“I don’t know what you mean bymore, but I promise I don’t need you to do anything else.”
He exhales, gently gripping the front of my shirt for a moment. “Yes you do.”
“No. You’re doing enough, Niko.”
“I’m not going to let your night end like this. Come with me.”
His hand slides lower and intertwines with mine.
He tugs me forward like he wants me to follow him, and I don’t hesitate at all. I don’t question it, I don’t wonder what the hell he’s doing or where he’s taking me.
He’s like the ocean’s current and I’m just a sailor, waiting for the ride and unafraid of the plunge. I’m letting myself be pulled into him, and steering away from it would be unimaginable.
Let me know you.
Really know you.
Please.
“What happened to you?” I ask as we walk through campus.
He squeezes my hand. “That’s a story for another night.”
“Don’t keep things from me.”
“I won’t, Ollie. But please, not tonight.”
He takes me back through the heart of campus, and eventually we end up at Student Hall all over again.
There’s no one even checking for IDs at the front anymore, because the formal ended sometime in the last hour. Volunteers are helping on clean-up duty near the front of the ballroom, breaking down tables and starting to remove decorations from the front entryway.
A few people glance at us as we walk in.
Niko ignores them.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I tell him.
“And? If we act like we can be here, then people will let us be here.”
I don’t know if he’s right about that, but I follow. I keep fucking following him like I’ve caught sight of a fascinating creature and I can’t look away.
A dragonfly.
With shimmering, iridescent wings.
And I can’t stop chasing him as he flies.
The scent of fresh pine fills the air as he takes me past one row of tall Christmas trees, heading toward the stage. The band is packing up, putting away electric guitars and disassembling the massive drum kit.
“Hey,” Niko says, nodding at one of the lead players. “Got anything acoustic?”
The guy looks up from the stage, glancing at us. “Show’s over. Was a good gig, though.”
“Right. But do you have any acoustic instruments?”
The musician glances around the stage, his eyes scanning the shiny black instrument cases. “Uh, Amelia’s got her violin that she plays on that one slow song.”
Niko fishes in his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and removes a crisp hundred-dollar bill, holding it up under the stage lights.
