Then her eyes found mine.
Something flickered across her face. Embarrassment first, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Then awareness, the realization of how close we were, how long she'd been sleeping on me, how her hand was still pressed against my chest.
She didn't move. I noticed. I added it to the list of signs I'd been collecting.
"Sorry." Her voice was rough with sleep, lower than usual. "I didn't mean to?—"
"You looked like you needed the rest."
She stared at me. I stared back.
The moment stretched between us, elastic and fragile, full of things neither of us was saying. I could still feel the ghost of her weight against my shoulder. Could still smell her shampoo. Could see, in the blue light of the television, the way her eyes kept dropping to my mouth and then darting away.
"What time is it?"
"Late." I didn't check my phone. Didn't look at the clock on the wall. Didn't care. "You should get some real sleep."
She nodded. Didn't move.
Neither did I.
We stayed like that for a moment longer. Close enough to touch. Close enough to do something about the tension that had been building for weeks, that was building right now, that was making it hard to breathe.
Then she stood up. Pulled the hoodie tighter around herself. Walked to the door on feet that seemed unsteady.
She paused with her hand on the knob. Looked back at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Thanks, Cal."
"Anytime."
She left. The door clicked shut behind her, soft and final.
I sat on the couch for a long time after. Staring at the spot where she'd been. Feeling the ghost of her warmth against my side, the phantom pressure of her hand on my chest.
The credits ended. The TV went dark. I didn't move to turn it off.
I just sat there in the silence and tried to figure out what the hell I was doing.
I didn't sleep that night.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the feeling of her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest. The way she'd looked at me when she woke up, soft and unguarded, like she'd forgotten to put her walls back in place.
Mateo’s ghost drifted back to haunt my mind, making me question myself and the entire situation. I wondered what he'd say if he could see me now, lying awake at 2 AM thinking about his fiancée. Wondered if he'd understand or if he'd hate me. Wondered if it mattered either way.
The promise had felt so clear three years ago. Take care of her. Watch over her. Make sure she's safe. It had never occurred to me that taking care of her might turn into this. That watching over her might mean learning the sound of her laugh and the way she tucked her feet under her on the couch and the exact shade of brown her eyes turned in the morning light.
I'd been so careful. Kept my distance. Built walls. But the system was failing, and I was drowning in the emotional mess I’d spent my whole life trying to organize. And I didn't know how to stop the fall.
Although, I didn't know if I wanted to stop it.
Across the hall, I wondered if Lucy was awake too. Wondered if she was staring at her ceiling, thinking about the same things I was thinking about. Wondering what this was becoming. Wondering what we were supposed to do about it.
We were past the point of pretending. Past the point where I could tell myself this was just protection, just duty, just keeping a promise to a dead man. This was something else now. Something that scared me more than any fire I'd ever walked into.
I turned over. Closed my eyes. Didn't sleep.
She cooked dinner for me the next evening. A “thank you”, she said. “For everything.”
