An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

10. Bo

Chapter ten

Bo

This fucking sucked.

Bo expected it to. He did . Everil got twitchy about touching, grabbing his own wrist more often than not, while Bo still itched to curl close and make the too-tight pull of his skin fade some.

That’s why Bo’d wanted a fucking double.

God, he was tired. Exhausted even when in bed, not enough pillows under his head, and Everil just … there to touch if either of them shifted. It’d be so easy to reach out to him. Skin to skin, and things would fucking settle.

Instead, they lay curled up, back-to-back, inches and fucking worlds between them. Everil, breathing deep, asleep almost as soon as the lights went off. Bo, staring at the wall, wide awake, replaying their argument with a knot of rejection in his gut.

Fucking sucked, feeling that mild confusion turn to wariness. Everil bracing himself, waiting for Bo to lash out. Shame like stagnant water on Bo’s tongue. Still there, while Everil slept.

Bo was an inconsiderate prick.

Everil’d said he wasn’t good at figuring shit out. Had asked Bo to tell him. Not even a day, and Bo was making him guess. Assuming shit.

Fuck. Felt like no matter what he did, Everil ended up bruised. Bo kept trying not to fight, not to damage, not to make Everil feel bad. Trying and failing.

The bed creaked as Everil shifted, the slight movement paired with a whimpering breath. No words, nothing through the bond that said the kelpie was awake. Bo twisted to see Everil bury his face into the pillow, his hair an ink spill in the mottled darkness of the room .

He looked so fucking small.

Another soft sound, a flinch made with noise instead of movement. A hitched inhale as Bo rolled to face him.

Everil’s shoulders were pulled in tight, his breathing growing more unsteady. And Bo could feel it through their bond. Something muted but ugly. Violent enough that Bo closed the space between them. Knee tucked against the back of Everil’s, fingers curled over a bare stretch of freckled arm.

Relief sang through him at the contact, stagnant water turned to a pure, icy stream. Bo stilled, as the itch along his skin faded. Waited for Everil to wake up and go stiff, upset over Bo crossing a very valid, set line.

Instead, Everil shuddered once, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. His breathing deepened, no more flinching whimpers. Just quiet.

Fuck.

Bo wasn’t going to think about the way they fit together or how easy it would be to press closer. Keep it like this. Knees. Shins. Hand to arm. Forehead to neck. Nothing ‘untoward,’ to use an Everil word.

Still. Line fucking crossed, no matter how much it seemed to help. Took the rigidity out of Everil’s spine, the flinching tension that Bo’d put there by letting his stupid feelings get hurt.

(And look at him now. The kelpie had been right not to share a bed with Bo.)

He should let go. Roll back over.

He didn’t.

Bo would do better in the morning. Be clearer. Not be the prick who made Everil guess about what to do.

Definitely not be the asshole who thought about leaning just that much closer to taste the freckled curve of Everil’s neck or lace their fingers together.

Yeah, better. Somehow.