"How's your book?" I ask when I leave the bathroom, more out of guilt rather than a genuine interest in Australian property. I sit on the edge of my bed, expecting a short answer out of politeness.
Instead, Curtis ends up talking for fifteen minutes about how real estate prices in Australia are ridiculously high, especially for our generation, and that it will be difficult when we're adults to buy houses. His entire face lights up as he talks. I don't think I've ever seen him so expressive.
"Sorry, I'm boring you," he says when he finishes. As he was talking, he moved around in his bed, so now he faces me.
"No!" I protest. "It was interesting. And I understood financial stuff for once."
He smiles. "People rarely want to hear about it," he says, then squints. "What's that on your face?"
I stiffen. I thought given everything that happened today, Curtis and I might get along better, but of course, we're going to fight. Again. I should have seen it coming. "Um, my face," I answer, expecting him to insult my features.
"No, I mean…" Curtis touches his cheek.
I mirror the action on my face. "Oh. It's pimple cream."
"You have pimple cream?"
"Yeah," I say. Here it comes, the insult that guys who use skincare are g —
"That's useful. I didn't bring any," he says.
"Well, your skin is perfect," I blurt out before cringing.
Curtis doesn't notice, too busy touching his skin. "I think I'm going to break out on my chin. All the sugar I've been eating."
"Oh," I say. Is he going to insult me for my eating habits?
"Do you think you could…" he begins, scratching the back of his head.
"Stop buying junk food all the time?" I finish.
"Let me borrow some?" Curtis says at the same time.
I stare at him and my shoulders drop when I realise he's not saying something rude.
"Forget it," he says.
"No," I say. "'Course you can use some. Come on." I jump off the bed and lead him to the bathroom. Curtis arrives at the sink beside me and takes the tube I hand him, applying some to his chin. I swear he's just being a drama queen because there's nothing there. Then again, I'm right against the shower glass door as to not invade his personal space, so maybe I don't have the best view.
"Thanks," Curtis says, handing the tube back to me. "You going to sleep now?"
"It's still pretty early," I say, following him out of the bathroom. "I'll go on my phone until I fall asleep."
I turn off the main bedroom light and turn my bedside table lamp on, so the only light in the room comes from our bedside table lamps.
"Read your fanfiction?" Curtis asks.
I look at him, but he's not smirking.
"Yeah," I answer, getting into bed and pulling up my phone.
We read for two hours, and I get immersed in my fanfiction. It's one of those excellent ones with all of my favourite tropes — enemies to lovers, slow burn, forced proximity.
Once my eyes start to droop, I lean over and turn my lamp off.
A minute later, Curtis puts his book on the bedside table and turns his lamp off too. In the darkness, he shifts, his blankets sliding and scratching. Sometimes his bed frame groans because of Curtis's weight. I may be taller, but Curtis is heavier with all that muscle. His body would crush mine.
"Are you ever going to tell me the name of the fanfiction that you're reading?" Curtis asks.
