When I finally turn off the water and step out, I realize I didn't bring clothes in with me. I wrap a towel around my waist and try to calm my racing heart before I open the door.
Jesus Christ! This is so fucking bad.
Jay is sitting on the bed when I emerge, wearing boxers and a worn t-shirt that's so thin I can see the outline of his body through it. He's scrolling through his phone, but he looks up when the door opens. His eyes sweep over me, from my wet hair down to my bare feet, and I swear I see his throat work as he swallows.
"Feel better?"
"Yeah. Thanks." I grab the clothes Jay lent me. The sweatpants and t-shirt from last night and pull them on quickly, acutely aware of his eyes on me the whole time.
When I'm dressed, I sit down on the bed, leaving space between us. Not much since the bed isn't that big but enough that we're not touching. The room feels smaller than it did before. I'm acutely aware of how little clothing we're both wearing, of the bed we're about to share again, of everything that happened today and everything I'm feeling.
Man, this is awkward as hell.
"You okay?" Jay asks, and I realize I've been sitting here in silence, staring at my hands like a dumbass. "You seem tense. Or nervous. Or something."
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired, I think. Long day. A lot happened."
"Good tired or bad tired?"
I glance over at him. At the concern in his dark eyes, at the way he's leaning slightly toward me like he wants to close the distance but doesn't know if he should. At the fading bruises on his face and the way his hair is starting to dry, falling messy across his forehead.
"Good," I say. "Today was a good day. Maybe the best day I've had in a long time."
His lips curve into a small smile. "Yeah, it was. For me too."
We get into bed the same way we did last night. Side by side, shoulders touching, faces turned toward each other on our pillows. I can hear him breathing, slow and even, and it's the most comforting sound in the world.
"Ivan?" His whisper is quiet in the darkness. "I'm glad you're here. I keep thinking if you hadn't found that article, if I hadn't gotten arrested, if you hadn't driven here—" He stops, swallows. "We might never havefound each other. And that scares me. How close we came to just missing each other forever."
"But we didn't miss each other. We were almost meant to find each other again. And we're here now."
"Yeah. We are."
Silence stretches between us, but it's not uncomfortable. I should close my eyes. I should try to sleep. But I can't stop looking at him, at the shadows on his face, at the curve of his lips, at the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
"Jay?"
"Yeah?"
I don't know what I want to say. I don't know how to put into words what I'm feeling, this tangle of emotions I can't sort out.
"Nothing," I say finally. "Never mind. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Ivan."
I close my eyes. I try to slow my breathing, to relax my body, to fall asleep. But I'm aware of every inch of space between us, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the soft sound of his breath, of the fact that if I just moved my hand a few inches to the left, I could touch him.
Sometime in the night, we drift toward each other again. I wake up once, briefly, to find my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders, our legs tangled together in a way that should be uncomfortable but isn't. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, a reassuring rhythm. His hand is resting on my back, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, his fingers splayed across my spine.
I know I should move. I should put distance between us before this gets more complicated than it already is. Before I do something that I can't take back.
But his heartbeat is so steady. And he's so warm. And I've never felt better than I do right now, wrapped in his arms.
I don't move. I close my eyes and press closer, tucking my face into his neck, breathing him in. And I let myself have this.
Just for tonight. Just for a few more hours.
And if I dream about Jay without his towel, about his hands on my skin, about things I've never let myself want before—well. No one has to know except me.
