37
You say your number, then blush as the frankly enormous Chad gets to his feet. Today he’s wearing a sleeveless yellow shirt, and you can see his tattoo. “Hey, Chad,” you manage to say without stuttering. Your face, however, betrays your nervousness, as you follow him into the open closet as your cheeks flame. Thankfully no one says anything, and you aren’t forced to resort to physical violence.
The moment the door is closed you scuttle to the other end of the closet to sit down, only to crash face first into Chad’s rock-hard (and extremely muscular) back. Before you have time to tip backwards or even curse, he catches you by the shoulders, fingers incredibly gentle. He pulls you back onto your feet and then steps past you, or tries to, but you snag his arm. “Thanks. I’m sorry about bumping into you.”
“It’s alright.”
Startled by his deep, melodious voice, you struggle to cobble your thoughts into a coherent and non-embarrassing sentence. Finally, you say, “I’m still sorry. Uhm, how did you get to play this game, anyway?”
“Ichigo said it would be fun.”
“Is it?” You ask lamely.
Chad says nothing and walks back over to you. He sits, then pats the floor beside him. You drop almost instantly onto your bottom, although the sudden shooting pain tells you that was a particularly bad idea, nervousness aside. Apparently there was something sharp on the floor, and you feel warm blood trickle between your fingers. “Oh man, Chad, my hand’s bleeding.”
At the mention of blood he gets back to his feet and opens the closet door, then beckons to you as the others, startled, begin asking questions. Keigo, always loudest, asks, “Hey, Sado, what’s wrong—Geez! ______, your hand’s all bloody!”
“Thank you, Keigo, I hadn’t noticed.” You counter sarcastically, then notice Chad is walking down the hall to the bathroom. You have to scramble to catch up.
He looks back to make sure you’re following, then steps into the tiny space. “Sit on the toilet seat. I’ll clean your hand.”
Obediently plopping down on the seat, you wait while Chad gathers a few things from the medicine cabinet. “Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly, then stiffen up as he gingerly cradles your hand between his. He has incredibly big hands, in keeping with the rest of him, and they dwarf your small hand easily.
Fascinated, you look on as he takes a piece of white towel and daubs away the blood, firmly but gently tending to the gash. “This might hurt,” he says quietly as he moistens the towel with rubbing alcohol to sterilize the wound.
Your breath hisses in through your teeth and your whole body locks up as agony shoots through your bones. The alcohol scorches like acid in your blood. Suddenly, the pain is gone. You open your eyes.
Chad’s hand is very softly holding yours, the other on top, his palm to yours. He gently rubs a finger down the cut, his eyes locked with yours from under his thick hair. Your face burns as your heart thumps dreamily in your chest.
He begins wrapping your hand in gauze, while you continue to stare at him and blush. “Thanks, C-C-Chad.” You stumble to get his name past your lips.
“Are you cold?” He asks suddenly, pushing some of his hair aside so he can see you better.
“Yes,” you lie, and make a sound similar to an “Eep” as he draws you up against his massive chest. You realize his heart is drumming just like yours, and glance up through your bangs. His cheekbones are faintly red—he’s blushing, just like you!
Emboldened by this discovery, you cuddle against him, laying your head against his collarbone. You feel his quick intake of breath and reach a hand up to touch his arm.
You press your nose into his chest, inhaling a scent as heavenly as you’ve ever smelled—something irresistibly masculine and enticing.
Chad slides a finger under your chin and tilts your face upwards.
In the moment before you realize he’s leaning down, his lips meet yours, tenderly, adoringly. He slides an arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly, and carries you back out. Keigo is the only one who lets out a catcall, and gets a shoe to the face (courtesy of you) for his trouble.
Chad sits back on one of the couches, seating you in his lap, and guides your arms around his neck. You nestle your face in the crook of his shoulder, a scant inch away from his throat.
Ichigo, Keigo, and the others make themselves scarce to let Chad ‘have some private time with _______’.
You tug gently on his collar. “Chad, lay down, please.”
His eyes widen marginally, but he pulls his legs up onto the couch and stretches out. He has to bend his knees somewhat to fit, but he does, and you turn in his embrace to snuggle closer. “I have something to tell you.”
Playing with his coin pendant, Chad watches you.
“I… I… Oh god, Chad, just say something!” You all but scream.
He kisses you instead, his mouth soft and warm. You end the kiss with an exclamation point, tangling the fingers of both hands in his wavy dark hair. Chad gently takes your injured hand and kisses the gauze-covered cut.
“I was going to say, I love you.”
He smiles, and it’s like the sun just broke through the clouds. Warmth coils in your stomach as he catches your mouth with his again, cupping your chin. “I love you too, _______-chan. You’re so cute.”
As you stare at one another, flushed pink, you scrape together the courage to ask, “Will you be my boyfriend, Chad?”
Rather than speaking, he kisses you again.
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