And I hate this so much.
Last night, I thought a fling with him might be fun. But now… now everything’s changed.
Every second I spend with him, I’m finding it harder and harder to keep my hands off him. Then, when he said he likes me…
This cannot happen.
He’s too sweet, and he’s too fragile, and god help me, he has no idea he’s about to die—in two weeks, maybe less. That every second he spends with me is one of his last.
Would he be here if he knew? If he had any idea I’d done this to him? That I’m lying to him?
The way he looks at me, the way he trusts me so easily and so completely… How can I betray that?
But then, what good would it do for him to spend the last days of his existence in a panic? Or feeling like I’d let him down?
He’s as good as dead, and I need to accept that and stop this ridiculous pining before it goes any further.
Hopefully, his seeing the way I live will help. He seemed to have the idea that I’m brilliant, clever, put together—a success in some way. Well, now he sees what a complete fuckup I am. And who’d want that?
“So, I know this is all a bit of a mess.” I’m referring to the maths, but I could be referring to myself, the room, all of it. “I’ll tell you what happ—” I catch myself “—what Ithinkhappened. That’s what I’ve got written down here, more or less.”
He nods, eyes alert, looking like I’m about to make him sit his high school finals.
“Do you want to take your coat off?”
“Hmm? Yeah. Mmm.” He looks around for somewhere to put it, but there really isn’t anywhere. I don’t tend to keep clothes, because I can’t, so it’s not like I have a coat rack or a wardrobe. In fact, I only stole my shirt this morning in the hopes it would impress him. God, he hasn’t even seen it yet.
Immediately, I rip my sweater off, casually trying to track the movement of his eyes. He runs them over every inch of my shirt. It’s a deep auburn, black stripes, very professorly. I was worried I might be a little overdressed. August could wear a sack and look amazing with his physique, but I have to try a little harder. Still, if his gaze lingering around my belt is anything to go by, it was the right choice. “You look hot, August.”
“What? Me?” He’s so cute when he blushes.
“Yeah, you.” I need to stop this. “Your coat?”
And I can’t even help it. I’m already across the small room, wrapping my fingers around the lapels of his coat. Though I’d give my right arm to pull him closer with them, I behave, and instead ease it down over his shoulders. Hisbuiltshoulders. Over his big arms. “Jesus. How many hours do you spend each week building these muscles?”
He colours even deeper, adding a bashful smile that’s killing me. “Uh… I don’t know. A few.”
“A few…” I bet he knows exactly how many.
He crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his biceps as if it would be possible to hide them. Christ, the way I’d kill to see them in the flesh… “Will you be too hot in that hoodie?”
“I’ll…” He passes his eyes over it, lips pressing together. “I’ll see.”
“Okay.” I lay his coat across the desk, then take my place by blackboard number one.
It’s warm down here in this stuffy room. Now I wish I hadn’t worn long sleeves. Sweat’s hardly going to impress him.
Undoing a cuff, I work neat folds over my forearm, commencing with, “I’ll explain it all in a nutshell. I promise it’s not as complicated as it looks.” I glance up to see if he’s listening, but for whatever reason, his eyes are locked onto my wrist.
Shit. Does he know I stole this shirt? Is that why he’s staring? How could he know?
Run distraction.
“I was working in the lab, upstairs in my universe’s version of Imperial College, when all this went down. I’d been working on… uh…” Better start at the beginning. “How much do you know about the Big Bang?”
I’m just finishing the second sleeve when I ask the question, and get zero response.
“August?”
