The security guard sitting in the lobby of Wyatt's apartment must remember me because he doesn't say anything when I enter the building and b-line for the elevators. I press the button for the third floor, and soon am stepping off into the plush hallway as I head for door 3A.

I pause before knocking on the door, nerves swirling in my stomach as I lift my fist and knock a few times. Then I wring my hands together, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait, the long pause between now and when he hopefully answers the door only making me more apprehensive.

This decision I've made to show up on his doorstep without calling or texting, especially after he told me he's staying in alone, is one that I know might change everything. Or, if he ignores me and doesn't answer the door, then maybe I'll just go home and pretend nothing happened. But I had to follow my intuition. Had to follow the part of me that could hear the struggle and exhaustion in his words before.

I'm about to lose hope when I hear the click of his lock and the door opens slowly.

Wyatt looks the way he sounded on the phone. Still handsome, but tired. His eyes are bloodshot, lips turned down in a slight frown, a vacant expression that tells me he's drunk, and probably has been for the better part of the day. He's wearing a large white t-shirt and red athletic shorts, his necklaces layered over the shirt, and his soft brown hair looking like he'd been running his hands through it out of frustration.

It's awkward for a moment because neither of us says anything immediately. The warm color of his eyes is now dark and clouded, a bit narrowed as they look me up and down slowly.

"Hey," I start. "I know, I didn't ask if I could come over, but I—I wanted to know that you were okay in person. Not over the phone."

"S'alright," he slurs a bit, stepping back as though to invite me in and I follow cautiously into his apartment. The lights are on but turned dim like they were that night on my birthday. Casting a soft, yellow hue across the spacious living room and kitchen.

Once inside, I pause watching him close and lock the door before he moves back to the kitchen and I tail along, not exactly sure what to do with myself yet. He slides onto one of the bar stools again, turning to look at me as I pause on the other side of the counter. There's a bottle of scotch on the island, with a glass next to it that's almost empty, ice cubes melting slowly. The sides of the glass sweating as cool drops slowly roll onto the counter to form a ring around it.

"You want a drink?" He asks, voice rough and gravely.

"No," I shake my head, smiling a bit. "No, I—"

I pause then when I notice a darkening bruise on the righthand side of his jaw. Blossoming a bit onto the lower part of his cheek, tainting his otherwise smooth, tanned skin.

"What happened to your face?" I ask gently, stepping closer to him and he chuckles.

"That chick I was hooking up with punched me." He explains briefly, grabbing the glass and finishing the scotch before he's pulling the bottle towards him to refill it.

"Which one?" I make a small joke and he laughs, glancing up at me to smile finally. It's not like he usually smiles, there's not as much joy there, more like he's smiling at the irony of it all.

"Cassidy," he says quietly, filling his glass again before taking another sip, and I nod. I remember him telling me about her a while ago. He'd said she was 'nice enough', a description that I shuddered to think he might use for me if we hadn't stopped giving in to our mutual attraction for one another.

I slide my hand towards his then, his fingers loosening as mine brush his and take the glass from him. His eyes seem wider now as he watches me lift the glass to my lips and take a slow sip. It's disgusting I don't understand how men can sit around drinking this shit and pretending like their sipping on fine wines or real hot chocolate made in a Parisian café.

I must make a face because Wyatt laughs again as I lower the glass and shiver a bit as I swallow the drink. Then I move forward, silently reaching for his jaw, but pausing before I make contact, waiting until he nods wordlessly.

He lets me slide my palm across the left side of his face, tilting his head up towards the dim lights as I move the glass forward and press it to the bruise there. The glass cold from the ice.

"Sounds like I need to find this girl and teach her a lesson." I say and he smiles again, closing his eyes for a moment, almost like he's enjoying the contact.

"Nah," he speaks, opening his eyes to meet mine. "I deserved it."

"No one deserves to be hit Wyatt." I correct him and he sighs deeply.

"I was an asshole," he explains. "I was just using her, and she figured it out. Then she punched me, called me a 'dick'."

"Why do you say you were using her?" I ask and he shrugs, his hands reaching forward as he turns in his barstool, and they gently wrap around my waist to pull me closer. I adjust, standing between his legs now, close enough to study how soft and smooth his face is. To admire the sharp curve of his jawline, the way his nose is perfectly symmetrical, and the soft pink color of his lips.

"Because I was," he says, one hand moving from my waist to close around my hand holding the glass to this jaw. He lowers it slowly, removing it from my hand and placing it back on the counter. "I was trying to un-confuse myself. I thought if I stayed distracted it would help me not think about you so much."

"Think about me?" my voice sounds small and uncertain. He nods.

"It didn't work," he tells me. "It hasn't worked. Not since that night we danced at that party ..." he pauses, and I swallow hard, at a loss for words. "Before that actually, that night when I got there and saw you dancing on the table against the light. I didn't know it was you until you turned around and then I knew I was fucked."

"Wyatt," I whisper, the feeling and emotion swirling in his eyes now making it hard for me to breathe, especially this close to him. "B—because you're attracted to me?"

"You know it's more than that now." He breathes, voice low and somber.

"Why are you telling me this?" I choke out. "I mean, what am I supposed to do?"

He watches me carefully then, eyes searching mine and I know he can see the same thing he must be feeling. But I'm not good at telling people my emotions out loud. I've never been good at expressing how I feel for someone. Maybe it's the way I grew up or the influence of my mother and her dedication in life to showing as little emotion as possible. Either way I can't change it. It's too hard and it makes me feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Well," he speaks finally, a smirk playing on his lips. "You came here tonight, you wanted to see me. So, you can't tell me you aren't confused too."

"I wanted to be here for you," I say slowly, gasping a bit when both his hands wrap around my waist again and pull me closer. "I care about you; I know what today means."

"What?" he scoffs, shaking his head, his gaze moving somewhere behind my left shoulder for a moment. "Because my parents died today?"

"Yes." I say evenly, my own hands rising now to rest on top of his, steadying his grip on me and then he looks back to me. I can tell he's beyond drunk at this point, expression a bit slanted.

"I guess today really is my Independence Day, isn't it?" He makes an attempt to joke, to shrug off the pain I know is weighing on him, but one look at his face tells me it's not funny.

Far from it, it's terribly sad. I see the tears welling behind his eyes then, their color not so dark anymore as he takes a breath. Without words, without knowing he needs it, I move forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and pull him into my arms as his shoulders behind to shake.

He cries silently, head buried against my chest as his breathing becomes a bit more erratic, one hand gripping at the back of the swimsuit I have on, the other reaching up, tangled in my hair as it settles against my neck.

"Easy," I whisper, remembering how he'd comforted me before. Under completely different circumstances, but still, it felt right. "Shh, it'll be okay."

"Fuck," his voice is muffled against me, his breath slowing a bit now as he seems to calm down and squeeze me tighter.

"Is it okay if I stay here tonight? With you?" I ask, one of my hands wrapped tightly around his upper back as the other strokes his hair, the silky strands passing easily between my fingers. I feel him nod against me, pulling me even closer, adjusting me so that I'm suddenly sitting sideways in his lap.

He lifts his head then, eyes red and puffy. I move my hand from his hair, reaching up to wipe away the tear tracks left on his rosy cheeks.

"I'm a fucking mess," he hums, taking another deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," I comfort him. "The last time I was here, I almost spent the night on your bathroom floor, and you had to help me wipe the vomit off my face. Everyone's a mess sometimes."

The heavy cloud that had settled above us breaks then, some small semblance of sunlight shining through as he finally laughs. Really laughs, his eyes crinkling and white teeth flashing at me as he shakes his head. I laugh with him, biting my lip and smiling.

"I'd never made a girl cum so hard she threw up," he tells me, and I blush instantly. "It was a first for me too."

"You made me—well, you know," I say struggling to be as blatant as him. "The tequila is what made me throw up."

"For a girl who seriously doesn't seem to give a single fuck most of the time, I love that talking about sex makes you blush like that." He muses and I roll my eyes.

"It's personal." I protest and we both laugh again. The laughter settles eventually, my breathing becoming shallow again when his eyes find mine and the same look from before is there. The look that says he doesn't want to let me go, and that he knows I don't want that either.

"I have an idea," I say slowly, and he grins. "Why don't we put that big jacuzzi tub of yours to use?"

"Well," he shrugs. "You know that they say, friends that take baths together, stick together."

Then we're giggling together as he eases me off his lap and I help him up, his arm swinging around my shoulders as we make our way towards his bedroom and then to the ensuite there. Once in the bathroom, I sit him down on the tiled edge of the tub, moving away to start the water while he watches. I figured it'd be a good way to relax and to also wash off the smell of alcohol.

We both brush our teeth while the tub fills, lucky for me he had a spare toothbrush, and once we're done, he moves to the tub now. Sliding his shorts off and pulling his t-shirt forward, over his head. I rinse my mouth, trying to avoid letting my gaze travel down but as I stand up, I catch a glimpse of him in the mirror.

His tall body is muscular and strong, his back muscles flexing as he lifts himself into the tub and I swallow hard when I catch site of his dick.

I should have known. It's always the guys who never boast that they are significantly packing. Part of me aches then, tension coiling between my legs as I tear my gaze away and set the toothbrush down.

"I saw that." Wyatt teases me, his body now safely beneath the water as I turn back to the tub, and I flush again.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's alright," he shrugs. "I don't mind you checking me out. So long as I get to do the same."

"Oh, well," I pause, snapping the strap of my swimsuit. "This is actually a bathing suit, so there's no need for that."

"Nope," he shakes his head, gaze playful as he smirks. "You either strip, or you can sit on the edge wait for me to be done."

"That is not very nice." I retort and he raises an eyebrow.

"You got to see me naked."

"Well, payback because you've already seen me naked a while ago. And I didn't get to see any of your goods then." I point out and he laughs.

"Exactly," he continues. "I've already seen you naked, what's the harm in getting another look?"

I huff, reaching over to switch the faucet off as the tub finishes filling. Then stand back upright again, with my hands on my hips. I feel like I'm playing with fire. That if I get into that tub naked with him there's really no going back. But I guess I am the one who suggested this brilliant idea. At the time though, I really did think I'd just climb wearing my swimsuit.

"Look," his gaze softens. "I don't want to pressure you. Obviously, you don't have to be naked if you don't want to. I'm just saying that I'm cool with it either way."

"Right," I nod, tone sarcastic. "You're cool either way."

He nods sincerely and I cave, shaking my head as I undo the top button of my shorts and slide them down my legs, kicking them to the side as he watches. I lock eyes with him, his jaw working as he breathes deeply, heat swirling against the warmth of his intense gaze. Then I slide the straps of the bathing suit off, the cool air pulling my nipples tight as I push it down my hips and kick that to the side the second it reaches my ankles.

I thank the gods then that I shaved my whole body this morning. Lifting my chin slightly, tossing all my hair over my shoulder as I let him take me in. It's a strangely erotic moment, allowing him to watch me undress and look at my naked body in the bright bathroom lighting. His gaze lingers over my breasts and then drifts lower to the apex of my thighs. The desire in his eyes causes his pupils to dilate, the need I sense there making me want to clamp my legs together as an ache settles in my core.

But I already know it's more than just sexual desire too.

He trusted me enough to strip down in front of me like this, without the premise of having sex. And I've just shown him I trust him too as I move finally, lifting one leg at a time over the edge of the bathtub before I settle in the water too.

"Am I allowed to say something crass?" he asks, voice a bit rough.

"Sure." I giggle, running my hands through the water around me as I sink down across from him, the bottom of my hair soaking as I relax against the opposite wall of the tub.

"You have a gorgeous body," he breathes, tone deep and silky. It sends a shiver up my spine, my nipples still tight despite being in the warm water now, especially combined with the look he's giving me. "I mean, fuck, your tits are perfect."

"Thank you," I say, smiling and biting my lip again. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Oh," he smirks. "You get a good look at everything?"

"Mmm hmm," I say, nodding. "I guess I was wrong when I said you averaged 3 to 4 inches on a good day. Sorry about that."

"I can forgive you," Wyatt says slowly, mischief playing in his eyes. "But I don't know about him." He glances down then, gesturing to his dick and I roll my eyes.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, his ego isn't as big as it looks," he tells me, and I laugh.

"And let me guess," I say, my tone mocking as I stick my bottom lip out. "Little Wyatt will only feel better if he gets a blow job?"

We both burst out into laughter then, Wyatt shaking his head and rolling his eyes at me while we watch each other. Enjoying both the clear sexual charge in the air mixed with the simultaneous easy and platonic nature of the night. I knew if Wyatt really wanted to instigate something, I'd no longer be on the other side of the tub from him. But we seem to both understand tonight isn't about that.

So, despite the looks we keep giving one another and the obvious tension between us when he wraps a towel around my body as we get out of the tub, he still doesn't touch me. I know he wants to; I can see it in the hunger and lust still shimmering in his eyes. And I don't miss the fact that he's rocking a semi, his towel slightly tented as we move back to his bedroom.

Nonetheless, he passes me a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, which I pull on gratefully, wringing the damp ends of my hair out before I take both our towels to hang in the bathroom. Then I drain the tub, switching the light off in the bathroom and grabbing my phone, which I'd left on the counter.

There's a message from River, telling me to stay safe and wishing me luck, but other than that no one else has contacted me, and I'm grateful. I walk back into Wyatt's bedroom then, he's dressed in a pair of low hanging sweatpants, pulling back the duvet on his bed as I close his bedroom door and switch that light off too.

"Come here," he says the second I climb into the bed, and I oblige, allowing him to pull me into his arms, spooning me from behind as he wraps me up against his chest. He's warm and strong, making me feel safe.

"This is nice," I whisper. "Tonight, has been nice."

"Better than nice," he answers me, voice calm and a bit sleepy now. "You completely changed my day, Aurora. Thank you."

"Anytime." I sigh, snuggling in closer, intertwining my fingers with his as something inside me swells. I'm not ready to say it yet, I don't even know what this means, but I do know one thing. I don't want to go back, don't want to unknown the way it feels for Wyatt to hold me, because for once in my life I feel like I'm right where I belong. Like I'm finally home. 

* * *