Here’s the next part of the story, with some last minute changes… 😅
I hope you enjoy, this chapter also is a bit shorter, I originally intended to add something on the other side of the boards, but so far I don’t have anything worth posting in that regard.
Thanks to Socomama and 90tvfangirl for their support and help.
TOCNow, before I fall asleep during the author’s notes, the next part.
Chapter nineWalking beside Clark soothes my mind. Our shoulders brush. Again. My hands twitch. Is he doing this on purpose?
It would feel natural to link my arm with his, but I don’t want to spook him. Even though he’s calmer now, he still scans the street casually from time to time.
This is it. Goodbye. I should thank him. Say something. He opens his mouth. Closes it. We stand there.
His hand hovers near mine. Then he turns toward the lobby. I follow without thinking.
Our footsteps echo. Voices waft from somewhere. The reception desk sits empty under a flickering fluorescent light.
His shoulders drop. He looks at me properly now.
„Clark,“ I begin huskily. He waits, hands in his pockets. The sensible thing would be to thank him, say goodnight and let him walk away. Instead, neither of us moves.
Somewhere down the hall, the elevator dings. A harsh reminder to where we are. He takes a half step closer. Does he even realize?
“I’ll walk you up,” he says, almost apologetic.
I should refuse. But I only nod, and we start toward the elevator together.
The doors slide open. He gestures for me to step in first, but when I do, he follows. The space feels small but not tight. For a moment, I close my eyes. His aftershave fills the air.
He keeps his distance. I watch him swallowing. Is his throat as dry as mine?
Neither of us looks at the numbers climbing above the door.
The elevator chime jolts me. I step out first, heart hammering, and he’s right behind me.
Our steps are silent on the carpet. Every door we pass feels like another chance for me to end this before it begins. But I don’t.
At my room, I stop - key in hand.
Clark hesitates beside me, hands still in his pockets. His eyes lock on mine. Shoulders tight. Waiting.
“Let’s share the cinnamon roll,” I blurt out as I open the door.
He hesitates. “You don’t have to. It’s for you.”
“So? I can share it with whoever I want. Come in. Have a bite. We could split it.”
He nods and steps in. “Okay.”
Clark closes the door gently behind him. He’s tense. Eyes darting.
Inside, I flick on the lamp near the bed.
I grab the brown paper bag from the table and breathe in caramel. Tearing it in half, I hand him a piece. Our fingers brush.
A flimsy excuse. But it works.
“I don’t want this to end,” I say, halfway through the pastry.
His breath catches. “Neither do I.”
I step closer. Close enough to feel his body heat.
My hands cup his face. I kiss him. He freezes. Then his face tilts into the kiss.
His hands come to my waist slowly. He almost pulls them away but I press in closer. Thread my fingers behind his neck.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say.
And I mean it.
He nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.
I lead him to the bed. We sit. His voice drops low, so much I’ve to strain to hear all of his words. “I’ve always been… cautious. Since I was a kid. I had to stay one step ahead, or something bad would happen.”
I look up. “Paranoia?”
He smiles faintly. “Maybe. But sometimes, it’s not paranoia. Not when they really are looking for you.”
He isn’t crazy. I’ve seen the soldiers. And though my colleagues don’t carry guns, we’re both running from a verdict. His is deadly, mine is just... public.
“Normally I don’t do this.”
Clark blinks. “Do what?”
“Let people in. Sit in hotel rooms with strangers. Feel… things. You… healed something in me.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me.
“I was supposed to be the best,” I say. “But when I came to Atlanta I felt like I’m the joke.”
“You’re not a joke.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know how you look when you’re holding yourself together by a thread.” He leans forward, taking my hands in his. “And how you still try to protect other people when you’re barely standing.”
That stops my breath.
Something in my throat aches. My eyes sting.
He adds, huskily, “You didn’t have to help me yesterday.”
“I didn’t even think,” I say. “I just… I saw you. And I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“I haven’t not felt alone in a long time,” Clark whispers.
I stand. So does he.
“I’m here,” I say quietly. “Right here with you.”
And then he kisses me. Every move is gentle.
But I don’t want careful. Not tonight. I want to stop hearing that voice in my head. The betrayal. The award. I want something real.
I want to forget that I can’t trust anyone. Except him?
His breath stirs against my skin when I kiss the edge of his jaw. I unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders. He lets me.
Watching me.
There’s a scar, paled by time, a contradiction on his perfect body. I touch it, and he flinches. Not from pain but from memory. I don’t ask.
Not now.
With him, everything feels new, unfamiliar. His hands trace me, deliberate and careful. He reacts to things I don’t even realize - a caught breath, a shift in pulse. As if he can sense what I’m feeling before I do.
It starts urgent, a rush of sensation. But then he slows. His hands everywhere, reading things I don’t understand. My body responds before my mind catches up.
How can he sense what I need before I do?
Shouldn’t I feel exposed? This way he reads me, anticipates me. It doesn’t. Instead, I lean into it.
He moves like a starved man. His life has been too long without the warmth of another life close to his. He’s reverent, but there’s a current of desperation in it too, a tremble of his hand, a pause in his breath. His mouth traces my pulse, and for a second, I think he’s just listening - actually listening - to the sound of it.
When he kisses my collarbone, something in me unclenches. He slows down, and so do I.
The way he moves changes - slower now, more certain. His movements seem deliberate, sometimes questioning. Each shift pulls us into a rhythm that feels new, strange at first, but somehow right.
He hesitates. A sigh escapes - his or mine, I’m not sure. It comes from actually paying attention. From not wanting to miss anything.
He listens with his whole body. I can feel it - the way he waits for the smallest catch of breath before moving, the way his palm steadies when mine trembles. He’s studying me, learning me. And in that patient precision, I understand something without words: this is new to him.
His hands seem to figure out in seconds what others never noticed - and I’m realizing how starved I’ve been for someone to simply hear me.
I don’t think anyone ever really stopped to do that before. The rhythm between us builds again - not wild now, but honest.
Eventually, we stop searching. The urgency fades, and my world shrinks to the way his breath tickles my cheek.
There’s no reaching now, no distance. Just presence. His thumb traces a line down my jaw. Resting my head on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat, more relaxed than I thought was possible.
Afterward, in the quiet, I realize I’m not bracing anymore. There’s no need to prove anything, no performance required. Just this: you’re here. I see you.
His whole body trembles. Or is it mine? Maybe both.
He’s the one coming apart, but in holding him, I feel something inside me mend.
As his heart evens out beneath me, I think: this would be a story about two people who stopped hiding long enough to find each other.
But I know his story isn’t meant to be told, his story is meant to be lived.
He’s asleep and it’s the first time that haunted look has left his face.
One arm around my shoulders, his breathing even.
The room is dark but warm - heat still lingering on my skin. But my brain doesn’t know how to shut up, not even now.
Especially not now.
This… whatever this was - it wasn’t supposed to happen.
I’m not the type who loses control. I keep my walls high, my armor tight, my needs always boxed away. My past has taught me that. Or they just confirmed what I already feared - that if I let someone in, they’ll take what they want and leave me cold.
Others took my work, my trust, my dignity and left. Some even had the nerve to make me feel like the problem.
Like I was the broken one because I didn’t melt or moan on command. Because I wasn’t performative enough to make them feel powerful.
But Clark…
He didn’t expect anything. He simply waited for the answer I was able to give.
He gave.
He touched me like I was someone worth knowing. Not a puzzle to solve - just me.
And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever… I actually believe…
I’m not broken.
Clark… paused, waited, listened. Every time. Constantly checking to see if I have changed my mind. He wasn’t looking for a scoop, just the truth.
Claude didn’t fail to unlock some mystical key to my desire. He just wasn’t the one holding it. Because here I am, still flushed from the way this wonderful stranger - made me feel wanted.
Not used. Not conquered. Wanted.
And yet, even as I lie here, held by arms I don’t quite know, I feel the distance creeping in.
This was a one-time thing.
A fluke of adrenaline and loneliness, circumstance and timing. Two strangers crashing into each other because the world cracked open and neither of us wanted to fall alone.
There’s no future.
He’s not mine. I’m not anyone’s. I don’t do futures.
"Lois." He whispers tenderly in his sleep, and in his slumber, he instinctively cradles me closer and I pull the blanket fully over him.
A single, hot tear slips from the corner of my eye. Almost on its own, my hand moves to touch his cheek.
But I don’t, stopping myself before disturbing his sleep.
The sound of my name reminds me of a feeling I thought I’d locked away for good: the simple, honest safety of being wanted. Not just for a story, or for an assignment, but just for me.
The way he says my name feels like a promise.
I can’t let him go. But I will have to.
My heart already knows what my mind refuses to accept: he needs me. He needs protecting. And I will find him again.
And under all that warmth and exhaustion, something flickers. A pull toward him that feels deeper than reason, older than fear.
I won’t forget that.
And with that thought I drift off to sleep.
T. B. C. Feedback can go below.
