Chapter 1
We didn't even kiss.
Dylan deletes the text.
He feels needy for even thinking it.
Viktor kept him at a distance the entire time.
Him in the chair, Dylan on the bed.
That calm, commanding voice undoing him effortlessly.
Dylan begged for it.
Begged for Viktor to come closer and touch him.
And when Viktor did, it felt so fucking good.
Viktor made him come so hard he almost blacked out, fucking Dylan into the mattress with a ferocity that had him clawing at the sheets.
But then it was over, and they hadn't kissed once.
Viktor had rolled over and immediately put space between them.
Dylan instantly felt cold without him.
Dylan rests his forehead against the metal of the elevator, eyes closed.
It shouldn't matter that they didn't kiss.
It shouldn't matter that Dylan has grown accustomed to the insistent press of Viktor's lips, grounding him as he takes Dylan apart, keeping him tethered whenever he starts to drift away.
It shouldn't matter that it will be months before they see each other again.
See you next season, he types again.
He hits send after a brief hesitation.
Viktor doesn't owe him anything.
On the way back to his hotel room, he tries to ignore the emptiness blooming beneath his ribs.
Sleep does not come easily.
Despite the warmth of the Ember Falls night, Dylan feels oddly cold, hugging a pillow to his chest to stop himself from shivering.
When he finally sleeps, it's fitful and uneasy, plagued by flashes of dreams he can't remember in the morning.
He wakes to his hand stretched across the bed, grasping for a warm body that isn't there.
The journey home is mostly a blur.
He's only able to tolerate the loud commotion of the airport by wearing headphones, which mostly prevents anyone from talking to him, including his mother.
She's busy managing another brand deal on her laptop, but Dylan can still feel her shooting glances his way the entire flight.
They make it all the way to his front door and into the kitchen before she cracks.
"Are you feeling okay?
You've been quiet all day.
Even quieter than normal."
"I didn't sleep well last night.
It's probably jetlag."
His mom frowns.
"We're only three hours ahead."
Dylan lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
"Maybe I caught something in Ember Falls."
She reaches a hand out to touch his forehead.
Dylan flinches back from the contact.
Her frown deepens.
"Dylan."
Dylan forces a smile.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Are you sure?"
Dylan is saved from another lie by her phone ringing.
She looks like she wants to argue further, but relents after glancing at the caller ID.
She goes to take the call in the other room.
Dylan pulls out his phone once she's out of sight.
There's no reply from Viktor—the same as the last three times he checked.
The silence bothers him much more than it should.
He's gone much longer without hearing from him before, but this time feels different.
It will be next season before he even gets the chance to see Viktor again.
The thought is a physical weight on his chest.
He opens Picto and checks for any recent sightings in Viktor's hashtag.
There's one photograph, taken by a fan at arrivals in Westhaven airport almost an hour ago; Viktor has his hood up, but Dylan would recognise that intense face anywhere.
He has his phone pressed to his ear.
So he does know how to use it, Dylan thinks bitterly.
"That was the management team at Breven."
Dylan jumps so violently he almost drops his phone.
His mom doesn't notice, her eyes still on her own device.
She's frowning slightly.
"They're making some last minute additions to the photoshoot in two days."
"What does that mean?"
"No idea.
They said they'll give me further details tomorrow."
Dylan nods.
He's never taken much interest in his sponsors, having to mirror his mother's enthusiasm and often ending up sounding slightly fake, but right now he cares even less.
Eventually, his mom bids him goodbye and leaves to attend a meeting.
His exhausted body drifts over to the bedroom without his permission.
The bed comes into view, complete with its mountain of pillows.
Dylan can still hear Viktor's voice, mocking the sheer number of them, before he'd opened Dylan up and fucked him so beautifully, his mouth barely leaving Dylan's skin; kissing him on the lips, between his shoulder blades, behind his ear as he came down.
Dylan didn't realise how much he'd needed it.
Dragging himself from the memory, Dylan turns and heads to his home gym.
Exercise usually helps him decompress, but he only manages a few half-hearted sets before the fatigue slips in again like fog.
After ten minutes, even breathing feels like effort.
He sits on the edge of the bench and stares at the floor, trying to fight the heavy, distant feeling creeping over the back of his neck.