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tickling got until he was wiggling on the bed, trying to get away from Simon’s long fingers as he laughed.
    Mercifully Simon pulled his hand back a moment later. “Alright, enough games for tonight, Max. You’ve got to eat. This oatmeal will get cold soon if you don’t.”
    “Tell me about being a Dom first,” Max said.
    Simon smiled and his dark eyes glittered in the moonlight. “I’ll tell you one thing for each bite you take. Deal?”

Chapter Three
    Max nodded, eager to learn more about his roommate now that the man had seemed to want to open up to him. When Simon lifted the spoon to his mouth, Max obediently ate. He frowned though as the familiar taste coated his tongue. It was rich and creamy with just a bit of spice. The oatmeal was very nearly perfect. “How did you know how I like my oatmeal?” he asked, suddenly suspicious of him.
    Simon rolled his eyes. “You think you’re the only one watching his roommate in this place? You’re precise with everything you do. Most people wouldn’t bother measuring the milk for their oatmeal, let alone the spices they use. After a while of wondering why you had so many measuring spoons I started to realize that you used them every morning you ate oatmeal. Having multiples meant you don’t have to wait to eat oatmeal while the set was being washed. Everything is neatly organized. It didn’t take me long to figure out why you have that little bundle of spices next to the oatmeal box on the counter.”
    He put the bowl aside and leaned down, gently kissing Max’s full lips. He leaned forward, lifting his head up to meet Simon’s as much as he could before the other man pulled away. “You fascinate me,” Simon whispered, his mouth mere inches from Max’s. “Everything about you. From the lavender soap you use in the shower, to the way you make a mess of your clothes in the drawers. Outside of your home you’re organized beyond belief, but here, in your room you’re a mess. Does it hurt you to have to play so many different parts?”
    Max closed his eyes, refusing to look at him. “You’re guessing,” he said, hoping his voice was strong enough to make the truth of what Simon was saying go away. “And you’re wrong. I enjoy being neat and organized.” A lie. He hated it. “And it doesn’t bother me it at all.”
    After a moment of silence he opened his eyes, surprised to see Simon still looking down at him.
    “You can lie to me all you want, Max. But try not to do it to yourself so much.” He sat back, picked up the bowl of oatmeal and brought another spoonful to Max’s lips.
    Max ate quickly, wanting to know more.
    “I don’t enjoy giving people pain,” Simon said, filling the spoon again. “I don’t own toys and I won’t be spanking you. What I do like is—”
    “Control, I know, you told me,” Max quickly interrupted. “But what does that even mean?”
    Knowing that Simon was going to give him another bite he opened his mouth, ready for more oatmeal. He ate it as Simon answered him.
    “These past few months, I’ve seen you struggling. Last week when you came home hours after you should have, you were pale, and your hands were shaking. You didn’t tell me about it. You might not have even known that I was getting a glass of water from the kitchen as you stumbled into your bedroom. But you were a mess. When you didn’t look any better the next morning I decided that I had to intervene. You can call this night the start of your intervention. If you want it.”
    Max snorted and shook his head. “Tying me up and making sure that I eat something isn’t really going to change anything, Simon. There will still be people on my operating table. Children…little girls that…”
    “Is that what happened tonight?” Simon asked.
    “Yes. She was…” he shook his head and pursed his lips. “I don’t want to go over it with you. You weren’t a part of her healthcare team. Telling you about her surgery would be wrong.”
    Simon nodded,