Fumbling for the bedside lamp, I knock the shade with a clatter before finally finding the switch. A soft glow fills the room. I push myself upright, spine stiff, breath still caught somewhere high in my chest.
I sit there for a long moment, perfectly still. Waiting. Willing my breathing to even out. If I dreamt anything, it’s already slipped away, leaving only the faint echo of impact ringing in my bones.
Then I hear it.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Slow. Careful. Hesitant.
Brandon.
He pauses outside my door. I can sense him hovering, debating.
I whisper, “You can come in.”
He steps into the doorway. His hair is mussed from sleep, his charcoal pyjamas rumpled, his sleepy expression heartbreakingly gentle.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I just wanted to check you hadn’t fallen…”
I shake my head, smiling a little. “No. Just woke up.”
“A nightmare?”
“It wasn’t so bad. I’m…sorry if I woke you.”
“That’s alright. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh. I’m guessing the couch is uncomfortable,” I say, my fingers worrying the sheet as guilt drifts in.
“The couch is fine.”
He says it quietly, and the way he looks at me tells me it isn’t the couch keeping him awake.
I wonder if…
I sort of hope I was on his mind.
He gives a small nod and starts to step back towards the door. “I’ll let you rest.”
“Brandon, wait. Actually…would you stay?”
He freezes, eyes softening as he looks at me. “Of course. If you’d like me to.”
He glances at the chair Mum brought in a few days ago—the one I’ve been leaning on when getting in and out of bed. He moves towards it, as if preparing to sit.
“I was thinking the bed,” I murmur.
He stops, breath hitching almost imperceptibly. “The bed?”
“I think we could both use the rest,” I say carefully, holding his gaze. A faint heat rises in my cheeks, but I’m not overly embarrassed. I know what I’m asking.
“Alright,” he says, voice low. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
I ease back onto the pillows, careful of my ankle, and pull the blanket higher. My pulse skitters as he circles around the foot of the bed, his steps quiet on the floorboards. I worry he’ll change his mind, but he pauses only to slip off his socks before lifting the edge of the covers.
He hesitates before climbing in beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He keeps a respectful distance as he settles on his side of the bed. Not too near. Not too far. Just there.
