A gesture. Something that said I still thought about his pleasure, his preferences, the small indulgences he denied himself. Le Petit Jardin across town made those lavender honey croissants the same golden color as fresh bone dust. He'd described them like other men described art, but he never indulged in such luxuries for himself. Maybe today my gesture could bridge whatever distance had opened between us.
I slipped from beneath Egyptian cotton sheets, bare feet silent against polished hardwood. I held my moth against my chest with my maimed hand, its glow casting blue shadows across the room.
Should I take it with me? The thought of separation made my chest constrict. The moth had barely left my arms since Daddy gave it to me.
"You're coming with me this time," I whispered to it. Something inside me couldn't bear the thought of leaving it behind today. The premonition that had crawled up my spine all morning intensified. Better to keep my comfort close.
My clothes from last night lay scattered across his bedroom floor, designer pieces he'd selected now rumpled and stained beyond salvation. Blood on the cuffs. His cum on the shirt. Evidence of what we'd become together.
But Ezra had thought of this too, of course. In the walk-in closet, a section held clothes in my size. Not my own things brought over, but pieces he'd chosen specifically for me. Quality fabrics in colors he liked seeing me wear. I selected dark jeans and a soft gray sweater, both fitting perfectly because Daddy paid attention to details like that. Like everything else about taking care of me.
In his study, expensive stationery waited. My handwriting looked childish against the elegant surface, the stump of my finger making my grip awkward as I wrote:
Gone to get you something special. Back soon. Your boy, M.
I added a small heart beside my initial, then wanted to crumple the whole thing. The edge of my sleeve found its way between my teeth, the familiar texture against my tongue anchoring me as I considered starting over. But time was running short if I wanted to return before he woke, so I left it, cheeks burning with shame I couldn't name.
November air bit through my jacket as I stepped outside. The world had turned gray and brown while we were underground, colors drained like blood from a corpse. Traffic lights blurred past as I drove, my mind cycling through possible conversations, ways to bridge whatever distance had opened between us.
My mouth ached for the comfort of Daddy's chest, for the soft pulse beneath my cheek that told me I was safe. Maybe he’d let me have it again this morning, this time on the other side. I knew it pained him sometimes. He never complained, just held me and stroked my hair and called me his.
Sometimes, I’d look up and him and wish to hear those three little words neither of us had said yet. I told myself I was being selfish, that I didn’t need them. It was clear he loved me in the way he cared for me, the way he looked after me. What difference would it make to hear it out loud? And yet, I wanted that, wanted him to kiss my forehead, while I was at his chest, give me my moth to hold and say, “I love you, sweet boy.”
Maybe today, I thought. Maybe if I said it first, he’d say it back.
Le Petit Jardin glowed warm gold against the overcast sky, occupying a converted Victorian with the kind of architectural details that screamed old money. Bread and roasting coffee beans hit my nose as I pushed through the glass doors, my moth tucked under my arm.
"Cute moth," the barista said as I ordered everything I knew he loved. "My daughter collects plushies too."
I nodded, uncomfortable with the attention but unwilling to let go of my talisman. The moth's glow intensified slightly as I clutched it tighter, the velvet wings soft against my maimed hand. The lavender scent from the pastries reminded me of the preservation chemicals we'd used last night—sweet and sharp and perfect.
"Micah Salt?"
Ice water flooded my veins. I turned slowly, already knowing what I'd find.
Julian Frost looked immaculate even at this unholy hour, charcoal wool replacing his usual emerald velvet but with the same predatory smile carved into his face. The same calculatinggleam lit his eyes as they moved over my rumpled appearance, pausing with interest on the stump of my little finger as I accepted my order.
"Julian." I kept my voice steady despite my pulse jumping. My amputation site throbbed like a warning pulse. "Early morning for you."
"Same as you, I'd imagine." He gestured toward the pastry case, that practiced smile never shifting. "Ezra's mentioned this place. Their croissants are apparently divine."
The casual reference to Ezra set off every alarm bell in my head. How much did this fucker know about our routines? About his preferences? The art world was small, but this felt too fucking coincidental.
"Just grabbing breakfast," I said, accepting my order. The bag felt warm against my palms, filled with carefully selected peace offerings. My sleeve found its way between my teeth again.
Julian's eyes narrowed at the gesture, something knowing flashing behind them. "Of course. Such a thoughtful boy." Something oily slicked beneath Julian's surface charm. "I imagine Daddy appreciates having someone so... attentive to his needs."
My blood froze at his use of that word. That sacred word. Ours alone. Spoken only in moments when I was open, trembling, his. The fact that Julian knew it, used it so casually, made my skin crawl.
"I should get back," I said, edging toward the door. "He'll be wondering where I went."
"Will he?" Julian's head tilted, studying me like a specimen. "You look tired, Micah. Exhausted, even. Long night of... artistic collaboration?"
My blood turned to fucking ice. The way he said 'artistic collaboration' carried too much weight, too muchunderstanding. No one should know about our work. No one could know.
"I don't know what you mean," I replied, but my voice cracked.
Julian stepped closer. Close enough that expensive cologne mixed with something chemical and sharp. "Of course not. Just concerned about a fellow artist pushing himself too hard. You look like you could use some rest."
