“Of what?”
“Of this.” He gestured vaguely with our joined hands. “Being here. With me.”
The question caught me off guard. I considered it seriously, thinking about all the small moments that had made up the past few weeks, the morning coffee he always had waiting, the way he’d text me stupid memes during class, the feel of falling asleep against his chest.
“The quiet parts,” I finally said. “Like this. When it’s just us, and we don’t have to be anywhere or do anything. We can just... exist.”
Something shifted in his expression, went softer somehow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I squeezed his hand. “What about you?”
“Everything.” The word came out simple and honest. “I like everything about having you here. I like your stuff everywhere. I like that you make me watch terrible movies and pretend you don’t cry at the endings.”
“I don’t cry at the endings.”
“You cried at the dog movie last weekend.”
“The dog died, Owen. The dog died and went to doggy heaven, and came back as a different dog to find his owner. That’s heartbreaking.”
“You went through an entire box of tissues.”
“That’s a normal amount of tissues for a movie about reincarnating dogs.”
He grinned. “I love that about you.”
My heart stuttered. “What, my excessive tissue usage?”
“The way you feel things. You don’t hold back. You just... let yourself feel it. I’ve never been good at that.”
“You’re getting better,” I said. “You told me I was your everything the other day. That’s very feelings-forward.”
“I was trying to get in your pants.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I was trying to get into your pants and also express genuine emotion. Multitasking.”
I freed my hand from his just so I could shove his shoulder. He caught my wrist and used it to pull me closer, until we were nose to nose on his pillow, breathing the same air.
“Tell me something,” he murmured.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Something I don’t know.”
I thought about it, sorting through all the little pieces of myself I hadn’t shared yet. “I used to write your name in my journal. With hearts around it. Like I was twelve.”
His grin was blinding. “When?”
“High school. Maybe a little bit of college.”
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“No, I love it.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m honored to have been the subject of your doodles.” Another kiss, this one to my nose. “Tell me more like did you practice signing your name with my last name?”
“Absolutely not.”
