OH. Obiora’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive, jumping up from behind his ribs to lodge somewhere in his throat. He tried not to look too nervous or eager as he took the sketchbook from Ejiro’s outstretched hand.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
Ejiro headed to the house, walking quickly like the hounds of hell were on his heels. Obiora felt a smidgen of concern, but it was quickly overridden by his curiosity.
His eyes dropped to the sketchbook, open to the page Ejiro’s hands had transformed just moments ago.
Obiora’s lips parted on a soft exhale when he saw the man depicted onto the page.
Fucking hell, that couldn’t be him. The drawing was in simple line and shade, yet it was filled with such vibrant life that Obiora was sure the real him had to pale in comparison.
“Ejiro,” he whispered, so full of love he ached with it.
He glanced up quickly, feeling like a thief in the night. Ejiro was nowhere in sight. He glanced back down at the sketchbook, his pulse thumping harder at the base of his throat.
Had Ejiro meant him to see—? Was that why he’d left so abruptly? The way he’d handed the sketchbook to Obiora had felt pointed, somehow. Or was Obiora reading into things? He didn’t know.
Taking a deep breath, Obiora made a decision. If he was about to overstep, then he’d apologise. But he chose to believe Ejiro had left the sketchbook with him for a reason.
Quickly, he began to flip through the pages.
His eyes widened. He had to slow down immediately, go back to the beginning.
It was him. Every single page was him. His eyes, the curve of his mouth, the bridge of his nose—his hands, his thighs, his legs, his feet. His curls, his smiles, his dimple—his naked back and chest, drawn with such detail Obiora found he was struggling to breathe.
He slowly flipped through the pages, his throat thick, feeling weirdly choked up, eyes burning. Some were of him just sitting on his own, reading one of the books from the mansion’s library. Other times he was eating, or talking, or laughing. There was one—the one on that first night how many days ago—when he and Ejiro had sat here for the first time, and Obiora had been mourning his lost love.
Ejiro had captured the depth of heartbreak in his eyes, in his frame, the gentle way he’d clutched at the locket Ada had given him. He’d drawn Obiora with deference, with a melancholy sort of longing that left him aching.
“Fuck,” Obiora whispered, shaking.
Did Ejiro know? Was he aware how naked his feelings were in these pages—how vulnerably he’d bared his heart?
Obiora was composed when Ejiro returned. Ejiro took the now closed sketchbook from him, not meeting his eyes, folding himself into his corner of the sofa.
“Ejiro.” He waited until Ejiro met his eyes.
When he did, Obiora knew, instantly, that he’d been meant to see. Ejiro had wanted him to see. A kernel of something lodged itself behind Obiora’s ribs and took root.
“Yeah?” God, he looked so sweet, so soft, braced as if for rejection.
“As my mother would say, your hands were touched by God.”
Ejiro ducked his head, laughing and blushing furiously. “Shut up. That’s so cheesy.”
Obiora laughed, all the while his heart thumped with love.
SOPHIA VISITED THE MANSION THE next day as a “surprise”—the men had been prepared beforehand and had pretended they weren’t awaiting her arrival.
Since last night, after the way Ejiro had laid bare his heart, Obiora had been filled with restless energy. He wanted desperately to do something, but with Ejiro still acting so skittish—with Ejiro still so tentative, Obiora didn’t want to push and end up scaring him away.
The sketchbook was proof that Ejiro wanted him just as much as he wanted Ejiro. The question now was what were they going to do about it?
After Sophia had exchanged some light banter with the men, she asked what in their minds was their idea of the perfect date.
Obiora hadn’t thought too much of the question, tuning in and smiling fondly when Ejiro bashfully said, “Bungee jumping. I’ve always wanted to do it. Nothing like a near-death experience to make you truly bond with your partner, am I right?” he’d teased, making them laugh.
Obiora’s heart skipped at the gender-neutral mode of address. Ejiro glanced at him shyly, before glancing away. Oh God.
