He kisses my temple, hovering a second longer than necessary, before he tugs me into his arms. The pressure of his grasp loosens the nervous coil in my chest marginally, and I exhale in relief.
I know he’s trying to give me space to process everything, but that’s making it worse. It’s like we’ve crammed half a lifetime into a couple of months, and I’m used to his hugs and kisses; it’s disorienting to lose them.
“Can you do something for me?” I murmur.
He rests his head on top of mine. “Anything.”
“Treat me like you did before you found the video.” I swallow.The videofeels a little juvenile, but I’m not really ready to call it by what it is, yet. “I’m not hiding from what it means, but I don’t want to miss you either.”
“That might be the best thing you’ve ever said to me,” he says, shifting us so fast that he steals my breath when he presses his lips to mine.
His arms pull me close, and for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, life feels normal. Especially when he adjusts his arms so he can thread his fingers through my hair, tugging gently to take us deeper. Turning my bones to molten lava.
“That’s really downplaying a lot of conversation we’ve had in the last six weeks,” I say quietly, our lips still brushing as I speak.
Almost like he doesn’t want to let me go.
“That’s not what I mean. I’ve just tried to give you space?—”
I shake my head. “Stop that. I don’t need space.”
“You don’t?”
I swear there’s a hint of surprise in his voice.
I tip my head back to see him. “I need to process some things, but that’s aboutme,not us. Okay?”
He curls around me, stooping enough to bury his face in my neck. It’s a feat considering his height, but I don’t care. My entire body unclenches this way.
“You need to go get your coffee before your mom yells again,” he says.
I know Aiden and I can’t live this way—like some weird human statue. But this feels normal, so I’d rather stay just like this. As soon as I walk out of this house, I have to address all the questions and emotions swirling in my brain.
Most of them circle answers I already know.
“I love you,” I say.
I’m not sure if it’s for him or for me. But I still need to say it.
“I love you, too.” The last word ends in a way that makes me think he wants to say more, but he’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “I wasn’t sure if I’d hear you say that again. I don’t know—am I allowed to say that? Is it too much?”
More invisible rules. This whole relationship has lived by rules.
“You can say whatever you want.” I wiggle out of his grasp enough that it forces him to look at me. “But no more rules. I’m so tired of living by someone else’s expectations.” A heavy breath escapes me, and I can’t believe how much better I feel.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Yes. Almost like a new person.” I kind of want to test it again and see if it feels good twice. “That news reframed the biggest yes I’ve ever given someone, and I need to sit with that. But I can tell you that no matter how that turns out? I’ll still love you. I’ll still come home with you. I just need to know who I am alone before I stand with you.”
And the words escape, the suffocation feeling in my chest eases.
“Because we thought we had a year to sort through all of this.”
“Pretty much,” I nod. “But I’m not to be believed or trusted because you had me when you stood at my sink and washed dishes. I never stood a chance.”
My mother’s voice carries from the living room. “Chloe! Coffee. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I call back, because apparently I’m twelve again.
