"August?"

"Mm," came the one syllable grunt.

"I made you some soup."

"Not hungry."

"You need to eat something."

"Why, so I can throw it all up again?"

With a sigh, I set the bowl on the nightstand and sat on the bed next to him where he'd curled into a ball. At least the snark meant he was well enough to speak coherently.

It was rough.

August going through withdrawal had been rough on both of us.

It was hardest on him, of course. I couldn't imagine the pain, the turmoil, he was going through.

But watching him go through it without being able to help was torture.

After the shakes and the stabbing pain came the nausea. We had to keep a waste basket close by for the times when he couldn't make it to the bathroom.

When the nausea passed, the irritability started up. He turned cranky, yelling at me to go, throwing things at me. Luckily the only things in reach were pillows.

After the irritability came the pleading. That was the worst. He begged me for just one pill. Just one small pill to help him get through it. Just enough to take away some of the symptoms, not enough to actually get high.

I knew better than to say yes.

When he realized I was going to stand firm, he gave up in defeat. He lay in bed, dull eyes staring into the distance, looking at nothing, saying nothing. Each breath was a struggle. Sometimes I think he wished he would stop breathing entirely.

"Your skin doesn't look as pale," I noted. "You've stopped shaking."

He ran a hand over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes.

"Every time I start to think I'm feeling better, something even worse comes along."

"It's been about a week and a half," I said. "The worst of it should be over by now."

He rolled from his side onto his back.

"I'm not as nauseous as before," he admitted. "And I don't ache everywhere."

"That's good!"

I tried to keep my voice chipper and encouraging through this whole ordeal. August didn't need to deal with my anxiety and stress on top of what he was going through.

He lifted himself into a seated position.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a dick. I'll try the soup."

With my heart lighter, I handed him the bowl and a spoon, and settled a portable laptop desk tray on his knees. It worked well enough as a table while he'd been stuck in bed.

"Damon said the guys are anxious to see you."

August paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. His shoulders tensed, looking uncomfortable.

"I told him to give you a few days and you'll probably be up to seeing them."

He nodded thankfully.

When I first told him how frantic the guys were to find him, he'd looked pointedly at the broken glass in his foyer and simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, I know.

"I don't want them seeing me like this," he'd said. "They're used to me being a strong leader, being the responsible one who takes care of everything. I can't—"

"I get it," I had soothed him before he could get agitated again. "But I need to at least tell them I'm with you and you're safe."

Damon relayed that Cameron nearly threw a fit when he learned August didn't want to see them yet. They convinced Cameron to give August time to rest and heal before the entire circus that was Darkest Days and their closest friends descended on him.

I didn’t tell August that when I messaged Damon, the two of us conspired against him. Damon called a doctor, a discrete one who made house calls. When the woman showed up, August almost threw her out, until I begged him to let her take a look at him.

Luckily, she was no-nonsense. She checked up on him daily, until she finally pronounced him well enough to finish recovering on his own – as long as he had someone by his side.

After finishing the soup, August set the empty bowl on the nightstand.

"I'm feeling a lot better now." The color returned to his cheeks as he sat up straighter. "Was that magic soup?"

"It was my great-great grandmother's secret recipe passed on for generations."

"Really?" he asked, intrigued.

"No, not really. It's from a can."

August must have been feeling better because he laughed, eyes sparkling with good humor.

"It must be your magic touch, then," he said. "I actually feel like a human being again."

Relief blossomed in my chest. We'd made it through the worst.

August felt well enough to get out of bed without my help. I left him when he told me he thought he could get showered and dressed by himself.

Now that I didn't have to give August my full attention, I took in the messy state of his bedroom and blanched. Cleaning had fallen by the wayside while we'd focused on getting him through.

I pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them in the laundry hamper. With the hamper perched on my hip, I explored his house trying to find a laundry machine. For all I knew, August might not have even owned one, preferring instead to send out all his clothes to a cleaning service. It wouldn't have surprised me. Rich people paid for all sorts of crazy things regular people would never dream of.

I did find a laundry machine in the basement, a super high tech one with a dozen different, complicated looking options. It cleaned and dried all in one machine, no need to transfer wet clothes to the drier after the cleaning round. How convenient. I threw the sheets in along with a detergent pod and pressed a few buttons, hoping for the best.

Next I took away all the dirty dishes. I'd been planning on washing them by hand until I saw a dishwasher. My family never had one growing up, and my apartment was way too cheap for such luxuries. The dishwasher had fewer options, so I felt more confident using it.

I intended to sweep the kitchen floor, until I looked into a broom closet and found a cute little circular robot, one of those automatic floor cleaners. I flipped the on switch and off it went, zipping around the house on its mission to hunt down dirt and dust bunnies.

I searched the linen closet for a set of fresh sheets. I thought that, perhaps, being a boy, August would have a single set and that was it. But no, he had several sets of bedclothes, pillows, and throw blankets, along with extra fluffy bath towels and facecloths. I hadn't had much time to explore, but from the amount of linen, I had to assume there were at least a handful of extra guest bedrooms and bathrooms.

If this was how rich people lived, sign me up.

The shower had stopped by the time I returned to August's master bedroom. It was a massive room with a king-sized bed, a sofa, and two matching armchairs in the corner, as well as having its own walk out balcony with a single wicker armchair and side table.

I opened up all the windows and patio doors to let some fresh air in and went about making the bed. I had just finished fluffing up the last pillow, placing it against the headboard, when the door to the en suite bathroom opened.

August stepped out looking better than I'd seen him in days. If I hadn't been by his side this whole time, I wouldn't have known he'd been bedridden for almost two weeks.

His towel-dried hair was still slightly damp, turning it a darker blond than his usual platinum. Strands stuck to his cheeks and neck. A few spare droplets of water still clung to his bare chest. He wore a pair of low slung dark denim jeans molded to his legs and nothing else, exposing that delicious V shape between his hips. A light scattering of soft hair trailed from his navel and lower, until it was hidden by the jeans.

My pulse spiked at the sight, cheeks flushing.

August noticed and smirked.

I chided myself. He'd just come through a terrible ordeal. The last thing he needed was me throwing myself at him. I had to give him time to properly recover.

But from the heated looked in August's gaze, I had no doubt his thoughts mirrored my own.

His eyes left mine to glance around. They widened.

"Did you clean up?"

"We let it get pretty bad," I said. "I didn't want you to live in a pig sty."

He gave me a soft smile.

"Why are you so good to me?" he asked.

"Because you deserve it."

He snorted, casting his eyes down.

"No, I don't. I was awful to you. You gave so much of yourself to me, and I threw it back in your face."

It seemed now that he was better, it was time to have this talk.

I sat on the edge of his bed gingerly.

"You did," I agreed calmly. "You really hurt my feelings."

His eyes were mournful, filled with regret.

"I'm sorry. I never should have said the things I did."

"You always know how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking. You used that against me, on purpose, just to hurt me. Just to push me away."

"I was a fucking idiot."

"And how's that any different from usual?"

When he realized I was joking, he gave me a small smile.

"I don't want to push you away anymore."

I opened my arms. August crossed the room, coming to stand between my legs. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He wrapped his own around my shoulders, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

"August…" I said hesitantly.

I didn't want to say this, didn't want to admit it out loud, but it had been weighing on me. And not just for the last two weeks, but for years. I needed to finally tell someone what I was feeling.

"Although what you said hurt me, you were right. I lied to those guys. I tried so hard to pretend I felt something. They were always blind-sided when I finally couldn't pretend anymore and called things off. They never had any idea how I'd truly felt. I lied to them. Every day, every minute we were together, I pretended to feel something I didn't."

He ran a hand through my hair in soothing strokes, caressing the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades.

"You can't feel guilty about that. You were trying. You didn't lead them on maliciously. That was never your intention. You just wanted to feel normal. You just wanted to have a normal relationship."

I laid my head on his torso, his skin warm beneath my cheek.

"You always know what's going on inside my head. I never had to learn to open up to you, because you already knew what I was feeling. I couldn't lie to you. I couldn't lie to myself. And…" I thought hard, making a connection that had never occurred to me before. "…I suppose that's why I hate being asked about my art."

He tilted his head. "Hm?"

"I always kept my true self hidden. I never let people know what I was really thinking, feeling. I expressed myself through my art. That was enough. I didn't want to give people any more of myself than I already had. I didn't want to let anyone in. But somehow you wormed your way inside me. And now, I think I'm okay with it. It's okay if people want to know what's going on inside my head. I don't have to lie and hide and pretend anymore."

He squeezed me tight. I peeked up at him.

"There's something I need to tell you," I said. "I don't want you to just figure it out. I want to be the one to say it out loud."

I steeled myself, gathering my courage. My fingers went cold with nerves. I took in a shaky breath.

"I love you."

His gaze softened. He pulled me to my feet. With both of my hands in his, he pressed soft kisses to my knuckles, just like he did that night on the roof.

"And I love you," he whispered against my skin.

My heart sang in my chest. I'd hoped, but I hadn't known for sure whether August returned my feelings. I just knew I had to tell him before he used his psychic powers and figured it out before I got the chance to tell him.

August's lips twitched, a small rueful smile appearing at the corners.

"And I promise I will never use my psychic powers against you, to hurt you, ever again."

We shared a laugh.

As I stared into his eyes, I felt the shift of his muscles under my fingertips. I brought my hands from around his waist and placed them on his chest. Digging my nails lightly into his skin, I trailed a line from his pecs, down his toned abs. I could see his cock jump in his jeans.

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" I asked.

The light blue of his eyes darkened.

"You're wondering how much better I'm feeling."

I nodded silently.

"Is there a reason why you're so concerned for my health?" His eyes glinted with a teasing heat.

"There's something I've been thinking about for a while," I told him. "Can you guess what it is?"

Keeping his eyes trained on mine, he popped open the button on his jeans.

My breath hitched as more of that irresistible V was revealed. Just the sight of it sent a flush through my body, making my insides tingle and clench.

I reached for the zipper, taking the tab between thumb and forefinger. Before pulling it down, I met his eyes, examining him closely. His gaze was bright, heated, and narrowed. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"You sure you're feeling better?" I asked breathlessly.

In response, he cupped the back of my head, urging me forward. Taking that as a yes, I slowly pulled down the zipper, fighting against his rapidly hardening length. Inch by inch, I uncovered him, stiff and thick. Carefully wrapping my hand around him, I gave an experimental stroke. He stifled a groan.

The velvety smooth skin under my hand was a wonder. I brushed my thumb through the wetness already gathered at the tip, spreading it around. He sifted through my hair, gently, encouragingly.

Leaning forward, I took a slow, long lick of the head. His fingers tightened their grip. I placed my lips on the tip, a light kiss. His stomach muscles tensed. Pursing my lips, I slowly pushed forward, taking him into my mouth, lips sliding down wetly.

I took him as far as I comfortably could. He let out a long, low groan. I applied suction, sucking him down with hollowed cheeks. He lay on my tongue, hot and heavy, filling my mouth. I savored him as I licked and sucked.

I drew back and bobbed forward with a steady rhythm, drawing a series of delicious sounds from his mouth. His hips shifted slightly back and forth. I took him farther down with each short thrust. With every withdrawal, I played with the head using my tongue, circling and licking. With every push forward, I pressed my lips together, sucking lightly at first, then with more pressure.

His moans were enough to make my cheeks flush and my heart pound, enough to send heat pooling between my legs. The taste and texture of him on my tongue, the feeling of him filling my mouth, sent my head reeling, sent my body up in flames.

His thighs began trembling and straining. Without taking my mouth off him, I maneuvered him onto the bed, lying on his back. I settled between his legs. He propped himself up on his arms to watch me. His pupils were blown wide open, his lips parting as he made soft sounds.

He was still recovering. As much as I'd been craving this, I didn't want him to overdo it.

But I hadn't been able to resist any longer. He'd stepped out of the en suite, shirtless and in that tight denim and I knew I needed to have him this way. I'd been taking care of him for days, watching him fight his own demons. This was one more way for me to take care of him, to show him how I felt without words.

He hardened further in my mouth, cock twitching. He tugged desperately at my hair, groaning my name in warning.

Instead of pulling away, I sucked him down even further. I relaxed my muscles, taking deep breaths through my nose. The tip touched the back of my throat. His thighs clenched and flexed, his hands fisted tightly in my hair.

I held on, waiting until just the right moment, waited until he was right at the edge.

I swallowed.

He groaned out a curse as he spilled himself inside me. I took all of him in, letting him flow hot and wet over my tongue. I sucked lightly and licked gently, working him through it.

His body finally went limp, cock losing some of its hardness. I let him leave my mouth with one last lick. He moaned and twitched.

I licked my lips and tucked him back into his jeans.

"You're a goddess," he breathed.

I chuckled. He grabbed at me and pulled me close, I clung to him, burying my face in his neck. His fingers slid along my body, pulling up my long shirt and teasing at the waistband of my leggings.

I shook my head and squirmed away.

"Nope," I said. "That was all for you."

He let out a noise of disappointment.

"I want you to rest and take it easy."

I snuggled down into his chest, listening to his pounding heart slowly return to normal. He ran his hands all over my back, my sides, my butt and thighs, as if he couldn't get enough of me.

I understood that feeling all too well.

My phone pinged from across the room, ruining our moment of basking.

"Probably Damon," I murmured. "They're really insistent on seeing you." I leaned up to meet his eyes. "Do you think you're up to it?"

August lowered his gaze, looking hesitant, but nodded.

"I can't put it off forever," he mumbled.

"You don't have anything to be embarrassed about," I told him, sensing the problem. "The guys care about you. They just want you to get better."

"I lied to them. I betrayed their trust. I forced them to make a horrible choice by kicking me out of the band for my own good."

"They feel awful about how it all went down. They want to apologize."

"I'm the one who needs to apologize. I should have told them about—" he cut himself off, cringing.

"Your shoulder?" I guessed. "The RSI?"

"My shoulder is too fucked up to play without using drugs to numb the pain. But I don't want to be that person anymore. But I can't give up drumming." He turned his head to the side, hair falling to cover his face. "I don't know what to do. I don't have many options left."

"I know you ruled it out but…" I trailed off, not wanting to upset him.

"The surgery," he whispered. He went silent for long moments, taking in shuddering breaths. "I hate the idea. I hate the risk. But it might be my only chance to have a normal life again."

"Why don't you talk to the guys?" I suggested. "See what they say. You can decide as a team. You don't have to do this by yourself."

He gathered my hands in his and held them to his chest.

"Will you stay while I talk to them?" he asked.

"I'll be here as long as you want me to."

He bumped his nose against mine in that familiar, sweet gesture.

"What if I want forever? Will you promise me that?"

My heart swelled in my chest.

"Yes," I said simply. "I'll stay with you forever."