And it was bright, warm.
Not a suffocating cold, a darkness filled with pain and hurt.
“M-mama?” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I-I love you, mama.”
He heard her sniffle. “I love you too, Ryan.”
Hehadn’tslept.Atleast, not any longer than a few minutes here or there, and every time, he’d been awakened suddenly by something in a dream. Some intangible threat. Or a darkness sitting on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Finally, at about four in the morning, he’d pulled the blanket off his bed, curled up in the corner of the room with a book, and tried to get lost in some fantasy story about elves and dragons and magic.
At seven, he heard his mom get up, and at seven thirty, she popped her head in and frowned when she found him in the corner instead of in his bed. When she asked if he would be okay today, he did an awful thing.
He lied.
He nodded and gave her a smile and said that, yes, he’d be okay.
He would be okay, after all. He was just tired. And his brain was in one of those awful places, but it would be okay later.
She hesitated, but then came over to his corner and knelt down next to him and gave him a small hug and kiss. Then she said to text if he needed her, and she left for work.
The quiet house thankfully didn’t feel scary at that moment, especially if he let himself listen to the birds chirping just outside. So that was what he did. He closed his book and lay down on his side, curling up as he pulled his blanket well up to his chin. Then he closed his eyes and listened.
He heard the two yellow warblers, their songs bright and happy, as they were every morning. And he heard a northern mockingbird’s rhythmic chirping and the louder drilling of one of the many woodpeckers that lived nearby.
It was enough to keep him occupied, at least for a little while.
It had to have been several minutes later when he heard his phone buzz from where he’d left it on his nightstand the night before, pulling him out of the comfortable, quiet place he’d found. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking past the bright sunlight streaming through the window, and then he forced himself up. His legs felt tired and weak, but he managed to stumble over and collapse onto the bed. He reached over and picked up his phone.
Jake.
His stomach twisted as he saw Jake’s name in the notification. Or, well, it wasn’t an awful, uncomfortable twist. Just a knot. Something uncertain.
He stared at Jake’s name for another few seconds, working up the courage to click.
Not that he needed courage. Jake was probably just texting to say he was on his way over.
And Rye was nowhere near ready to go. And he wasn’t sure when he would be. He should probably shower and shave. Get dressed. At minimum.
Swallowing back whatever feeling was making it hard to breathe again, he clicked on the notification.
Jake (7:54 a.m.):Sorry, running a few minutes late. Leaving now. See you soon :)
Rye closed his eyes as the knot in his stomach turned into something different. Something warm and pleasant.
Jake was his friend. All night long, as he’d been trying to sleep—and failing so spectacularly—he’d been replaying all of his mom’s words and the moment out by Jake’s car. And he’d been trying to understand things. Trying to understand whether his mom might be right. Whether his friendship with Jake could be more than just friendship.
And he’d concluded two things. First, he was absolutely terrified to even consider it. And second, he was fairly sure his mom was right.
Those two things were probably the reasons he’d had so much trouble sleeping, plagued by vague, dark nightmares. Which he supposed were at least better thanspecific, dark nightmares and flashbacks of awful things.
Rye stared at the phone, and he sucked in a short breath as he was hit by a new sensation. Something like little butterflies fluttering in his chest. The smiley emoji. Jake was looking forward to seeing him today. And... Rye both wanted and didn’t want to see Jake too. He actually really, really wanted to see Jake. But then... reason number one. And reason number two.
Was this really what “more than friends” felt like? His mom thought so. And Jake... God, Jake had even said it.“I like you.”He’d quickly walked it back, but the warmth in his touch a moment later, the feeling of rightness, the tingle in Rye’s cheek—which he couldstillfeel—all of those were things he’d never felt from anyone else before.
