Far off, I heard the low hum of Pa’s truck as he headed out for the early chores. Nobody knew we’d slept here instead of at the main house. Nobody except Ma, probably, but she kept her own counsel when she had to.
I reached over and touched the bracelet on Levi’s wrist, tracing the edge with a thumb. The ink was still swollen, but the scab had flaked off, and in the new light the black letters—my name, bold and permanent—looked healed, settled. He didn’t even flinch when I touched it anymore. It was a part of him, now. Like I was.
He woke just as the horizon started to go gold. It was slow—a twitch of the eyelids, a hitch in his breath, then a whole-body stretch that ended with him curling tighter around my side. Heburied his face in my t-shirt, breathing deep, then cracked one eye open and glared at the alarm clock like it owed him money.
“Why do you always wake up before me?” he said, voice ruined with sleep.
“Habit,” I said. “You talk in your sleep.”
He flushed, a bloom of color from cheek to collarbone, and burrowed deeper into the sheets. “If I said anything embarrassing, just kill me now.”
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” I said, and let my hand rest on the small of his back.
He rolled over, propped himself on an elbow, and blinked at me. His eyes were still dark with sleep, the lashes clumped and wet, but the blue of them was so pure it hurt. He scanned my face, as if looking for cracks, then found the envelope on the nightstand.
He didn’t reach for it. Just watched it like a bomb ticking down.
“I don’t even know if I’m good at this,” he said, voice lower than before.
“Good at what?” I said, even though I already knew.
He gestured vaguely at the bed, the room, the thing between us. “Being a real person. Doing the normal stuff.”
“You’re better at it than most,” I said. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He made a noise in his throat, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You’re really sure about this?”
I turned and faced him, the sheets creaking. “I’ve been sure since the day you turned eighteen. Just been waiting for the right time.”
He smiled, small and crooked. “Most people date longer than a month before getting married, you know.”
“Most people aren’t us,” I said, and I reached up, brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “We’ve been circling each otherfor two years, Sunshine. I know exactly who you are and what I want.”
He made a sound, soft and feral, then collapsed on top of me. His breath was warm on my neck, his hands cold where they slid under the hem of my shirt.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said, “just give me some warning.”
“I won’t,” I said, and felt the words lock into place. “You’re stuck.”
He snorted, then kissed me, clumsy but insistent. I let him, let him climb all over me, let him use my body as a shield against the world, against the past, against the things that still wanted to eat him alive. I held him there, not because he needed it, but because I needed to be the thing that held him.
The sun rose, a slow wash of yellow against the wall, and I lay there in the warmth, Levi pressed to my chest, both of us alive and whole.
When he finally looked up, I saw that the fear was still there, but it was smaller. Manageable.
He grinned, real this time, and said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
I grinned back, the weight of the world suddenly feather-light. “Yeah,” I said, pulling him close. “Let’s.”
We made it another hour before the world came knocking. Not literally—a knock would’ve been easier, something I could answer with a door and a deadbolt. This was the insistent, invasive kind of knocking that comes in as a phone buzz, cutting through the peace of the morning like a razor through fabric.
Levi’s phone vibrated against the metal frame of the nightstand, the noise sharp enough to make both of us jump. He reached for it, squinting at the screen with sleep-blurred eyes. I watched the color drain from his face before he even unlocked it.
“Ma,” he muttered, holding up the phone so I could see the string of texts.
WHERE ARE YOU?
ARE YOU OKAY?
