Chapter 54: What the soul wants.

Chapter 54: Chapter 54: What the soul wants.

Sebastian stood beside one of the narrow windows in the medical suite, watching rainwater gather at the edge of the stone terrace before spilling into the dark gardens below.

He had finished speaking with Lucas and Trevor less than ten minutes ago.

His parents had looked exhausted even through the screen.

Lucas had tried to hide it behind questions about the physicians, the transition, the new equipment, whether Sebastian was eating enough, and whether Nero was behaving himself, while Trevor had mostly watched him with that unnervingly quiet expression Sebastian had inherited from him.

Sebastian had lied again.

He had told them he was improving.

Technically, that part was true.

He had told them the pain was manageable.

That was debatable.

Then Lucas had asked whether he was all right, and Sebastian had answered yes before he could consider what the word meant anymore.

Now the call was over, the tablet rested abandoned on the small table behind him, and Sebastian could admit privately that he had absolutely no idea what he was feeling.

The memory from earlier had broken something open.

Worse, the harmless lie he had given Nero afterward had forced Sebastian to look directly at everything he had spent years carefully refusing to name.

He liked Nero.

Sebastian pressed both hands over his face.

No.

That was cowardly wording, and he was getting tired of lying to himself more than anyone else.

He loved the damned man.

The realization should have felt new.

It did not.

That was what made it unbearable.

It felt old.

Buried.

Like finding a room inside his own house that had always existed behind a wall he had deliberately refused to remove.

Nero irritated him.

Provoked him.

Manipulated situations until Sebastian occasionally wanted to throw him through the nearest window.

He was possessive enough to make ordinary jealousy look civilized, arrogant enough to negotiate with medical science as though it were a government department, and entirely too willing to treat Sebastian’s boundaries as obstacles requiring creative interpretation.

And Sebastian loved him.

Apparently some treacherous part of him always had.

The vision had simply removed the last excuse.

He lowered his hands.

His reflection looked tired in the dark glass, green shirt loose against a body that had lost more strength than Sebastian wanted to acknowledge, with dark hair still slightly damp from the shower.

He thought about the other life.

Sunlight.

Nero smiling.

Not the dangerous smile Sebastian knew now, sharpened by years of frustration and restraint stretched thin.

A warm one. Easy. Happy.

Sebastian had leaned into him without fear.

Had worn his ring.

Had looked at Nero as though belonging beside him was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Sebastian wanted that.

The admission hurt.

He wanted the warmth from that memory with an intensity that frightened him more than the blood ever had.

He wanted Nero grinning because Sebastian had walked into his chest.

Wanted to fix his mantle without thinking about it.

Wanted to hear my moon without immediately searching for the trap beneath the words.

He wanted the version of Nero who had apparently once been allowed to love him without constantly expecting Sebastian to disappear.

And perhaps that was the ugliest part.

Sebastian had helped create the Nero he had now. Not alone. Nero had always possessed something slightly unhinged beneath the elegance. But years of rejection had given it teeth.

Sebastian knew perfectly well what Nero would do if he believed Sebastian was dying.

Anything.

There was no moral line strong enough to stop him.

That knowledge was one of the reasons Sebastian had never seriously tried to end everything during the worst years, when the dominant-alpha instability had become painful enough that death occasionally seemed less frightening than what might happen if he lost control.

He had known Nero would find out.

And Nero would not react like a reasonable person mourning someone he loved.

He would tear apart every circumstance surrounding it looking for someone to punish, then probably turn the destruction inward when there was nobody left.

Sebastian had never been arrogant enough to believe his death would only belong to him.

Not with Nero in the world.

He exhaled slowly.

His soul wanted that man anyway.

Perhaps it always had.

The thought should have sent him retreating toward the bed and another week of avoidance.

Instead, Sebastian turned away from the window.

He was tired of retreating.

The physicians would object to him wandering through the villa alone, but they were occupied in the adjoining diagnostic room, and Sebastian had already learned which door opened quietly.

He slipped out wearing soft house shoes and the green shirt Lucas had packed, moving slowly enough that the tug beneath his ribs never became actual pain.

The corridor outside Nero’s private rooms was dimmer than the medical wing, warm sconces reflecting from dark wood and silver detailing along the walls.

Hale was nowhere in sight.

That was suspicious enough that Sebastian suspected Hale knew exactly where Nero was and had decided not to interfere.

He reached Nero’s suite.

The door was unlocked.

Sebastian stepped inside.

Warm air met him immediately, carrying the faint scent of cedar, clean fabric, and Nero’s pheromones underneath everything.

The bedroom lights were low.

A dark purple robe had been thrown across the foot of the enormous bed, and Nero’s clothes from earlier were folded with suspicious neatness across a chair, probably by someone other than Nero.

Water moved somewhere beyond the partially open bathroom door.

Sebastian stopped.

He had not actually considered how he intended to begin this conversation.

That seemed like an oversight.

The water stopped.

A few seconds later, Nero appeared.

He had apparently abandoned whatever idea of modesty royal upbringing was supposed to provide, wearing only loose black trousers sitting low at his hips while he dragged a towel through his long wet hair.

He froze the moment he saw Sebastian.

The towel lowered.

"What are you doing here?"

Concern came first.

Sebastian almost smiled at the predictability.

"I walked."

"That was not the question."

Nero crossed the room immediately, bare feet silent against the carpet, wet white-blond hair clinging across his shoulders and chest.

"Why are you out of the medical suite?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

Nero stopped an arm’s length away.

His gaze moved over Sebastian automatically, checking color, breathing, and posture, probably searching for blood.

Sebastian caught his wrist before Nero could reach for him.

"I’m fine."

Nero’s eyes narrowed.

Sebastian sighed.

"Actually fine." ℴℴ𝘮

That softened him slightly.

"You could have called me."

"I could have."

"You should have."

"I wanted to come here."

That made Nero quiet.

Sebastian could almost see the calculations starting behind those violet eyes.

He tightened his fingers around Nero’s wrist.

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking six moves ahead before I finish the first sentence."

Nero’s mouth curved faintly.

"I make no promises."

Sebastian looked at him.

At the wet hair, the bare skin still flushed from the bath, the tension Nero had not yet managed to hide.

This man would burn himself alive before admitting he was afraid.

Sebastian suddenly understood why the smiling Nero from the memory had hurt so much.

He wanted that one back.

Maybe he could have him. Not the same. But perhaps this life did not have to end the way the others had.

Maybe the difference was not avoiding Nero.

Maybe the difference was choosing him.

Sebastian released his wrist only to slide his hand down into Nero’s palm.

Nero went completely still.

Sebastian’s heart betrayed him with a painful beat.

"I want you."