Everything Meant Nothing
Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy
Chapter 8: Closer Than I Meant To Be
Romance Story: Chapter 8: Closer Than I Meant To Be - A story about first love, last goodbyes, and everything that still lingers in between. A new city, a new life but somehow, his ghost still follows me. Maybe this time, love won’t leave me behind.
Caution: This Romance Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Ma Teenagers Consensual Romantic Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Fan Fiction Mystery School Tear Jerker Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Voyeurism Slow
By the time we reached the flat, the night was quiet again. The kind of quiet that made everything feel more intense, like the world was holding its breath just for us. Theo’s car door clicked shut and before I could even brace myself, he was around the front, opening mine.
He didn’t speak. Just bent slightly, slipped his arms under my knees and shoulders again, and picked me up.
I didn’t protest this time. I didn’t even look away.
His grip was firm. Not rushed. Not awkward. Like he’d done this before. Like he wanted to.
The hallways blurred past in the low light, the hum of the fridge, the soft creak of the floorboard just outside my door. His chest was warm against my side, his jaw so close I could see the faint shadow of stubble coming in. I could smell him again, slower this time, without the rush of adrenaline. It hit me in layers: the crisp warmth of his cologne, something faintly citrus but grounded with a deeper, musky edge. Underneath that was the raw, clean scent of his skin like sweat and warmth, the kind of masculine heat that made me want to press closer. His breathing stayed calm. Mine didn’t.
When we got to my room, he didn’t hesitate. He nudged the door open with his foot and carried me in like I weighed nothing. Then, slowly, gently, he lowered me onto the bed. His hands lingered at my back just a second longer than they needed to. His eyes met mine for the briefest moment.
There was something there. Heavy. Unsaid. Close.
I don’t know if I leaned in or if he did. Maybe both of us did. But our faces were too close now. His breath warm against my cheek. Our knees touching. My lips parted, heart thudding, the air between us suddenly razor thin.
And then he pulled back.
“I’ll get you an ice pack,” he said softly, and disappeared.
I sat there, blinking, trying to gather myself, every nerve still buzzing. I touched the bed where his hand had just been.
When he came back, he had one of those reusable gel packs from the freezer wrapped in a thin towel. He walked over, paused at the edge of the bed, then jerked his chin toward me.
“Scoot.”
I blinked. “You don’t have to...”
“It’s the least I can do after being an asshole to you straight for a week.”
I didn’t argue. I moved over.
He sat beside me, ankle in his lap, one hand cradling my foot, the other pressing the ice pack gently against the swollen spot. His touch was warm through the towel. He kept his eyes on the ankle like it was something delicate. Like I was.