Haphephobia: the fear of being touched.
Blake, a second-year Psychology student, hadn't ever heard of such a phobia, until the day he was hired as a guide for Dean, the heir of a rich family.
Even though Dean had the appearance and behaviour of a ge...
This is the revised version of the original chapter 4. Even if you have already read the original chapter, I would love to know your opinions on this version.
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- Shall I introduce you to my son?
Dean's breath hitched in his throat. He flew up the stairs, his sock-clad feet gliding over the polished hardwood, careful not to make a sound.
The only time he had tried to eavesdrop and he only heard the end of the conversation. If Dr Pam's student had caught him, the embarrassment would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Closing the door behind him, Dean scanned his bedroom. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it in his temples. It had been years since anyone apart from his family, a servant, or a healthcare professional set foot in his room. He had to make sure there was nothing weird in sight.
His gaze swept over one shelf, and he froze. The models! What kind of freak would have self-made models on display?
Voices echoed through the corridor, and panic took over. Dean flung his body towards the bed, crawling over it to the shelf and grabbing the small Eiffel Tower and Big Ben. He skimmed the room in a rush, but he couldn't think of a place to hide them without the risk of damage.
The knock at the door almost made him drop the Eiffel Tower.
- One moment, please. - He tried to sound as casual as he could while placing the models back on the shelf with trembling hands.
In a hurry, he smoothed out the bedding and booked it towards his desk. Just as he was about to reach it, he tripped over his own feet. The impact of his fall sent the swivel chair crashing into the desk with a thud, leaving him gasping for air.
- Dean, - his mother called from the corridor. - Sweetie, is everything alright?
- Yes, of course. - Dean held his hurt ribcage, trying to catch his breath. - No need to worry.
- Dr Pam's student is here to meet you. He's going to let himself in.
Dean sat up, ignoring the ache in his side, and hastily adjusted his button-down shirt. Just as the door swung open, he posed in the nonchalant way he had spent the past half hour perfecting.
A young man stepped into the room, his gaze meeting Dean's. In that instant, the script Dean had prepared vanished from his mind.
Those eyes.
That face. Dean knew that face.
But from where?
The student's lips curled up and Dean froze at the core. Memories of that warm smile, those dark eyes, and coal-black hair flooded him.
