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He stares at me, his thumb circling my palm. “Sorry. I…” He shakes his head. “Sorry. I just think I…”
Standing still, I search his eyes. “You think…?” I offer gently.
“I think…” His hand slides up my arm, drawing me closer. “I might need…a hug. If you’re, uh, comfortable with that.”
A smile lifts my mouth. That’s all he needed? I wonder why it was so hard to ask.
Then I remember how he stepped back as soon as I walked out the door from our breakfast spot earlier this week, how I barely caught that nonverbal cue in time to hide the fact that I was about to open my arms and hug him goodbye. I lifted my arms for a stretch over my head, complaining about how Yuval had kicked our butts.
He didn’t want a hug then. And yet he wants one now?
Maybe because the last time you put your hands on him, you practically threw yourself at him? Maybe because he wasn’t sure he could ask for a simple hug without you trying to maul his mouth with yours again?
Right. Well. This is my chance to show him that I can hug him, just as friends.
“Of course you can have a hug,” I tell him. Thinking platonic thoughts, I wrap my arms gently around his neck. Sebastian lists into me, but slowly, almost as if he’s resisting it.
He doesn’t seem like he has much more knowledge of platonic hugs than he does friendships. So I wait, giving him time to feel it out. Carefully, hesitantly, he wraps his arms around my back and pulls me close. Our chests touch, hearts beating against each other.
And then, little by little, I feel his body relax, tension leave his shoulders as they lower, air fill his lungs slow and easy.
“There,” I tell him, scraping my fingertips gently across the nape of his neck and the curl of his hair. “You got the hang of it.”
“Fuck,” he mutters against my neck. “Hugs are good.”
I smile into his shoulder. “Yeah, they are.”
For a while, we just stand there, Sebastian with his arms around me, mine around him, chins on each other’s shoulders.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
I comb my fingers through the ends of his hair again. “You don’t need to be sorry for needing a hug, Sebastian.”
He squeezes me a little, tucking me closer, and exhales heavily. “Well, I’m also sorry I showed up uninvited at your apartment. You have a game tomorrow. I shouldn’t keep you up.” He starts to pull away. “I should go.”
“Wait.” I lock my arms around his neck, holding him there. “Just…slow down.”
He sighs against me and gradually tightens his hold again. But he doesn’t say anything.
“I don’t want you to go unless you want to go,” I tell him. “Do you want to go?”
He hesitates, then after a few seconds, shakes his head.
“So stay. Talk to me.”
He pulls back a little, his hand lingering on my hip, the sweep of his thumb across my waist sending heat waving beneath my skin.
Clearing his throat, Sebastian takes an awkward step back, nervously raking a hand through his hair.
“Come on,” I tell him. This time he lets me thread my fingers through his and tug him into the living room area of my studio. “Sit.” Gently, I push his shoulders until he drops into my reading chair.
I firmly push past the memories that evokes, of him falling onto a different kind of chair—the chaise on his deck—of me straddling his lap.
We’re definitely making the right choice, sitting in two different places.
Sinking to the floor, I sit, too, and settle my legs into a wide straddle. “You sit and talk. I’ll stretch and listen.”
Sebastian stares at me as I lean forward in between my legs, reaching both my toes and pulling on them until I feel a nice tug in my hamstrings. He brings his knuckles to his mouth and sighs. “I’ve been feeling like shit.”
