Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 217: The one being handled?

Chapter 217: The one being handled?

Chris sat across from his parents in the smaller lounge—the talk space, as his father called it. His father had woken up late, and thankfully, his mother had returned from a meeting early. He had thought she would stay out longer. For some reason, Chris felt like he was doing something wrong by just lazying about home and not returning to work like he had been doing the past week. But they had told him it was fine.

Was it really?

Despite that, he still had the desire to do this. It was selfish, yes. But he had no other choice.

He cleared his throat. "So, um... I was thinking... if it was possible to have a little break."

His mother looked up from her cup, one brow rising in silent curiosity. His father didn’t move at all, just waited.

Chris pushed on. "I mean, just for a few days. Maybe a week? I was thinking the apartment in Kylog or something. Sky’s still here, and it’s all... new. Kinda a lot. I want to make it easier for him. Maybe even invite his friends too."

There. Casual. Reasonable. Totally not a romantic getaway with the boy he may or may not have confessed to in the middle of an emotional breakdown.

His mother set down her cup with a faint clink. "You’re really doing quite a bit for this Sky boy, aren’t you?"

Chris tried—tried—not to smile. "It’s a secret," he muttered, then cleared his throat. "But, uh... yeah. We agreed to be exclusive."

He looked proud. Like he’d just won gold at the Relationship Olympics.

There were probably cartoon butterflies orbiting his head right now, and he didn’t even care.

His parents just blinked at him.

Chris looked between them, mildly offended. "Okay—what? No gasps of horror? No dramatic groans or lectures about legacy and family image?"

His father finally leaned back with a tired sigh. "Were you not exclusive already?"

Chris recoiled like someone had insulted his moral compass. "Of course I was! I may not look like it, but I’m a very good guy who doesn’t do anything... scandalous!"

Besides, he didn’t think he would have had the chance to do anything scandalous considering how Sky seemed to just be... Sky.

From Sinclair, the library girl whose name he could not even remember. Rain. Gary. Oh... Wilson. Rachel. Even Emily.

Now that he thought about it... had Sky been into him all this while?

That was not possible, right?

Was it jealousy the entire time?

Was that what all that sulking and glaring had been about?

No way. No freaking way... right?

His father’s voice cut through his spiral. "If you are choosing to get away from us for a week, you do realize your holiday would be over by the end of that week, right?" he asked, tone polite but firm.

Chris blinked. Wait—was that permission?

The fact that his father had mentioned that his holiday would be done by the end of that week felt like a boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. It meant they were not planning on forcing him to change his university.

But he knew that would come at a cost.

"Are you still with us?" his father asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Chris jolted. "Yes! Yes, I’m here." He nodded rapidly, meeting both of their gazes.

"I want to be with you two. I mean, I love you. A lot. But... Sky’s going through a lot. He came here for me, and I think he’s overwhelmed and probably bored—"

"We heard about Leon," his father interrupted. Calm, as always. "I want you to know neither your mother nor I instructed him to do what he did."

Chris blinked, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. "I know," he said softly.

"He won’t be working here anymore," his mother added, tone clipped and final.

Chris grinned. "Thank fuck! I hate that guy—"

"Christopher!"

"Sorry! Sorry. That slipped."

His mother shot him a disapproving glare, while his father just shook his head in amusement.

"You can go have fun with your friends," his mother said. "But perhaps spend a day or two here before returning to school. We might not see you again once you vanish with Sky."

Chris chuckled. "You two always come first. I’d ditch him in a heartbeat if you asked—but please don’t ask."

His parents laughed. His father gave him a small nod. "We won’t. If he makes you happy... then it’s fine."

Chris felt warmth fill his chest. Not the teary, overwhelming kind—but the quiet, anchoring sort that reminded him he wasn’t doing this alone.

"So... no problem with this?"

His mother shrugged delicately. "You’re free to do as you please, Chris. You always have been. We’re just wondering about Sky. Can he handle all this?"

Chris’s face softened. There were a lot of things about Sky. A lot. But he knew once the guy made up his mind to handle it, he would. I mean, he flew all the way here for him. And about that, his items still hadn’t been found.

"He’ll be fine," Chris said quietly. "For now, I just want to be a good... roommate."

That got a snort from his dad. "Roommate. Sure."

Chris grinned sheepishly.

"So just to be extra sure—I’m going back to my university, right? No sudden transfer to some boring elite school here?"

His father gave a faint shrug. "If you can handle it, son."

"I can," Chris said with confidence.

"We know," his mother added. "But you’ll need security. You’ll live off-campus. And you’ll live like an Owen."

There it was. The cost.

"Mum—"

"It’s non-negotiable. Either that, or you transfer. People know who you are now. What you look like. Where you live. Do you honestly think you can go back to living like a nobody?"

"You’re an Owen," his father said. "Own it. Live like the prince we raised you to be. That won’t take away your effort in school or whatever else. We just want you to be safe."

Chris looked at them. No words came, just a heavy mix of emotions. Finally, he moved to his father’s side, knelt down, and took his hand.

"Dad..." he said earnestly. "I’ll do my best. And... I’ll join the company."

Both his parents blinked, stunned.

"These past few days have taught me so much. I want to take the burden off your shoulders. When I’ve studied, when I know enough, I want you and Mum to rest. Travel. Do whatever old couples do. I’ll take care of you."

His mother’s eyes misted. His father placed a hand over his, smiling. "We know you’ll do well."

"Thank you, baby," his mother whispered, crouching to kiss his head. "I love you."

Chris stood quickly, brushing his jeans. "Okay! Enough with the mush. I need to go pack."

But before he could escape, his mother stood.

"Christopher, a moment?"

There was something about the way she said his full name that froze him mid-step. She followed him into the hallway, her heels soft on the carpet.

She stopped, turned, and studied him with quiet intensity. Her face was calm, but there was something private—maternal and just slightly unhinged—lurking beneath it.

"Chris," she began, in that voice she reserved for things that were both terribly serious and highly inappropriate, "I just want to ask you something."

He braced. "Okay?"

"Are you... letting yourself be?"

He blinked. "Be what?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Be. As in... be the one being handled."

Chris’s brain stalled. "Handled...?"

She gave a weary sigh. "You know what I mean."

"No, I really don’t."

She sighed, like he was being intentionally dense. Then she leaned in even closer and whispered firmly, "I didn’t go through thirty-four hours of labour and endure years of your crying, your tantrums, your terrifying obsession with sparkly shoes and dramatic monologues just for you to grow up and let some boy impale you, Christopher."

Chris backed up like she’d hit him with holy water. "OH MY GOD."

"I know Sky’s type," she added, sniffing as though this were about bloodlines and not bedroom positions. "And if you let him flip the script, that’s your business. But if I find out you’re walking funny and it’s not from bad shoes, I will kill him. Then you. Then myself. Then your father will kill himself. Do you understand the implications of what I’m saying—"

"Mum—what in the actual—?!"

She gave him a warm, matriarchal smile. "I trust you, darling. Make wise choices."

Then she turned and walked away, leaving Chris frozen in place, emotionally scarred for life.