Duncan x Reader

Chapter 1: Prologue

Trent is soaked. His soft brown hair has wilted and stuck to his head, marking rough triangles out on his skin. Despite the rain dampening his clothes, you can still make out the dark patches of sweat spreading from under his arm-pits and across his chest below his collarbones.

'Did you run here?'

He doesn't wait for you to open the door properly and invite him in. Instead, he throws his palm against the wood and forces his way into the hallway. Pausing momentarily in the cramped junction of your one-bedroomed apartment, he just about manages to toe off his shoes before he's off again, striding away from you and vanishing into the kitchen.

You frown and shut the door. There's a small puddle on the hardwood where he's dripped onto the floor and you make a note to clean it later, after you've found out what's got him so wound-up, he's been driven to jog to your apartment at almost half-ten at night.

Following down the hallway, you poke your head into the kitchen and find him hunched over the sink. His arms are braced either side of it, his head dipped as he lets the rain drip from his hair into the metal basin.

'You're drenched.' Coming up behind him, you reach out and feel the wet material of his hoodie with your fingers. You pull at him. 'Give me these and I'll wash them.' Crossing the kitchen, you crack open the washing machine and pluck a washing tablet from the counter before chucking it in. 'You've still got some joggers upstairs I think.'

The faint aroma of linen fills the room as you pour a healthy dose of fabric softener into the washing machines draw and push it closed with a click. You've used the good fabric softener. The stuff you bought because his mum uses it, because it makes everything smell like him.

It's always been like this. The domesticity of it is almost sickening, but falling into it had been easy. Everything is easy with Trent. Turning your back on the machine, you look him over. 'You'll catch cold if you're not careful and you know the guys won't let you live it down.'

He grinds his teeth, jaw clenching painfully as he focuses on the steady drip-drip-drip of the water that falls from his hair into the sink. He hasn't heard a word that you're saying. He knows you're taking. He can hear the faint melody of your voice in the background of his thoughts, but it's not quite loud enough to break through.

'Trent?' You lean back against the counter and fold your arms, tucking your hands into your elbows. 'Has something happened?' Something heavy settles itself in your stomach. Your Trent-reading skills are second to none and nothing of what he's giving you now is good news. The thing in your stomach squirms making you want to throw it up, but it stills suddenly when he turns his head to look at you.

He's crying. The tears haven't yet breached his eyelids. They swim below the sun of his iris' and rest there, trapped in his lash-line.

'Oh, baby.' You're at his side in an instant. His shoulder is sticky and cold when you press your cheek to it. The cold only spreads when you wrap your arms around him and squeeze as tightly as you can. Slipping under one of his arms, you re-orient yourself in front of him so you can cling to his chest. You can hear the beating of his heart through the material of his hoodie. It's rhythmic, but quick. Too quick. Letting your hand slip down his back, ghosting over the thick strips of muscle below his shoulder blades, you fiddle with the hem of his hoodie and carefully begin to peel it away from his skin. 'Let's get you out of this, yeah?'

'I -.' His voice cracks and he regrets trying to speak at all. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, he clamps his eyes shut and tries to focus on the way you feel. You're warm and solid and for a moment, the thoughts in his head are quiet.

You kiss his neck, just below his ear where he likes it and he shivers at your touch. 'Let me take this off,' you whisper.

His moment of peace shatters. He can't keep this up. 'No.'