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67
Silas’s lashes fluttered, his eyes opening slowly against Mateo’s chest.

He tilted his face slightly, watching Mateo brush lazy circles into his hair, so gentle it almost hurt.

A pang of guilt cut through him. His lips parted, but the words didn’t escape aloud—just a whisper in his own head, silent and sharp:

Sorry, Mateo… I know you’ll find out someday.

His throat tightened. He shifted just enough to hide his expression, tucking his face deeper against Mateo’s skin as though burrowing away from the weight of his own secret.

Silas groaned, rolling onto his side, every muscle aching in ways he wasn’t ready to admit out loud. His thighs trembled when he tried to move, and he winced, biting his lip.

Mateo, already awake, lay propped on one elbow, watching him with a smirk that was equal parts smug and tender. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Can’t walk already?” His voice was teasing, but his hand immediately slid to Silas’s waist, steadying him when he shifted again with a soft hiss.

“Shut up,” Silas muttered, burying his face into the pillow, ears burning. “You don’t need to gloat.”

Mateo leaned down, pressing a kiss behind his ear, his tone dropping low. “Not gloating. Just… admiring my handiwork.” His palm brushed down Silas’s side, slow, careful, as though cataloguing every shiver.

Silas squirmed, half annoyed, half melting. “I can’t even move properly.”

“Good,” Mateo chuckled, rolling him gently onto his back. “Means you’ll stay in bed where I want you.”

Before Silas could argue, Mateo pulled the sheets higher, tucking them around him like he was the most fragile thing in the world. Then, surprisingly soft, he brushed hair out of Silas’s eyes, leaning down to kiss his swollen lips.

“I’ll get you water,” Mateo murmured, thumb stroking across Silas’s cheekbone. “Then breakfast. You don’t have to lift a damn finger today.”

Silas blinked up at him, startled by how… caring he sounded. “Mateo…”

Mateo silenced him with another kiss, this one slow and deep, his forehead resting against Silas’s. “Let me take care of you, Silas. For once—just let me.”

Silas’s chest tightened, his lips parting as he whispered, almost trembling, “You’re so annoying huh”

Mateo only grinned, sliding out of bed, all bare muscles and wicked charm, tossing a look over his shoulder. “And still yours.”

Mateo returned from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate balanced in the other.

His hair was a mess, his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, but his eyes—those stupid, warm eyes—were focused only on Silas.

“Sit up,” he ordered gently, setting the tray on the nightstand. When Silas struggled, Mateo slid an arm behind his back, lifting him with ease and tucking pillows behind him. “There. Don’t move.”

Silas swallowed hard, watching the way Mateo blew on the coffee before handing it over like he was afraid it might burn him. Watching the way he cut the toast into neat halves, like Silas couldn’t manage on his own.

His chest ached.

“You’re staring,” Mateo said, smirking as he handed him a fork. “Is it because I look too good playing house for you?”

Silas forced a laugh, shaking his head. “Something like that…”

But inside, the guilt gnawed. He doesn’t deserve someone like me. Not when I’m lying. Not when I’m hiding things that could break him. He deserves honesty, someone pure—not a traitor like me.

Mateo brushed crumbs from Silas’s lip with his thumb, chuckling when Silas turned red. “You’re cute when you pout, you know that?”

Silas’s throat tightened. His smile stayed, but his thoughts screamed. Don’t be this good to me, Mateo. Don’t make it harder when the truth comes out.

Mateo leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple, whispering against his skin, “Eat. You need strength.”

And Silas took the bite, even as the guilt burned hotter than the coffee in his hands.

Silas’s fingers trailed over the ink on Mateo’s forearm, slow and hesitant, like he was trying to memorize the story hidden in the lines.

Mateo lay still, letting him trace, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Then, almost too quietly, he said,

“I don’t usually let people touch them.”

Silas froze, glancing up at him. “Your tattoos?”

Mateo gave a half-shrug, his lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Mm. They mean things I’ve never told anyone. Things I didn’t think anyone would care to hear.”

Silas’s finger paused at the jagged mark near his shoulder, and Mateo exhaled, voice low.

“I was… a nerdy kid. Glasses, books, awkward as hell. Easy target.” His laugh was humorless, almost bitter. “They used to shove me into lockers, call me names, break my stuff. And I’d come home, and it felt like no one saw me there either.”

Silas’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something, but Mateo kept talking, eyes still fixed upward, as if afraid to meet his gaze.

“The first one I got was this one.” He tapped the ink Silas had just traced. “It was a promise to myself—that I wouldn’t be small anymore. That I wouldn’t let them win.” His jaw clenched, then softened. “But underneath it, I was still that lonely kid. Tattoos don’t cover that part.”

Silas’s throat burned. He wanted to blurt out, You’re not that boy anymore. You’re everything now. But his guilt roared louder: And you’re a liar sitting in his bed, pretending you deserve his truth.

Instead, he leaned closer, whispering, “Mateo…”

Mateo finally turned his head, their eyes locking. He smirked softly, but his voice was raw. “Guess you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to tell that to.”

The sheets rustled as Silas shifted closer, about to say something, when Mateo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Mateo reached for it lazily, still smiling—until the name on the screen lit up. His expression shifted instantly, the softness draining from his face. His jaw tightened, shoulders stiffening as though the air itself had changed.

Silas noticed, brows knitting. “Who is it?”

Mateo didn’t answer right away. He leaned down instead, pressing a firm, grounding kiss to Silas’s lips. His hand lingered against Silas’s jaw, almost like he didn’t want to let go.

“Stay right here,” Mateo murmured, low and steady, eyes locked on him with a seriousness that made Silas’s chest tighten. “Obey Daddy.”

Before Silas could reply, Mateo pushed off the bed, phone in hand, striding out of the room with that storm brewing in his eyes.

And Silas was left staring after him, heart racing—half afraid, half burning with questions.