Keith was lonely. He tossed and turned for hours in the queen size bed in Justin and Micah’s guest room before he gave up on trying to sleep and reluctantly padded downstairs to the living room. Their house was gorgeous, an antique-styled bungalow with wood built-ins and checkerboard floors in the bathroom, but the planks in the hallway creaked and groaned, every noise spiking Keith’s pulse and sending him into a panic.

He turned the TV on and set the volume to as low as he could without muting it before he tucked into the arm of the couch and pulled a knit blanket up to his chin. He closed his eyes, the light from the program penetrating through his eyelids anyway. Keith sighed and slid further down the couch, resting his head on the arm and tucking his knees into his chest.

He pushed an arm out of the blanket and tapped softly at one of the bandages on his cheeks. It didn’t hurt as bad as earlier, but that could also have been due to the pain medication he’d taken before bed. He was thankful he hadn’t gotten a clear look at himself before the emergency room nurses had cleaned him up because the reflection he had now was gruesome enough.

Russ had pressed Keith’s face into the dirt-covered asphalt outside of Rapture and he’d really put his weight into it, grinding Keith’s cheek into the ground. The nurse had spent half an hour picking dirt and rocks from the gash under his eye, every piece of debris landing with a hollow clink in the metal tray she’d brought with her.

His entire body ached, not just outside, but inside. His heart and brain completely frayed after enduring the past weeks with Russ. Keith threw the blanket back and walked with purpose into the small downstairs guest bathroom, closing the door and flicking on the light. He picked at his bandages, peeling the medical tape away until his reflection was bare-faced.

Keith forced his eyes to the mirror, cataloguing every scrape, bruise, and divot in his flesh. The yellow and green kaleidoscope bruises that radiated out from the side of his nose, the noticeable swelling of his upper lip, the road rash, the scabbing… Every time Keith felt like crying, he closed his eyes and breathed deep, standing silent until he felt ready to face himself again.

A soft knock at the door was enough to make him look away. He turned the light off and pulled the door open, revealing a sleepy-looking Justin wearing only a pair of low-slung pajama pants, standing in the hallway.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Keith looked away, not wanting to admit what he’d been doing in there and equally unwilling to let his eyes linger over the exposed skin of Justin’s softly muscled stomach and chest.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to wake you with the TV.”

“You were in there awhile,” Justin commented, stepping aside to let him by.

Keith hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Back in the living room, the clock on the mantle indicated it had been nearly an hour since he’d come downstairs.

“Sorry,” he repeated, unsure of the correct reply.

“You don’t need to apologize. And you didn’t wake me.”

“Is Micah asleep?” Keith asked, dropping into the corner of the couch and pulling the blanket back up to his chest.

“He was when I got up,” Justin confirmed. “Do you want company?”

“Don’t you have to work in a few hours?” Keith questioned, pulling the blanket closer anyway to make room for Justin to sit.

“I’m taking the day off.”

“Oh.” Keith stared at the television, not even sure what was on anymore. Justin sat beside him quietly, one foot curled on the couch and tucked beneath his knee. Keith didn’t mind the silence, finding comfort in Justin’s presence alone.

But then again, he always had felt that way around Justin, even when he’d held him at arm’s length. He saw the same things in Justin that Micah did. Justin was a caretaker and a protector, and he was stern and unflinching in his dedication. Even in his silence, Justin was reliable.

“Could you not sleep?” Justin asked after a considerable amount of time had passed.

“No.”

“Afraid?” he asked, turning his head toward Keith.

Keith chewed on the inside of his mouth and stared at the ceiling, nodding slightly. “I guess, yeah. Jumpy.”

“The house is old,” Justin confirmed.

Another silence stretched between them, the flickering colors of the TV show bouncing around the walls.

“We can get you one of those white noise machines today,” Justin offered. “Maybe it’ll mask the sounds of the house settling.”

Keith swallowed. “You don’t want me staying up on your couch all night watching syndicated crime shows?”

“I want you to get a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s been awhile,” Keith retorted, his voice laced with bitterness.

“If you want to talk about what happened, you can,” Justin told him. “To me, or to Micah, or whoever. I can get you Jack’s phone number if you want to talk to Callum even.”

Keith shook his head. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Why?”

“What happened to him is my fault. That’s a lot to live with.”

“Callum is okay, Keith. He has a fat lip and a broken clavicle, that’s all,” Justin attempted to console him.

“That’s all?” Keith felt sick, his stomach roiling around like an angry sea. Callum had chased after him and now he was in worse condition than Keith was, when Russ and Brandon had only come for him in the first place. “He has a broken bone because of me!”

“Hush,” Justin warned, reminding Keith to lower his voice. “You’ll wake Micah if you don’t quiet down.”

Keith blinked away his tears, guilt weighing on him like nothing he’d ever felt before. Justin reached toward him and tugged the blanket away, taking one of Keith’s shaking hands in his. Justin held his hand and pulled him upright, then kept pulling until Keith pressed against Justin’s side, their hands still entangled.

“We don’t need to talk about any of that right now,” Justin whispered.

Keith was thankful for the change in direction, but completely unable to keep his thoughts from focusing on how fucking hot Justin’s skin was against his arm. Justin held him like that, in this awkward yet somehow reassuring half-sitting position that reminded his cock of everything he couldn’t have for another indecipherable amount of time that was only marked by the brightening of the room as the sun rose over the horizon.

“Are you going to go back to bed?” Keith asked, looking down and finding his hand still tangled with Justin’s.

Justin yawned and looked at the mantle clock. “I should.”

Keith’s muscles tightened, curling around his bones painfully.

“Of course,” he agreed, reminding himself Justin had a husband in bed upstairs, reminding himself he was a guest in their home…again, reminding himself none of this belonged to him.

“Sit tight, Keith,” Justin said, loosening their hands. He stood and stretched, leaning down and tucking the blanket around Keith’s exposed toes. He walked out of the room, and judging by the creaking wood, went back upstairs. Keith heard soft mumbles and vibrations, followed by two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Keith turned and looked, finding a sleep-mussed Micah trailing behind Justin, their king size tartan comforter wrapped around his shoulders.

Justin patted the couch, the arm opposite Keith, and Micah curled up into the corner, poking a leg out. Keith looked at the empty cushion between them, then expectantly up to Justin.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” he said, retreating to the kitchen.

Micah poked Keith with his toe.

“Why are you up so early?” he mumbled, rubbing his hair away from his forehead clumsily.

“I haven’t slept,” Keith answered.

“Why not?”

Keith shrugged. “Lonely. Afraid.”

“We’re here,” Micah said with a yawn, as if it were the most common sense explanation on the planet.

“Yeah, but not here here,” Keith countered.

“But you’re not alone,” Micah shot back as Justin re-entered the living room with a mug of coffee. He lowered himself onto the middle cushion of the couch, swatting Micah’s extended leg out of the way. Micah grumbled while Justin took a small sip from his mug.

“Come on, then,” he said.

Micah quickly rearranged himself away from the arm of the couch, nestling under Justin’s outstretched arm and closing his eyes. Justin took another drink of his coffee and looked at Keith expectantly.

“What?” Keith asked, unsure of what was expected of him.

“Come rest your eyes, Keith.” Justin leaned forward, careful not to jostle Micah who had already fallen back to sleep, and set his coffee on the table before holding his arm out.

Keith glanced longingly at the distance between them, still uncertain of what Justin was asking.

“Keith,” he repeated.

Keith shifted under the blanket and changed positions, aligning himself like Micah had under Justin’s other arm. He smelled so good, like laundry detergent and sleep, and a little bit of sweat. Justin’s arm draped around him once he got settled, resting his hand on Keith’s bicep.

“Now rest your eyes,” Justin told him, an order disguised as a suggestion.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He woke later to the sound of hushed voices and the smell of frying bacon. He was on the couch, alone, but curled against the cushions and wrapped securely in his blanket. Justin’s coffee mug sat on the table, still mostly full and untouched.

The sound of spattering bacon grease quieted, only to be followed by heavy breaths and a hushed grunt—a muffled cry with the sound of skin against skin, moving slow and steady. A few minutes later, a pair of groans, then the frying bacon resumed.

Keith’s cheeks pinked under his bruises when his dick thickened, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just eavesdropped on something entirely too personal that would never be meant for him. That thought had him untucking himself from the blanket and tiptoeing into the guest bathroom, where he stared at the holes in his face until his cock softened.

He took a piss then shuffled back to the couch, finding Justin standing in front of the coffee table, mug in hand.

“You’re up,” he observed.

“Did we wake you?” Micah asked, his hair tousled and his throat crimson.

Keith’s blush darkened in answer, but he shook his head. “You didn’t wake me.”

Justin made a thoughtful sound that sent Micah’s flush into his face and Keith couldn’t help but laugh at the realization that all three of them were probably horny as fuck. What a cruel hand Keith had been dealt.

“How do you feel?” Justin asked him, gesturing with his head for Keith to follow him into the kitchen. He dumped his long-cold coffee into the sink and shoved the mug into the Keurig, brewing a fresh cup.

Keith reactively reached for the cuts on his face before he realized Justin had been talking about if he’d slept or not.

“Better, thank you.”

That much was true. After Justin had brought Micah into the living room, Keith had fallen asleep near immediately, safe beside them. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel Justin’s arm around him, so he didn’t close his eyes as to not betray himself.

“Justin and I had a talk this morning while you were asleep,” Micah said, joining them in the kitchen. He pulled Justin’s coffee off the Keurig and took a drink, brewing a fresh cup while he sipped the hot brew.

Micah looked to Justin, as Keith found he often did, always deferring to the man who held the outward appearance of control. But the three of them all knew that Justin would do anything for Micah, so who had the power, really?

Keith’s head hurt if he thought about that too long, how twisted and tied the give and take of the D/s dynamic could be. It ached worse if he stopped too long to envy it.

“Oh?”

Micah cracked his neck. “We’re not sleeping on the couch again.”

“I didn’t expect anyone would have done it in the first place. I’m really sorry,” Keith stumbled over his words. “I didn’t mean to keep anyone up last night, I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll stay in my room next time.”

“Keith,” Justin interrupted him with a stern glare.

“Sorry.” He clasped his hands together behind his back and stared at the floor.

“You can sleep with us,” Micah grinned as if he’d won a great victory.

“What?” Keith asked, eyes wide.

“I mean, if you want to,” Micah backtracked, his brows knitting together in worry.

“If it would make you rest easier, you can share our bed,” Justin translated, taking a drink from the fresh cup of coffee before dutifully passing it to Keith and brewing a third for himself.