Nick
The silence in the doorway didn't just hang there; it pressed down on my chest until my lungs felt small, useless, and tight.
My eyes were fixed on the bed, but my brain was refusing to make sense of the shapes.
Cyan was sitting on top of him. On Mason. Straddling his lap, one leg hooked over his thighs.
His skin looked pale and smooth under the dim morning light, his mouth red and swollen.
And Mason… Mason was flat on his back, shirtless, sweating, his big hands still resting on Cyan's hips like he didn't know whether to hold him or let go.
And then Cyan looked over at me with those dark, quiet eyes, his hair a little messy, his collarbones bare.
"…Nick?"
He said my name like I'd just bumped into him at a grocery store. Like I was a mild surprise on a Tuesday morning.
Something inside my chest cracked. A quiet, sickening snap, right behind my ribs.
