I shrug. “They just don’t.”
“You’re confusing.”
“And yet you’re still my friend.”
My adorably gorgeous, ultra-cuddly, straight best friend.
“That’s because you give good hugs.” He squeezes me.
Casey hasn’t always been this cuddly. He liked giving hugs, but this kind of full-body hug didn’t happen until last year. Now we end up like this whenever he gets home from swim training.
“Did you help him? The cool kid, I mean.” He raises one hand to make air quotes.
“I told him we had reading and an essay due. He might have popped a blood vessel at that news. Our professor gave him an extension, so now I’m putting an essay guide together for him.”
“Now I’m even more confused.”
“Why?”
“You said you don’t know him.”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re going out of your way to help him, even though he only talked to you for the first time today?”
“Is that weird?”
He shrugs.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“You like helping people. You’re awesome like that.”
I can’t help but grin.
“You think he’s good-looking, and you’re helping him.” Casey’s statement feels unfinished, but he doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t state any conclusions he might have come to. He yawns. “I’m tired.”
“Go to bed?” Or stay in my bed with me. I wouldn’t mind. I’d cuddle all night if he wanted me to. I love him and have for a while, but he’s straight and married to swimming.
“Can’t. I have reading to do for tomorrow.”
I stroke his shoulder. “Maybe a short nap first?”
“That’s a good plan.” He snuggles even closer to me.
I hold him as he relaxes, and his breathing becomes soft and even. After a couple of minutes, I nudge his shoulder. He doesn’t stir. I could move, but I’d probably wake him. I glance at my desk. It’s not as if I’ve got any outstanding work to do. I can lie here for half an hour or so, cuddling my best friend while he naps.
Casey looks so comfortable snuggled up beside me. He’s wearing a thick jumper that his mum knitted for him and faded jeans. He’s got a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, which I know he’ll shave away in the morning. His swimming goggles have left a faint imprint around his eyes. As the minutes pass, the red mark gradually fades until it’s nothing more than a memory. I stroke his hair as he sleeps, running my fingers through the short, dark strands.
The time passes quickly. Before I know it, it’s ten. I need to wake him if he’s going to have any hope of doing his reading for tomorrow. I shake him. “Casey.”
He murmurs but doesn’t wake. He must be exhausted. Would he be mad if I let him stay asleep?
“Casey.”
“Hmm?” His eyes blink open, and he tilts his face up.
He has beautiful eyes, dark and warm. The centre of his iris is a reddish brown, which fades to hazel.
