Still tired.
Still… aware.
Still wet.
I reach back and grab the robe hanging on the back of the door.
No way am I walking into the bedroom in barely anything.
Not with him in there.
Not with my body already acting like it has a mind of its own.
I slip the robe on and tie it tight at the waist, then pause with my hands on the knot for a second like I’m bracing.
I listen.
The house is quiet. Not the awful, empty quiet from earlier. Not the silence that made me collapse.
Just… night.
Just the low hum of the fridge and the sound of someone moving. Nico, probably doing something practical, like checking the doors.
It occurs to me that his being here is probably a safety risk for him. I don’t know what his house is like, but I imagine he has security of some sort.
My house has a screen door that sticks and a front door with flimsy locks.
It makes me even more grateful that he’s here, though.
I take a breath.
Then another.
Then I turn off the bathroom light, open the door, and scurry back down the hall, wanting to get into bed before he comes up. I don’t want to disrobe in front of him.
Then I curse and run back to the bathroom and root around for a new toothbrush and set it on the counter.
This time, on the way back, I run into him on the landing. Almost literally. He reaches out to steady me.
His hand closes around my upper arm firmly, stopping me before I can faceplant into him, and I freeze.
“Jesus,” I breathe, because my heart is doing something stupid in my chest.
His hand is warm, and I’m still keyed up and stupid from the spiral in the mirror, and the robe suddenly feels like it’s made of tissue paper.
He doesn’t let go.
“You’re going to break your neck,” he says, voice low.
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically, because that’s what I do, apparently. I swallow and force myself to look up at him. The hallway is dim, blessedly so, and it makes the sharp lines of him softer. It also hides the heat in my face. Hopefully.
His eyes flick over me anyway. I can’t tell what he sees. With Nico, I never can.
“Where are you going so fast?” he asks.
My throat goes tight around a laugh that doesn’t make it out.
“Nowhere,” I say, too quickly. “I mean— bed. I was going to bed. Then I remembered you need—” I gesture vaguely behind me, toward the bathroom, because my brain is not cooperating. “The bathroom. If you want it.”
