CHAPTER 28
The drive to Aaron's house passed unexpectedly quickly.
The lock clicked.
It was surprisingly quiet beyond the door. Not heavy, not empty — just the peaceful kind of silence that exists only late in the evening. The air carried the faint scent of green tea and something fresh, pine-like, as though the forest itself had slipped inside with the dampness from outside.
Rick reached automatically for the light switch.
Nothing happened overhead.
Instead, a small lamp in the corner of the living room flickered on, bathing the room in a warm amber glow.
He pressed the switch again.
And again.
Nothing.
He looked at Aaron questioningly.
“I don't like overhead lights,” he said calmly, slipping off his shoes. “They hurt my eyes.”
Rick found himself watching him for a moment.
For some reason, such an unexpectedly ordinary little detail felt so... unmistakably Aaron.
The corner of his mouth lifted faintly as he quietly closed the door behind him.
A large pale sofa with a blanket carelessly draped across it. Books on a low coffee table. Warm lamps instead of cold ceiling lights. Everything was exactly where it belonged. Not a single object felt out of place.
In the gentle half-light, the apartment was nothing like Rick had imagined. There was none of the severe austerity he'd expected.
Something soft brushed against his leg.
A quiet meow.
Rick looked down.
A small black cat with white paws and a funny little white nose was rubbing against his boot. She confidently nudged her face against his pant leg, arched her back, and, purring contentedly, curled her tail around his calf.
He froze without thinking.
“Hey...”
The smile came all by itself.
But the next second, the cat darted away.
Aaron, keeping one hand almost unconsciously against his side, slowly crouched down. The cat immediately bounded over to him, rose onto her hind legs, hooked her tiny white paws into his trouser leg, and insistently offered the top of her head.
“This is Maslynka,” he said quietly.
Rick looked up at his face.
Aaron's fingers moved slowly through the black fur, gently scratching behind one small ear. Such a simple gesture. But his voice...
Rick had never heard it like that before.
Soft.
Almost tender.
Maslynka closed her eyes in contentment and purred loudly. Aaron smiled ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth, continuing to stroke her with such care that it seemed he was afraid of hurting her by accident.
For some reason, Rick couldn't look away.
Only a short while ago, those same hands had been clenched into fists so tightly that someone else's blood had run across his knuckles. Now they were stroking a little cat with the very same care.
That, more than anything else, caught him off guard.
Suddenly, he imagined this apartment late at night.
The same lamp.
The same silence.
Maslynka greeting her owner at the door.
Following him from room to room.
The way he'd sink wearily onto the sofa and absentmindedly bury his fingers in her fur.
Something inside Rick tightened quietly at the unexpected image.
Not painfully. Just with a quiet ache.
For one brief moment, he found himself wanting to stay here a little longer.
The cat wandered back over to him.
She rubbed against his leg again, as though she'd already decided there were now two people living in the apartment.
“Well, hello there...”
Rick crouched down and carefully ran a hand along her warm back.
Maslynka immediately began purring loudly.
“She likes you,” Aaron said.
Rick looked up.
In the dim light, Lake's gaze seemed completely different.
Calm.
At home.
“She doesn't usually let strangers get this close.”
“Animals like me,” Rick said with a smile.
Their eyes met.
Only for a second.
But for some reason, Rick suddenly had the feeling Aaron hadn't been talking about the cat at all.
He swallowed the words that had risen to his lips and quickly changed the subject.
“Where's your first-aid kit?”
“In the kitchen,” Aaron replied shortly, taking off his jacket. For a moment, he closed his eyes, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. “Top shelf.”
Rick nodded and headed into the kitchen.
It, too, was nothing like he'd imagined.
Warm. Quiet.
Soft under-cabinet lights illuminated the countertop, leaving the corners of the room in shadow. A black teapot sat on the wooden worktop. A bowl of green apples rested beside the window. Jars of spices stood in a perfectly even row, as though no one had ever moved them. A single mug was drying on the rack.
Rick paused without meaning to.
For some reason, that mug suddenly struck him as the most personal thing in the entire apartment.
He lightly brushed his fingers across the cool porcelain.
The scent of green tea and something fresh. His scent.
And then he caught himself thinking...
He liked it here.
Very much.
So much that he wanted to linger in the silence just a little longer.
He absently ruffled his hair before finally opening the upper cabinet.
The first-aid kit was right there. Beside it stood a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and behind that, an almost empty jar of coffee.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
“Of course...”
He reached for the first-aid kit, then stopped for a moment.
His hands were still sticky with dried blood.
He walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. Cold water immediately stung his scraped knuckles.
Rick winced faintly as he carefully washed away the dried blood. The water quickly turned pink before running clear again. Fresh abrasions and small cuts remained across his fingers.
He automatically picked up the kitchen towel lying nearby and dried his hands, took the first-aid kit, and closed the cabinet. But before leaving, his gaze drifted toward the living room.
Aaron was sitting on the sofa, slightly hunched.
His white shirt had turned almost completely dark with blood.
Loose strands of hair had fallen across his face.
He sat perfectly still, his eyes closed, as though conserving the last of his strength.
Something tightened unpleasantly inside Rick.
Until tonight, he'd thought Lake simply wasn't capable of looking this exhausted.
He took a deep breath.
The cabinet door opened again.
He poured a small splash of whiskey into a low tumbler, returned to the living room, and carefully sat down on the very edge of the sofa.
He placed the first-aid kit on the coffee table, dropped the pack of cigarettes that had been getting in the way in his pocket beside it, and held the glass out to Aaron.
“Want some?” he asked quietly.
“No,” Lake replied calmly without looking at him.
Rick suddenly remembered far too clearly what Aaron had said outside.
He swallowed and, before he could change his mind, said softly,
“I think I will…”
The whiskey immediately burned his tongue, throat, and chest. He hoped the heat would take his own ridiculous embarrassment with it.
He really did.
But it didn’t.
Rick simply opened the first-aid kit.
He took out bandages, cotton, peroxide, ointment. Carefully arranged everything on the coffee table, as though whether the bottles and packets lay perfectly straight would determine whether he could finally calm down.
It wasn’t working. His fingers were still trembling.
He took another sip, too quickly, and immediately winced when the liquor burned his throat again.
He looked up at Aaron.
They were sitting very close.
Alone.
At his house.
On his sofa.
Only a few hours ago, Rick had caught himself entertaining the almost insane thought that Aaron might kiss him. And now he was going to have to unbutton Aaron’s shirt himself.
He suddenly realized he simply couldn’t make himself reach out. The thought alone sent heat rushing to his face and dried his throat all over again.
Rick opened his mouth.
But couldn’t say anything.
He silently finished the whiskey.
As though hoping he could swallow his embarrassment along with it.
Aaron understood without a word.
He calmly reached for the top button.
Every movement seemed unbearably slow to Rick.
He undid one.
Then the second.
Another.
Rick couldn’t look away, even though his heart was pounding as if it were about to burst out of his chest.
When Aaron reached the last button, he paused for a moment.
Rick understood that it was his turn now.
His throat tightened again as he slowly reached forward.
“Careful…” he warned in an almost whisper, more to himself than Aaron, when his fingers touched the fabric.
The white shirt was soaked through with blood at the right side and clung heavily to the skin.
Rick leaned closer, caught the edge of the shirt, and began peeling the fabric away from his body literally inch by inch.
Aaron drew in a barely audible breath through his teeth.
It was the only sound.
No complaint.
No request to stop.
When the shirt finally came away, Rick saw the wound.
It began almost beneath the armpit and ran down along the ribs, nearly to the hip. The torn, inflamed edges of the skin had split so far apart that living tissue showed dark inside. The blood was no longer flowing as it had before, but it still seeped slowly, gathering in thin trails between his ribs.
Outside, it had looked like nothing more than a long cut. Now it was clear just how bad it was.
“That needs stitches…” he breathed, almost in a whisper.
“It doesn’t,” Aaron replied just as calmly. “It’ll heal on its own. Just clean it.”
Rick barely heard him.
He was still staring at the long gash, involuntarily imagining how deep the blade had gone. A little higher… He cut the thought off before it could fully form.
Only now did it truly sink in that Aaron had come close to dying.
Rick carefully touched his skin, holding the edge of the wound steady. The accidental contact made something inside him tighten painfully — his skin was warm.
He quickly looked away, picked up the cotton and peroxide, and only then realized his fingers were trembling again.
“Shit, bear with me…” he murmured, barely audible, as he poured peroxide over the wound.
Aaron drew in a short breath.
Rick saw his jaw tense immediately, the muscles standing out beneath the skin. Tiny beads of sweat appeared at his temples, and his lips went even paler, but he still didn’t make a sound.
“Almost done…” Rick said just as quietly, carefully dabbing the edge of the wound with cotton.
The smell of peroxide mixed with the smell of blood.
He held his breath without meaning to.
“Sorry…”
He tried to touch him as gently as possible, but every movement still caused pain.
“What are you apologizing for?” Aaron asked hoarsely.
Rick lowered his eyes.
“This is all because of me…” he said quietly, carefully wiping dried blood from the edge of the wound. “If it weren’t for me…”
Aaron flinched almost imperceptibly.
“Does it hurt?” Rick looked up sharply.
Aaron was silent for several seconds. He only exhaled slowly through his teeth.
“This?” The corner of his mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “It’s just a scratch… There are things in this world that hurt far more than some stupid cut.”
Rick carefully replaced the blood-soaked piece of cotton and touched the wound again, trying not to make any sudden movements.
The peroxide had long since stopped fizzing. All that remained was to apply the dressing, but he kept delaying, concentrating on every movement as though afraid one careless touch would cause pain.
When he finished bandaging him, he lingered for a moment and lowered his gaze.
Aaron’s knuckles were split. Dried blood darkened between his fingers, ground into the creases of his skin.
But before Rick could touch them, Aaron gently caught his wrist.
A warm palm carefully covered his hand. Rick’s fingers loosened instinctively, and Aaron calmly took the cotton from him.
Rick looked up.
Gray-blue eyes met his steadily and attentively.
So close.
He wanted to say something, but suddenly realized his mouth had gone dry.
Aaron soaked the cotton with peroxide and unexpectedly brushed it across Rick’s cheek himself.
Rick gave the faintest start.
The cut stung immediately, but he barely felt the pain. He had stopped thinking about his own scrapes altogether. All he could feel now was the warm palm still holding his hand.
“Bear with me,” Aaron said quietly.
He carefully steadied Rick by the back of the head so he wouldn’t flinch when the cotton touched the broken skin again. His fingers slipped unintentionally into the hair at the nape of Rick’s neck.
After lingering there for a second, he blew lightly across the wound.
Rick went still and drew in a sharp breath. A shiver ran down his spine.
He didn’t understand what was happening to him.
They were ordinary touches. Nothing more. But why did he feel so hot when Aaron’s hands were only warm and dry?
Aaron was in no hurry. He slowly cleaned away the blood, changed the cotton, touched Rick’s face again, not noticing that with every passing second it was becoming harder for Rick to breathe.
Rick was afraid to lift his eyes again, afraid that if their gazes met once more, Aaron would hear how desperately his heart was pounding.
When the scrapes had been treated, Aaron’s hand was still resting at the back of his head.
Rick remained seated, afraid to move.
Then Aaron leaned a little closer.
His gaze moved slowly down Rick’s neck. His fingers followed, brushing lightly over the skin, and stopped over the dark marks left by someone else’s fingers, already deepening into heavy bruises.
Rick drew in a breath without meaning to. He could feel Aaron’s breathing very close.
It became difficult to breathe.
He wanted to look away, to turn even slightly, but all he managed was a strained swallow.
He saw Aaron’s jaw tighten. The muscles stood out along his cheekbones. The fingers against Rick’s neck trembled almost imperceptibly, as though for one moment he had forgotten where he was, then immediately became careful again, nearly weightless.
Rick didn’t understand what was happening.
The closeness was too intimate. Aaron’s hands were still at his neck, his warm breath touched Rick’s face, and only a few miserable inches remained between them.
Rick had always thought that if he ever found himself this close to Aaron, he would be frightened.
But now the fear had disappeared somewhere.
With every passing second, the air around them seemed to thicken, growing heavier. The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in his head, the adrenaline from the fight still hadn’t faded, and all of it blended into a strange, almost painful sensation that made it impossible to move. It felt as though if he pulled away even slightly now, the moment would shatter and never happen again.
Rick caught himself staring too hungrily.
At the loose strand of Lake’s hair. Dark, slightly damp, clinging to his temple. It kept distracting him, drawing his gaze back. He wanted to gently brush it away. Simply run his fingers through Aaron’s hair.
Touch his cheek.
He swallowed quietly.
This was nothing like that day in the office.
Then, he had been frightened of himself. Of what he had felt, and afterward he hadn’t allowed himself to return to those thoughts for a long time.
Now everything was different.
