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16
Pen
“That’s it, bro. I’m all Fred Astaire’d out,” Dax groans when York reaches for the control and hunts Netflix for another black and white dance movie. It’s way past two in the morning, but none of us are tired. Well, maybe tired of York’s choice of movies. I love Fred Astaire as much as the next person, but I switched off two movies ago, my mind elsewhere. With every passing hour my anxiety has grown.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” York protests. “Look, they’ve gotSwing Timetoo.”
Dax throws a pillow at his head. “Enough already!”
Chuckling, York flicks off the TV. The screen goes black, throwing us into semi darkness. This whole evening he’s been the joker, the lighthearted one. He’s kept us preoccupied with his wit and charm. I love and appreciate his efforts, but I’m feeling restless past the point of distraction.
“So what now?” he asks, and I feel the heat of his stare as I get up and walk to the window.
“It’s such a beautiful view,” I say absentmindedly as I look out onto the cityscape beyond the window.
“It is,” York agrees, stepping up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on top of my head. I get a whiff of his signature CKOne perfume and it immediately takes me back to our childhood.
“Have you heard anything yet?”
“They’ll be home soon, Titch. Try not to worry.”
I let out a broken laugh. “How can I not worry about them, aboutallof you?”
York turns me around in his arms and I tip my head back to look up at him. “Because we’re badasses, that’s why.”
“You mean arrogant?” I laugh, but it comes out choked. “No one’s invincible, York.”
“Zat is vhere you are vrong, my pretty morsel. I’m a vampire, andI’minvincible, mwa-ha-ha-haa!” he replies, tipping his head back in a mock Count Dracula impression.
“You’re such a dick,” Dax says, throwing another cushion at York’s head. It bounces off him, messing up his already disheveled hair so it sticks up all over his head in white-blonde spikes. Despite his cuteness, I can’t seem to crack a genuine smile. I’m too worried.
“Seriously, York. This isn’t funny.” I frown, trying everything in my power to be the strong person Zayn needs me to be and feeling as though I’m failing. It’s hard work being strong all the time. York presses his forefinger against the crease in my brow, sliding it gently over each eyebrow in turn. Then looks at me in that disarming way of his.
“I know what you need,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’m not in the mood…” I mutter. As much as I want him, the last thing on my mind is sex. I won’t settle until Zayn and Xeno are back, and whilst I have to believe Zayn will win the fight, that doesn’t mean to say he’ll be okay when he returns, physically or emotionally. Fuck, maybe he won’t be affected at all. I’m not sure what’s worse.
York presses his hand against his chest in mock horror. “Fuck, Titch, you sure know how to burst a man’s ego.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop it, I’m just messing with you. Come on, let’s dance this out.”
“Dance?”
He grins. “Are you tired?”
“No—”
“Then let’s dance.” Grasping my hand in his, York pulls me towards the door in the corner of the room that leads to their dance studio. “You coming,big boy?”
Dax rolls his eyes, but gets up and follows us both anyway. “You keep calling me that, York, and I’m gonna think you fancy me.”
“Hey, man. I just appreciate a decent sized, platonic-cock.”
“Platonic-cock? Fuck, man, I seriously worry about you sometimes.”
York laughs loudly, flicking on the light to the dance studio. “You need to lighten up. Women appreciate other women all the time. Just because I think you’ve got a decent sized dick; doesn’t mean I want to suck it.”
