Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 212: Diving into Sky’s insecurities

Chapter 212: Diving into Sky’s insecurities

Chris froze. His heart, once slow and drowsy, slammed into his chest like a punch. His eyes stayed open for a second longer, stunned—disbelieving.

Sky kissed him again. Just as softly.

Chris’s eyes fluttered shut.

Sky pulled back slowly, and Chris’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and wide. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just stared—enthralled, breath shallow, lips slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it all.

You make me breathe easier.

The words echoed in his head, looping over and over again, soft but deafening. They weren’t casual. Not at all. They were too real. Too serious. Too much like a confession.

Chris swallowed. His voice was small when he asked, "Is everything okay... at home?"

Sky hesitated. Just a fraction. Then, without a word, he shifted back—pulled away. Chris started to sit up, concern crawling into his expression, but Sky reached out and gently pushed him back down.

"Don’t," he said softly, almost pleading.

Chris let him. Watched as Sky circled the bed and climbed in beside him. Sky didn’t ask. He just moved like it was the most natural thing in the world. He pulled the duvet up over them both, and the warmth trapped between them made Chris’s heart beat faster.

This wasn’t a good idea. Nope. Not even a little.

Not with Sky’s hand so close to his.

Not with Sky lying this close, head tilted toward him, his expression unreadable in the dim lights but still so intense it made Chris feel like his chest was being cracked open.

Not with the memory of that kiss still burning on his lips.

He could jump him.

He would.

Chris didn’t dare move.

They lay there, facing each other beneath the soft warmth of the duvet. Chris could see the fine outline of Sky’s lashes in the dim light, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His fingers itched with the temptation to pull closer—to tuck them together like puzzle pieces—but he resisted. Barely.

Sky’s voice broke the silence first, soft and low. "The boys were relieved to hear from me," he said, eyes flicking down for a second. "We got in a group call. Everyone was worried... but glad I was okay. They asked about you too. I told them you were fine."

Chris gave a small nod. "What about home?" he asked.

Sky hesitated. His throat bobbed in a swallow.

"I spoke with Rain too," he added, voice quieter this time.

Chris reached for his hand beneath the duvet. Their fingers met in the middle—tentative, warm.

"What about home?" Chris asked again, more gently now.

Sky’s gaze darted away, to the ceiling, to nothing at all. His lips parted as if to answer—but no words came. They trembled slightly, and when he blinked, Chris saw the shimmer in his eyes.

Then—finally—Sky’s composure cracked.

A breath hitched in his throat, and a quiet, broken sob escaped him before he could stifle it.

Chris didn’t hesitate. He pulled him in immediately, wrapping his arms around Sky and holding him to his chest. One hand cupped the back of Sky’s head, the other pressed gently against his back, like he was trying to shield him from every hurt he carried.

Sky clung to him, fingers curling in the fabric of Chris’s shirt as he buried his face there, breath ragged, heartbeat loud against Chris’s skin. Chris didn’t speak. He just held him—like he’d never let go.

Sky was trembling in his arms, fingers still gripping Chris’s shirt like it was the only thing tethering him to something safe. He was trying so hard not to fall apart—but his voice cracked anyway.

"My father hates me," he whispered.

Chris’s arms tightened around him instinctively. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Sky, that’s not true."

Sky shook his head harder, still refusing to look at him. "He does. He—he doesn’t say it, but I know it. He wanted someone else. Someone stronger. Smarter. Someone who makes him proud just by existing."

Chris pulled back just a little to look at him, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "Sky, are you serious? Is there any better son out there?"

Sky met his eyes then. For the first time in what felt like hours, he looked straight at Chris.

"You," he said. "You, for example."

His voice wasn’t bitter. It was quiet. Like a truth he had accepted a long time ago. And it hit Chris right in the chest.

Chris blinked at him, stunned again, and this time for a whole different reason.

"Me?" he repeated, almost laughing. "What did I even do? Do not let the media fool you. I was a mess and there were a lot of people to help with everything including my moth—"

Sky wiped his face and slowly sat up, pulling his knees close. Chris followed suit, sitting up beside him, their shoulders almost touching.

Sky stared at his hands for a second before speaking. "You did your best. You handled everything," he said quietly. "You kept your dad’s company together while he was in the hospital. You didn’t fall apart. You didn’t lose it. If your parents didn’t trust you, they wouldn’t let you carry that kind of weight. They wouldn’t even have let you go to school in a different state."

Chris was quiet, not knowing what to say. Sky turned to look at him again, eyes a little red but steady now.

"You’re a great son, Chris," he said softly. "A great friend. And on top of that... you’re beautiful."

That last word hung in the air like something too heavy and too delicate to touch.

Chris swallowed, his heart thudding a little too fast in his chest.

Chris had never had anyone compliment him like this before. It felt... overwhelming. He didn’t know how to process it. He stared at Sky, wide-eyed, in disbelief.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he blurted out awkwardly, his voice slightly cracked from the confusion. "I’m just... I don’t even know what to say."

Sky’s words had caught him completely off guard. Chris shook his head, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions rising inside him. He wasn’t used to this.

"Look," Chris started, his voice softer now, more uncertain, "we both come from different backgrounds, but... you’re doing your best. Meeting you... it’s made me think a lot about my life. About what I’m doing, how to be relevant, how to find my purpose. I used to be careless, but... you? You have your shit together. And you should remember that there are so many people who love you, who want you—"

Sky interrupted him, his voice quiet but firm. "All of this... it’s just testosterone."

Testosterone?

Did Sky think he was saying all this because some hormones were controlling his mind?

"That’s not what I meant," Chris began, his voice softer, reaching out. "I see you, Sky. This is not because of... hormones."

Sky’s gaze flickered away again, this time lingering on the chandelier above. He shifted uncomfortably, a hand instinctively going to his chest, as if to shield something unseen. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the nearby air conditioner. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"That’s not what I meant. You... don’t understand." He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. He risked a quick glance at Chris, his eyes filled with a vulnerability Chris hadn’t witnessed before. "I mean... me. It wasn’t always... this." He gestured vaguely at himself, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him.

Chris waited patiently, sensing the internal struggle raging within Sky. He kept his own gaze gentle, encouraging.

Sky took a shaky breath, the confession seeming to claw its way out.

"I’m not... I’m not a real... boy." Sky confessed.