“You two ready to go?” Paige asks, smirking like the nemesis to my dignity. “Or do you want us to stand witness when this extended meet-cute reaches its fiery train-wreck of a conclusion in real time?”
I flip her off, refusing to give any more response than that and instead marching off down the street, letting the rest of them catch me up. I don’t look back to see if Princess is among my friends. He appears beside me a couple seconds later. He walks closer than he did before, our arms brushing more frequently as we make our way back home through the city.
We have to spend some time explaining the traps and triggers my friends and I have set up throughout the safehouse to Princess, but he takes it in his stride and lets himself be guided through the building.
I watch Princess as he takes in the mattress set out on the roof, as well as the old office sofa we dragged out at some point and settled against the far wall. Our stuff is scattered all over the place; Paige’s books, my guitar, a cordless radio, Amira’s sketchpad, board games, several stacks of cards Bo has collected. We keep our food inside, packets and tins, hidden away in the vents so anyone who manages to break in won’t find it.
Up on the roof, the wind is stronger and hits with a deeper chill. We should probably move inside, to escape the cold, an enemy I’ve known for years, right alongside hunger. But I like sleeping outside. After years of having no choice but to do so, it feels strange to trap myself within walls, cut off from the noise of the city and icy temperatures of a British winter. Too much comfort unnerves me, makes it impossible to relax. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live indoors full time, if the feral parts of me will be able to accept domestication to that degree.
Princess rocks back on his heals and gives the mattress a particularly judgemental scowl. “Will we all be sharing the mattress?” he asks me wryly.
“Princess.” I put a hand over my heart, throwing him a scandalised look. “I’ll thank you not to be so forward. We don’t just get into bed with any random boy we meet committing Robin Hood crimes outside our safehouse.”
Princesses’s scowl deepens. “It’s not a bed, it’s a mattress.”
“The mattress is arguably the most essential part of a bed.” I reason.
“Arguablyis the word I’d use too.” Princess nudges at the mattress with his booted foot, like he thinks it will come to life and try to eat him.
“It has a blanket!” I gesture emphatically.
“Would a pillow be too much to ask for?”
I squint at him. “You really are a spoilt little brat under those dirty fingernails, aren’t you? My blanket not up to your imperial standards?”
Princess raises a hand in placation. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to besmirch the quality of your precious blanket. It’s very….pink.”
“I like pink,” I tell him defensively. “Pink is my favourite colour.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for your next birthday.” Princess muses, giving me a studious once over.
“No one knows when my birthday is. I prefer to remain aloof and interesting. Can’t do that if people know how old I am. I must remain timeless. Like marzipan and capitalism.”
Princess nods sagely. “Like a plastic bag.”
I squint at him some more. “Do I detect mockery?”
Princess's mouth twists into a wry smile. “I should bloody well hope so, because that’s what I was going for.”
I open my mouth to respond when Paige interrupts again by slapping a hand down on my shoulder. “Ok then, boys, I'm going to bed. You two behave yourselves. Keep the cuddling to a minimum.” She darts away before I can smack her, winking at us as she heads back inside the building. Amira and Bo have already disappeared off to their own shared bed.
When Princess looks at me quizzically, I answer his original question. “They have beds inside. I’m the only one who sleeps outdoors.” I bite my lip, considering him. “You don’t have to stay out here. Paige will probably let you bunk in with her if you ask.”
“She would?” He seems doubtful.
“Yeah.” I smile to myself. “She has marshmallow tendencies.”
Princess pulls a face. “She seems mean.”
I shrug. “People can be more than one thing.”
Princess makes a sound like he doesn’t agree, but isn’t willing to explain why.
Rather than asking him if he’s ok to share the mattress with me again, I lie down and wait to see if he’ll join me.
There are a couple seconds of indecision before he drops onto the mattress, a whuff of air expelling from his mouth at the suddenness of it. It sounds like tiredness mixed with relief. He doesn’t keep as much distance between us as I expected him to, settling in beside me like we’ve done this a thousand times before. We aren’t quite touching, but I can feel the muted heat of him this close to me.
To keep the awkwardness abated, I resist the urge to stare at him.
