a terrible therapist."
"I know." I said, "I’d kick off every therapy session with, ’Have you considered just not having problems?’"
"I’d pay to hear that." he said.
I smiled before growing earnest again, the humor fading back into something more subdued.
"I can’t really grasp..." I shrugged against him. "...the rich family drama."
"Shocking."
"I know." I said. "I should’ve taken Rich People Problems 101."
"They don’t offer that class."
"They really should."
"I would’ve failed."
"You’d ace it."
"I can’t even pronounce half the wine names."
"They’ll survive."
I took a slow breath, steeling myself. The fabric of his shirt was soft under my fingers, slightly worn in a way that made it feel lived-in and safe.
"I just..." I fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt, twisting the fabric between my fingers like it could help me find the right words. "I think maybe...you should face whatever it is."
He fell silent.
"Before it gets worse." I finished.
His thumb made slow circles against my side, the motion steady and grounding even as the silence between us thickened. The quiet felt different now—less like avoidance and more like consideration.
I looked down, watching my hand rest against his chest. "...I don’t want you carrying this forever either."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead, unhurried, pressing the words he couldn’t quite vocalize into my skin instead. The touch was warm, lingering just long enough to leave a soft imprint of heat behind.
"I’ll think about it, sunshine."
"Promise?"
"I promise I’ll think about it."
"...I’ll take it."
He smiled against my hair. "My cute therapist."
I gasped playfully, pulling back just enough to give him a mock-offended look he couldn’t fully see in the dark. "Excuse me?"
"My adorable little motivational speaker."
"I’m neither cute nor a motivational speaker, I think I’d be a pretty terrible one actually. So don’t do that."
"You’re doing great already."
Before I could respond, his fingers suddenly dug into my side. I yelped, the sound echoing embarrassingly in the quiet room. The sudden tickling sensation sent a jolt of pure, undignified panic through me.
"Damien!"
He grinned, his expression visible even in the dark, mischievous and far too pleased with himself. "What?"
"You’re tickling me!"
"I noticed."
"You menace, stop it asshole!"
I tried to twist away, but he had me pinned against the mattress with the skill of a man who had clearly perfected this move before and had no plans of losing. The sheets tangled further around my legs as I squirmed, laughter already bubbling up against my will.
"Mercy!"
"Never."
"I have rights!"
"They’ve been suspended."
"By who?"
"Me."
"That’s not how laws work!"
"It is in this apartment."
I erupted into helpless laughter, trying to push him away but accomplishing nothing apart from embarrassing myself further, my legs tangled in the sheets and my dignity lying somewhere on the floor with yesterday’s laundry. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from laughing so hard, and every attempt to escape only made him more determined.
"Stop!"
"Say I’m handsome."
"You already know you’re handsome!"
"Say it anyway."
"I hate you."
"Incorrect answer."
His fingers attacked my ribs once more. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt, tears threatening to spill from the corners of my eyes. The bed creaked softly under our shifting weight, and for a few bright seconds the earlier heaviness of the day felt very far away.
"Fine!" I gasped. "You’re handsome, you little shit!"
"And?"
"The most annoying man alive!"
"I’ll accept that."
Finally, he relented. I glared at him while I caught my breath, my chest heaving, thoroughly defeated yet mildly annoyed about it. My hair was probably a mess, sticking to my forehead in places, but I was too busy trying to recover my composure to care.
"...Don’t call me cute."
"But you are."
"No, I’m tough and terrifying."
"With your short ass?" He questioned making me gasp.
"How dare you?! We don’t talk about my height, you blue eyed demon!"
He laughed again before pulling me back into his arms, the playful fight fading from both of us as quickly as it had begun. His chest was still warm against my cheek, and the residual laughter left a lighter feeling in the air between us.
This time, the silence felt softer. Not fixed. Not healed. Just less intense, like the day’s sharp edges had finally dulled enough to cease cutting.
My eyelids grew heavy. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat blurred everything around the edges, and the worry from earlier loosened its grip just enough to allow sleep to creep in. The faint scent of his shampoo, the quiet hum of the city beyond the window, the solid weight of his arm around me—all of it settled into something almost peaceful.
Just before sleep finally took me, I heard his voice, so soft I almost thought I’d imagined it.
"...You know I really like you, right?"
I smiled without opening my eyes. "...Mm."
That was the best I could muster. Somewhere above me, gentle lips brushed my forehead. I never heard the words he whispered after that.
"I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise."
By then, I was already asleep, trusting that maybe thinking about it would be enough.