Page 45 of Chasing After You

His apartment was only two blocks down from the arcade bar, so the walk over was relatively short.

“You’ve never been there before? It’s so close to you.”

“I didn’t even know it was there, honestly,” he replied as we walked the last block to his place. “I don’t really get out much.”

“Hm,” I hummed. “Well, maybe we can find something new next time, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course, angel. Whatever you want,” I said.

We soon stopped at the entrance of his apartment building.

“Thanks for this,” he said, smiling fondly at me.

“No, thank you. Now, get some rest. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He was silent for a count, then asked, “Will you be watching again tonight?”

My breath caught. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He surprised me with a quick hug. So quick that I didn’t have enough time to register what was happening before he was scurrying into his building.

I stood there for a few long seconds, staring at the spot where he’d disappeared behind the glass doors. My arms still felt the ghost of his hug—brief, hurried, awkward, and warm in the most painfully innocent way.

He hugged me.

Hehuggedme.

I pressed my knuckles gently to my lips as I turned to walk away, trying to smother the triumphant smile threatening to split my face in two. The streets were quiet, and the evening chill was settling into my bones, but I barely noticed. I was too wired, too full of something—delight, maybe, or obsession shaped to look like joy.

It had gone far better than I’d imagined. He had laughed with me, touched me, opened that cautious heart just a sliver. There had been so much progress.

And that look—thatlook—he gave me when I told him he deserved fun, when I said I was happy just being near him… it was more than gratitude. It was longing, even if he didn’t realize it yet. His eyes softened when they met mine, and he let them stay, just for a moment. That wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t brotherly.

I replayed the whole night in my head as I walked through the lonely streets. The way his voice cracked slightly when he was flustered. The way he bit his lip when he was concentrating. The way he kept glancing at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

God, it was intoxicating. I felt high, and it wasn’t even the physical contact that did it. It was the connection. The conversation. Theease.We moved around each other like puzzle pieces finally slotted into place—bickering, joking, playing. Like something natural was finally being allowed to unfold.

He didn’t know it yet, but I was making memories for both of us, sealing these moments in amber. Proof that we could bethis—that wealready were.All I had to do was keep feeding him reasons to want me in his life. And then in his space. And then, eventually, in his bed. In that tight fucking ass of his.

I passed a row of dim storefronts and slowed my pace. For once, I didn’t want the walk to end.

I didn’t go home right away.

Instead, I stopped across from his building, just far enough to remain unseen, and leaned back against the brick wall of a closed boutique. The lights from his apartment glowed faintly through the curtains above: third floor, second window from the left.

It was a comfort to know he was there, that I’d put him to bed happy. That I could keep doing it.

He asked if I’d be watching again tonight.

He didn’t sound afraid when he asked.

No, he sounded curious.

Maybe even hopeful…

My fingers twitched in my coat pocket. I didn’t need to climb up, didn’t need to sneak through the shadows like I had before. That was desperation. This… this was savoring. Letting the ache swell and stretch until I couldn’t hold it in anymore.