I stare at his texts for several seconds, the part of my brain that wants everything to be “normal” right now begging for me to tease him about his awful texting shorthand. But the question itself is too distracting, because the honest answer is a resoundingfuck no.
So, rather than answering or teasing him, I stuff my phone back in my pocket, tuck my hands under my arms, and continue walking down the side of the road.
Alexandhismomlive in the first of a row of houses along a little side street set back from the main road that runs through town. There’s a single street lamp illuminating the corner, but it’s still pretty dark, and as I turn onto his street and step up onto the sidewalk about twenty minutes later, I see a dim light coming from his bedroom window on the second floor. The porch light is also on.
Something about that eases the heavy dread that’s been building in my chest on the walk from my house.
He opens the front door just as I reach the porch, like he’s been waiting for me to arrive, and though I can see the questions and concern in his eyes, he ushers me inside without a word and then closes the door quietly behind me. I follow him upstairs and into his bedroom, and it’s not until we’re alone in his room that I finallylet out a long, shuddering breath.
I won’t cry, I tell myself. I’m not twelve anymore. I’m fucking eighteen years old. But hell if that resolve doesn’t crumble the second his arms come around me and he pulls me up against him.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
I just shake my head because no words will come right now, and I let myself relax into him. He murmurs something against the top of my head, and his arms tighten around me. It feels safe here, like I’m protected from everything.
And it’s only because it’s him. Alex. He’s the only one who can touch me like this. The only one who can really touch me at all, actually. It’s been this way for years, and Patrick is the whole reason why.
“Goddammit.” The curse slips out as my arms come around Alex’s waist.
Somehow, he knows.
He knows not to ask more right now and that I’m one wrong word away from falling apart. So he just hugs me and doesn’t say anything for a bit, and when I finally pull away a few minutes later, he still doesn’t question me. He just steps back and heads over to the closet and starts pulling down some extra pillows and blankets. Then he makes up a place for me to sleep on the floor next to his bed. Just like we used to do.
When he’s done, he turns toward me, his eyes still full of worry. He looks ready to say something, but I shake my head and look down at the ground.
“Don’t ask,” I insist. “Please.”
I’ll tell him later. Tomorrow maybe. Or maybe he doesn’t even need to fucking know.
He’s leaving for college in a few months anyway. If I tell him, he’ll just worry more. And I’d hate it if that made him decidenotto go. Even though I absolutely hate the fact that he’s leaving.
“Okay. Um...” His bed squeaks, and I look up. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, which are clasped together in his lap. “So, um, you take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor, and then tomorrow—”
“No, I can’t take the bed.”
“Don’t argue,” he says, glancing up at me with a smirk. “I ate a shrimp for you, so nowyouoweme.”
Maybe it’s because it’s well past one in the morning after a long-ass day and my brain is already broken. Or maybe it’s my emotional state. I don’t know. But I can’t connect the dots right away, and I just stare at him for several long seconds with what I know has to be a stupid expression on my face.
His smirk fades, and he blinks and looks down, biting at his lower lip. “I’m joking, of course. I just want you to be comfortable. I can sleep anywhere, you know that. But if you’re having trouble sleeping, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed. So, please take the bed.”
We’re usually not this awkward. Of course, I don’t usually show up in the middle of the night asking to stay over with no explanation. But there’s something else, too. Something in the way Alex is watching me. Something different in his eyes.
And in any case, I have no more energy and no more ability to argue. And I have been having trouble sleeping. And Iwillsleep better on the bed.
So I nod and drop my chin down to my chest again. “Yeah, okay. Thanks,” I manage.
Alex pushes himself off the bed and heads over to his desk, where he starts rummaging through a drawer. A few seconds later, he’s back, and he plugs an extra cell phone charger into the outlet right behind his nightstand. Because he’s thoughtful like that. He plugs his phone into the other charger and sets it face down. Then he switches off the lamp on the nightstand, leaving only a few thinrays of light peeking in through the shutters, and he lowers himself to the floor with an exaggerated groan.
“It’s been a day, huh?” he says, pulling the blanket over himself as he lies down.
I give a stiff nod and then slip my shoes off and climb into his bed. It’s soft and warm. And it smells like him. Sort of woodsy and clean and masculine.
I turn over onto my side facing him and tug the dark-blue comforter all the way up to my chin. Then I take a long, deep breath. The exhale shudders, but for a different reason than it had earlier. And when I close my eyes this time, I don’t feel that overpowering unease. It’s the opposite, actually. I feel safe again. Safe and comfortable and all the things Alex always makes me feel.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the dark.
I hear a quiet huff, followed by Alex’s voice, which sounds softer than usual. “Good night, Nico.”
