Shower.
I’m in a shower, and I have no idea how the fuck I got here.
“LITTLE HALO!” the voice snarls again, and this time it cuts straight through the static, ripping open the dark as it crashes into me. “FUCK’S SAKE, LOOK AT ME!”
Halo. Little—Halo.
The word hits like a brand, like a beacon burning straight through my chest, and my stomach lurches as my brain finally catches up with everything—my skin, the slap, the water, the crushing weight of it.
Rafe.
My eyes snap open to blinding light and steam curling up the tile walls, and then him—him—crouched over me, soaked to the skin, his black shirt plastered to his chest, eyes wild and feral with something sharp and dangerous that looks a lot like panic.
His hands are braced on either side of my face, dripping, trembling, and the second he sees me blink—
“Jesus FUCKING Christ,” he exhales, like the last four days just punched him straight in the throat.
I try to move and fail instantly, every muscle in my body screaming as my head lolls to the side and the water blasts against my cheek again, spilling over my mouth until I choke and cough, and then he’s there—grabbing me, hauling me up, pulling me straight into his lap under the spray, clothes and all.
“You stupid little bastard,” he growls, voice cracked and breathless. “You were supposed to wait.”
I think I smile—maybe I do, maybe it’s just the ghost of it—because it’s hard to tell with my jaw slack, my body limp, and every fucking nerve in me short-circuiting under the heat of him.
But I made it, I waited, and now he’s here.
Rafe’s hands lock around my upper arms like manacles, fingers digging into soaked fabric and skin until I gasp. I don’t even know how he moves me—whether he standsand drags me or just physically lifts me like dead weight—but the next second my back hits tile. Hard. The cold shock of it slices through the haze. Water crashes down on both of us, beating against my face, my chest, my throat, running into my mouth until I’m coughing, sputtering, blinking through steam.
He cages me in with his body, every inch of him wet and furious and shaking as the heat and steam wrap around us.
“Say it,” he growls, his voice dragged straight from hell as his breath hits my cheek hot and sharp. “Say you didn’t use.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out—just a broken breath, a tremor, a pathetic sound that barely slips past my lips before he grabs my jaw with one wet hand, his thumb pressing hard against my cheekbone as he forces my head up and keeps my eyes locked on his.
“Julian,” he says, low and dangerous, a warning and a plea and a threat all at once. “Say it.”
I swallow against the water, the steam, the pressure of his hand, my throat burning and my lungs aching while my body hangs limp even as my heart sprints, slams, begs to be seen, to be claimed, to be good, every cell in me vibrating with need.
“N—no,” I gasp, the word barely there but real. “Rafe… I didn’t—I didn’t use.”
Something in him snaps, not with anger but with a relief so violent it twists into something that looks a lot like rage. He surges forward and slams his forehead into mine—not enough to hurt, just enough to brand, to punish, to claim. The force knocks a whimper out of me. Our noses brush. Our mouths collide without fully landing in a kiss and somehow that’s worse. Hot breath. Teeth. Water running between our lips. Electricity crawling down my spine like claws.
“Good,” he snarls against my mouth. “Good fucking boy.”
The words detonate inside me, and everything loosens at once—my legs, my ribs, my throat—my knees nearly buckling if not for the way he’s already holding me up, one arm braced hard at my waist to keep me pinned, upright, alive.
His other hand fists in the front of my hoodie and drags me closer until the spray crashes over us like a storm, and he buries his face briefly against my soaked cheek, dragging in a breath that sounds like he’s coming apart.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, voice shredded. “You hear me? You scared me.”
I would smile if I could, I’d say I’m sorry, I’d say I waited, I’d say I stayed, but the water pounds into my face and my body is a trembling wreck, so the only thing I manage is to press my head forward until our foreheads touch again, shaking under his hands.
And he lets it happen, lets me lean, lets me breathe against him.
For one perfect second, he holds me like I didn’t almost die waiting for him.
My whole body gives out at once—like my nerves finally snap their last thread—and I collapse forward into him, head hitting his chest with a wet thud. The sound that tears out of me isn’t a word, not even a breath, just a broken animal noise as every muscle slackens. My legs fold. My ribs seize. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to gravity.
Rafe catches me instantly, one arm hooking under my knees while the other braces beneath my shoulders as he lifts me off the tile in one clean, terrifyingly strong movement, holding me like I weigh nothing.
