Page 50 of Ghost Ribbon

His hands came up and grabbed both of my shoulders, careful to avoid the side where the bullet had grazed me, and he pushed. I let him. I sat down on the edge of his bed without resistance.

I stayed perfectly still, face blank, but inside my head everything had gone strangely quiet for a moment. Did he just touch me on his own? Without me forcing it? Without me cornering him first? I think I might faint. The thought was so absurd I almost laughed.

Marco hovered in front of me, breathing a little too fast. His hands were still hovering near my shoulders like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now that he had actually used them.

“You shouldn’t stand if you are hurt… Can you…” His cheeks went bright red, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked down at the floor for a second before forcing the words out. “Take it off?”

Okay. What kind of universe had I been transferred into?

Marco Bellini, the same boy who usually couldn’t even look me in the eye without stuttering, had just pushed me onto his bed and asked me to take my shirt off. Because I was hurt. The graze on my shoulder wasn’t even that bad.

I reached up and started unbuttoning my shirt after taking off my coat. One button at a time. I could feel his stare even though he was trying not to look. When I finally shrugged the shirt off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, I heard the exact moment his brain short-circuited.

Marco made a strangled sound. His eyes went huge as they landed on my bare chest and the shallow graze along my left shoulder. Blood dried in a thin line, but it was still obvious.

“I—I’ll get stuff!” he blurted out, voice cracking. “Just—don’t move!”

He spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet again and bolted out of the room. I heard him fumbling down the hallway, opening cabinets, the sound of things clattering.

This was new. This was very new.

He came back less than a minute later, arms full of supplies - a bottle of disinfectant, cotton pads, a roll of bandages, and what looked like medical tape. His eyes did a quick, frantic sweep over my chest and shoulders before he snapped them to the floor. The blush that had started to fade came roaring back full force.

“I…um…I got the things,” he stammered. He was shy.

He finally reached me and set everything down on the bed beside me. His hands were shaking a little as he picked up the disinfectant and a cotton pad. He glanced at my shoulder, then at my face, then back at the wound.

“Does it… hurt a lot?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head once. “No.”

He nodded like he didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to argue. He poured some disinfectant onto the pad and hesitated again, hovering near my shoulder without actually touching.

“I—I have to clean it,” he said, almost like he was apologizing in advance. “It might sting.”

“I know.”

Marco took a shaky breath and finally pressed the pad to the graze. His touch was light. I stayed perfectly still, watching his face the entire time. He was focused, brows slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Every few seconds his eyes would flick up to check my expression, like he expected me to suddenly grab him or yell or do something violent.

When he finished cleaning the wound, he reached for the bandages. His fingers brushed against my skin a couple of times, accidental. I could tell from the way he flinched every time it happened. Each touch sent a strange little spark through me. Not lust this time. Something that made me want to pull him closer and hug him.

He started wrapping the bandage around my shoulder and I could feel the slight tremor in his hands.

“You’re bad at this.”

Marco’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I—I know! I’m sorry! I’ve never done this before on someone else. Only on myself sometimes when I—”

My eyes darkened.

“Only when you what?”

He looked up at me, blinking like he hadn’t expected the question. My gaze must have been harsher than I realized because he flinched, shoulders curling inward the tiniest bit. I forced the expression to soften immediately, easing the tension out of my face and lowering my voice.

“Only when you what, little star?”

I wanted to know. The answer mattered more than it should have. Did he get hurt often?

“I’m a bit clumsy,” he admitted quietly, not meeting my eyes. “So sometimes I cut myself when I cook on accident. Nothing serious. Just… little nicks. I’m used to it.”