Page 106 of Shrapnel

Breaths mingled and their heartbeats synchronized, an unconscious effort from their bodies to get closer. To evaporate any space between them.

They parted only because their lungs dictated it. Even so, their lips still rested against each other. Owen wasn’t sure he knew where his breaths began, and Jamie’s ended. Owen’s cast bumped against Jamie, and he only just now realized how uncomfortable it must be for him. He tried to pull it away, but Jamie caught it, bringing the fingers sticking out from the plaster to his lips. He kissed them delicately.

“It’s not your fault,” Owen said again.

“Do you know how I’ve lived with myself this long? Because the things I’ve done only hurt me. If I thought I was the reason someone was hurt, or stopped breathing, singing, gaming…I couldn’t live with myself.”

Owen kissed his brow, lingering against his warm forehead. “What if you were the reason someone felt safe?”

His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion and Owen laughed, kissing the wrinkles formed before sitting back and looking at Jamie. “You going to sign my cast?”

His face softened, one side of Jamie’s mouth curving higher than the other. “Can I write something dirty?”

“Yeah, you can.”

20

Dodging Bullets, Stepping on Mines

“This is excessive,”Owen whined, arms crossed.

If he thought his tantrum was working, he was partially right. It was working in the sense that Jamie thought the whole thing was adorable. His lips were twisted in a pout, which made his cheeks bunch up. Jamie resisted the urge to laugh as he pushed the wheelchair down the clean white hospital hall.

“You hit your head, O Face. The wheelchair is complimentary.”

“My legs arefine,” Owen pointed out, lifting both legs straight out. His jeans were filthy and there were droplets of blood by the pocket.

Jamie chuckled and just kept pushing. Owen had been unexpected. In every way. Jamie was trying to remind himself that he was staying away from him. That it wasn’t safe to be around him—but it was getting harder.

Owen asked. No one had ever asked before. Not even Elijah. He respected Jamie’s boundaries and accepted him as he was, never prodding. Creating a safe space. But Owen quite literally crawled into Jamie’s space and made camp. He asked and Jamie answered. And more than that, Owen didn’t run. He looked right at Jamie and kissed him. Kissed him in a way Jamie had never been kissed before.

To Jamie, physical intimacy was gnashing teeth and bruising fingers. Attempts to feel something, anything. They had all fallen flat, fleeting moments of adrenaline and pleasure that bled away the moment the sweat dried from his skin. But that kiss with Owen was lingering. It hummed under his skin. It brought out that gooey feeling he wasn’t familiar with. It was so very different than anything he was used to—strong enough to pierce his walls but soft enough that he felt like he could just dive into it. A sort of strange permanence. Like nailing a photo to the wall rather than just taping it. A feeling to stay.

“My computer,” Owen lifted his head suddenly. “Ugh. I took me forever to save for that!”

Jamie carded his hands through Owen’s hair. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Psht. Do you have any idea how expensive they are?”

“Do you have any idea how rich I am?”

Owen craned his head back so he could look at Jamie. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Jamie shrugged. “Weavers pay well. And sometimes I take jobs outside the Weavers. The super not legal kind.”

He felt an itch of discomfort at being so open with Owen. It was not something he was used to. But as of right now, Owen knew almost all of his secrets. He knew about his past and was still giving him dopey smiles that made Jamie’s heart beat like he just drank one of Owen’s energy drinks.

“Well, I guess the super illegal money can buy me a new computer. Since you don’t have to pay taxes on it and all.”

“Seems fair.”

Owen laughed. It was the middle of the night, and they were both exhausted. His cast was lying across his lap, a bright orange beacon of Jamie’s failure to protect him. That wouldn’t happen again. Because as much as his brain was screaming that the logical thing is to leave him, to put as much distance between his chubby cheeks and Jamie’s murderous hands as possible, he couldn’t let go. For the first time in his life, he found himself wanting to rely on someone. It gave him hope. Hope that maybe his walls weren’t impassable, and he could maybe leave them someday. Find a sense of normalcy.

Owen squeaked and Jamie looked up to see Grant standing in the middle of the hall. Looking perfectly put together in a casual suit, his hair slicked back. He was clean and refreshed despite the hour. Yet people were unconsciously giving him a wide berth, hugging the walls to put as much space between them as possible.

His crisp sleeves were rolled up and the white ink of his tattoo was just barely visible on the skin of his forearms. Looping swirls of clouds thatalmostblended into his skin.

Owen’s tensed when Grant lowered his gaze to him.