“Lie down on the goddamn bed, Conin,” I demand.
His eyes linger on the bandages that wrap tightly over fresh scars.
But he concedes, struggling to raise his feet onto the mattress. Atlas already has a handle on things, shifting Conin’s feet onto the bed. My boyfriend is scarlet in the face, diverting his eyes and picking a focal point somewhere outside the window. It’s evident in the way they move: Atlas’s pupils dilated, zipping from me and back to what he was doing. His scrunched nose, the early onset of wrinkles creasing his forehead. Conin, silent as a mouse, finding the outside much more interesting than the boys in front of him.
Trees and their branches flitter in the breeze. An Angelic or two cross the road with baskets, and I vaguely remember them from the fields. I realize I’m distracting myself from the conversation that needs to happen, much like the two before me. Atlas takes the seat I left him in and I join him on the chairbeside it. After an excruciating beat of silence, Atlas stands and moves for the door.
“I should let someone know Conin’s awake,” he says.
But before he can escape, Conin stops him with the sound of his raspy voice. It tears me apart, knowing the pain he went through—the mental casualties now tainting him. And knowing, deep down in my core, I was the catalyst that started them all.
“I want to talk first,” he rasps.
Atlas freezes under the doorframe with a white-knuckled grip. He’s slow in facing Conin, while simultaneously masking the panic in his face. He’s terrible at hiding his emotions, unlike a certain two people.
“This concerns all of us,” Conin continues, his eyes finally pried away from the window. “I want to talk about where we go from here.”
He knows. There’s a screaming, palpable tension in the room. It blankets us, siphoning the space of its air. I wait for something to happen, anything to happen to get me away from here, but as minutes creep on, it’s clear nothing will come from my hopeless cynicism. He chose to discuss our relationship over everything else after regaining consciousness, so there’s no way we’re backing out of this.
And suddenly, succinctly, shifting into another alias and moving off the grid doesn’t sound so bad.
Atlas is the first to break.
He shuts the door and leans back. His eyes close—when he reopens them, piercing, glassy-brown irises take their place. Atlas glares at the ceiling, waiting for it to unfold all of the universe’s mysteries.
“You know,” I manage to say.
“Of course I do,” Conin whispers.
“We kissed.”
Atlas stifles a whine.
Conin shifts to look at me with a blank stare.
“I thought I’d be angry, but I’m not. I’m not even jealous . . . not anymore. I’d be a hypocrite, saying that I was . . . because Atlas quickly grew on me, too. It wouldn’t be fair to make you guys believe that all this miscommunication is your fault when I’ve been culpable for keeping secrets as well.”
“I wanted to tell you,” I explain, “but I was worried that if I did, I’d lose you after I’d spent my entire life wanting you. Atlas made me realize it wasn’t fair to keep you in the dark. I mean, you and I danced around this for fourteen years of our fucking lives.”
Conin releases an amused chuckle.
“It’s clear he makes us both happy. We make each other happy. So . . . why not see where this can go?”
“Hello! I’m right here, you know,” Atlas laughs.
“Right,” Conin says. He switches from me to him. “I like you, Atlas. Like, a lot. You’re sweet, funny, and mad intelligent. I could drone on and on about books with you all day and listen to your little tirades. It would make me extremely freakin’ happy if I could share Ezra with you.”
Goddammit. This boy is brilliant.
“I really freakin’ like you too, Conin,” Atlas mumbles. “You guys helped me through the hardest part of my life. So . . . thank you for that.”
I smile at him, trying to communicate where words would otherwise fail that he deserves the world.
“So, um . . . wheredowe go from here?”
They’re driving me nuts.
“Oh my god, just kiss already!” I say because it can’t be helped. The excitement that this is happening at last is entirely too much to bear. But we can weather anything, Conin, Atlas, and me.
