I’m not expecting to walk into a whole-asshome.
“What is this?” I ask, then a second later want to kick myself. It’s obvious what it is. It’s where Ziggy lives.
There’s a couch and a TV on one side, then what looks like the pieces of a bathroom on the other. Behind it all is a bed, and behindthat… nothing but darkness. I’m torn between finding it cool and creepy as hell.
“You live here?”
He’s paused in the middle of the room, hovering there and watching me like he’s waiting for something. It’s getting dark, so his face is harder to read than usual, but as I look around, I can feel his expectant stare. The way he’s begging me to saysomething.
“It’s … nice.” Thankfully, I manage to inject conviction into my voice.
He scowls, tucking his hands under his arms, like he’s hugging himself.
“No, really. This is cool. Umm, different, obviously, but …” I fall silent when annoyance clouds his features. “Fine, it creeps me out a little. But I’m not used to it, that’s all.”
He turns, taking in his place, gaze straying back to all that darkness. His hair falls over his face, and I know what he’s doing. He’s withdrawing to protect himself.
I don’t ever want him to need protecting from me.
“Nuh-uh …” I close the distance between us, and even when I sling my arm around his waist, he’s tense. “Ziggy, don’t be mad. Please.” I tuck his hair back, and he drags his dark eyes up to meet mine, a determined spark deep in them.
“I like it.”
“Good.” I have no idea how, but I’m not stupid enough to say that. “It’s your place. You should.”
“But you don’t.”
I sigh, because I don’t want to lie to him. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s unconventional and cool. But …” I nod toward where the shaft disappears into nothingness. “How can you sleep, picturing something coming out of the darkness and eating you alive?”
“I don’t picture it.”
He’s giving me so much more openness than I could hope for, and I don’t want to lose it. “You are a thousand times braver than me. But … this is your place, and I sort of hope I’ll be spending more time here, so I know it’ll grow on me like it grew on you.” At least that’s what I hope, and I’m going to try.
“You’re spending time here?”
He’s going to make me clarify, because of course he is. For a guy who doesn’t like words, he’s not shy about facing difficult conversations. And I don’t care how many relationships I’ve had, admitting feelings is never an easy thing to do. I think it’sbecauseof how many relationships I’ve had that it’s harder than it should be.
Because I know what comes next.
I tell him how I feel, and he lies and says he feels it too, then he immediately starts pulling away. And the distance only makes me try to cling tighter.
The alternative is being caught in this endless loop of pretending to be friends until the pressure breaks, sleeping together, and then faking friends again.
Both options sound fucking painful.
“I like you, Ziggy,” I confess. “More than a friend.”
“I know.”
That simple acknowledgment helps snap my nerves in two. “Of course you do.”
“Your thoughts are very loud.”
Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t. “Even without speaking them?”
“Especiallywithout speaking them.” His lips barely move, but they’re still puffy from kissing, and with the worry gone, his whole face is content. I like that look on him.
“You’re so beautiful.”
