“Donotdo that again,” I laugh out, falling back against him.
There’s something so intimate about being held with zero expectations or reason beyondwantingto. Something so natural about Bo and me moving our bodies in sequence, in no rush to step away. Something so inherently safe about being in his arms.
Bo may slip up and check me out every once in a while, with his eyes held on me and his jaw taught, but he hasn’t once tried anything since we agreed to remain platonic. He’s too respectful for that. And I’m sure my eyes have donefarworse damage to him over the past few weeks.
So when he presses me even closer, dips his chin to the top of my head, and curls his arms around me in more of an embrace than a dance, I let him, with zero hesitation, as I relax into the warm, solid comfort of his hold.
“One more?” he asks, his voice broken.
I nod against him.
One more song fades and blurs into five, or maybe even more. I’ve lost track. Eventually, when the turntable clicks, signalling the need to flip the record over, neither of us moves. If anything, Bo holds me tighter against him.
“You okay?” I whisper into his chest after a few moments of silence.
“I’m just trying to come up with the right words,” he says, leaning his cheek against the top of my head, his nose on my hairline with deep, steady breaths. “To thank you for everything.”
The way he sayseverythingis like he really meansevery single thing.
Tears sting my nose instantly. “I should be thanking you,” I say. “For letting me crash here, for being so kind to me, for—” I almost sayloving mebefore I catch myself. “For being such a good friend.”
“Win, I don’t think you understand. I spent my birthday last year alone on my couch, drinking and miserable. I was so lonely. I felt like half a person. I—” He chokes up and clears his throat. “I felt hopeless.” He sniffles, and I fight the urge to pull away to look at his face. To wipe his tears, if there are any. “But thenyoucame along.”
“If things were so bad, why go to some silly Halloween party?”How did I get so lucky?
“Have you ever been so low you stop caring so much? I think I hit rock bottom. I figured nothing else was working, so why not do something scary on a night where I could be someone else for a little bit? A costume to make light of it all.”
The second I go to look up at him, he pulls me back and tightens his hold. He squeezes me to his chest like a favourite stuffed animal or blanket, tucking me under his chin. I splay my fingers out on his back and press into him, communicating back to him the same intensity. Clinging to him just the same.
“I’m sorry things were so bad,” I say softly, his sweater against the corner of my mouth.
I wish I knew you then, I think to myself.
I’d have found him there, in that dark period. Sat with him in it. Until very recently, I was there too. Perhaps that’s all Bo and I are. Two people leaving behind the worst, looking forward to the good to come. But is he ready to leaveeverythingbehind?
Because I think I might be.
“I’m not sorry,” Bo says, surprisingly steady. “Not anymore.”
He lets me go and steps backward. Even with red-rimmed, sullen eyes, hestillsmiles down at me. And out of the many, many smiles he’s given me, this one is different. There’s something unmistakeably hesitant about it, but mostly, it’s the hopefulness amidst it all that strikes me.
Yes,I tell him silently with my own melancholy smile. I feel it too. And yes, it’s absolutely terrifying. Let’s pretend we don’t. Not yet. Not tonight. Not until we’re both certain.
“I’d do it all over again to be at that party,” he says. “To meet you. To get Gus.”
I damn near disintegrate, my face crumpling as I shake my head. Because how can I hear him say that and not fall in love with him at this exact moment? How can I tell myself he’s not purelygoodwhen he says things like that?
“Bo…” I say, looking at our feet.
“I would,” he says adamantly, nodding as if he wants me to do the same. “Wouldn’t you?”
“If we hadn’t met… if this hadn’t happened,” I say, placing a hand on my small bump, “I think I’d have been stuck playing it safe forever.”
A tear falls from his eye, and without hesitation, I reach up to brush it away with my thumb, cradling his cheek in my hand.
“You’d have gotten yourself out eventually, Win.” He presses the corner of his mouth to my wrist, releasing a trembling breath against it. “You can do anything,” he whispers against my pulse point. And the way he saysanythingis as if he really meansany possible thing.
And I believe him.
