“You can have the bed,” he offers as I walk past him toward the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s a great carpet. That way we can talk, or... whatever.”
“It’s the whatever that I’m worried about,” I say. I’m about to expand on my refusal, when I turn around and look at him. I’m struck by the vulnerability in Wes’s expression.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he blurts out, and then lowers his eyes, embarrassed. “I’m having a hard time being alone, Tate.”
Chills run up my arms, and I step a little closer to him. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I ask.
He presses his lips into a sad smile, his dimples flashing. “I did. I called you, remember?”
I shrug. “Yeah,” I say. “But I thought it was just the typical loneliness.”
Wes rubs his hand roughly through his hair, admonishing himself. “I’ve probably made you want to run out of here twice as fast,” he says.
I turn toward the window. I can’t see outside from here, but I hear the wind howl against the glass and the steady beat of rain. The clicking of debris and pebbles. It’s shitty outside.
“I can stay for a while,” I offer. “Wake up before dawn and drive home. My grandparents can’t think this is a terrible idea if they don’t know about it.”
Wes looks over at me. “I still think they’d consider it a responsible, mature idea, but whatever you want.”
What I want isn’t a possibility right now, but I won’t leave him here if he’s feeling lonely like this. If I keep it platonic, there’s no harm. We can be friends. It’s what he wanted the first time he came back, but I kept pressing the issue. Now I know better. Now I know better for both of us.
“You’ll really sleep on the floor?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, putting his hand over his heart like it’s a solemn oath. “But are you tired now? We can watch another movie. I’ll even get us some chips and sodas. I had my mom put a fridge down here.” He grins as if acknowledging he’s outrageously spoiled, and I roll my eyes.
“Fine,” I say, tossing my clothes onto the closest chair. “But no more aliens.”
“Romance?” Wes asks with a smile.
“Thriller,” I suggest instead. He nods that it’s a good plan and goes over to the computer. He clicks through his movies, searching for an appropriately scary one that will allow us to forget the real horrors outside his basement bedroom. And this time, as we watch, his hand gently grazes mine, resting there.
But he never holds it.
•••
It’s just after midnight when we go into his room, not really talking. My heart is beating fast, like the plan will change somehow. But it doesn’t. Wes takes one of the pillows off his bed and tosses it onto the floor. He opens his closet and takes out a sleeping bag. He unzips it and lays it out, then grabs a folded blanket from the edge of his bed and puts that on top. It doesn’t look too awesome, and I’m about to suggest the couch, when he points to the bed as if he’s telling me not to argue.
I smile and climb onto his oversize bed, slipping my bare legs under the covers. His bed has always been ridiculously plush and comfortable. I hear Wes’s knee crack as he climbs down, a little groan, and then he takes a deep breath.
The room is dark with just a small light on his dresser and the clock on his nightstand. Outside the window, the wind still blows—although admittedly not as hard.
“So...,” Wes says from the floor. “How’s that bed?”
I smile, knowing Wes can’t see me up here, and I turn on my side. “It’s way too soft,” I tell him. “Like lying on a cloud.”
“Ugh, I hate that,” Wes says in an equally serious voice. “If you want, you can try out the floor with me. It has the perfect buoyancy.” He reaches over and knocks on the floor, a hollow echo of concrete under the carpet.
“Wow, that does sound comfy,” I say.
“You should come down. There’s plenty of room.”
I peek over the side of the bed to where Wes is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The little bit of light cast perfectly across his face.
“Okay,” I say, and see him instantly smile.
I climb down from the bed, taking my pillow with me, and lie next to him on the unfolded sleeping bag. I curl on my side, and my hip and shoulder ache from the pressure of the hard floor. I tuck my hands under my chin, and across from me, Wes mimics the movement. We’re a pillow away, but curved in, our knees nearly touching.
“I’m curious about something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Have I ever asked you out before?”
