Neither of us speaks for a few moments; we just lie here staring at the outdated popcorn ceiling. We’ve long since reached the point of silence being comfortable between us, but my anxiety is still at an all-time high. Pairing it with last week’s adventure at the banquet—and the fucking kiss that didn’t feel very fake—I’m damn near vibrating with nerves now.
I do my best to repress it, calming my breathing like I do on the ice, and focus some more on the textures above me. Trying to find shapes within the bumps, like some people do with clouds in the sky.
“Does that look like a bunny riding a unicycle to you?” I ask him, pointing up to the section I’m talking about.
There’s a beat as he leans toward me, following the line my finger creates, before he murmurs, “A little bit, yeah.”
Chances are high that he’s just placating me, but whatever, I’ll take his pity agreement. Especially if it means we don’t talk about—
“Did it come through?”
My jaw tenses, and I clip out, “Not yet.”
His weight shifts beside me, and I glance over to find him propped up on an elbow now. Two eyes, appearing more hot-chocolate than hazelnut in this light, stare down at me in confusion.
“Wait, then why are you all…” He trails off and vaguely gestures at me with his hand.
“Because if I don’t pass this final, I’m cooked.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” he says in a gentle attempt at reassurance.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the intended effect.
“You don’t know that,” I argue weakly. Lifting a hand, I run my fingers through my hair before letting my hand drop back to the bed between us, stuck helplessly in a downward spiral. “God, I should have just dropped the class at the beginning of the term when I realized it wasn’t gonna be as easy of an A as Theo and Holden said. It would’ve saved us this whole mess to begin with. But I didn’t, and now my entire future is riding on some stupid test about Kant and Hume and all that other shit no one in life even uses.”
I let out a long, deep breath and close my eyes, trying my damnedest to release some of the tension coiled in my body. An impossible task thanks to the three words screaming at me inside my head—the ones I’ve been struggling to drown out all goddamn day.
I’m so stupid.
And every time I think them, the spiral starts all over again.
“You’re not,” Logan whispers a few minutes later.
“Not what?”
“Dumb. Stupid. An idiot,” he supplies, listing the options. “Whatever version of that you were just calling yourself in your head.”
My lids lift, and I roll my head to find his gaze is still on me. There’s a softness to it, one I haven’t really seen before, and it’s a bit unsettling.
Or maybe that’s just the panic talking.
“So, what? Are you a mind reader now?”
He lets out a little hum. “More like your expression gave you away.”
I let out a grunt in place of answering, letting my gaze fall away from him to the mattress between us.
He’s still propped up on his elbow, and I watch as he begins trailing two fingers over the comforter’s stitching there. Tracing the lines, back and forth, always stopping and heading in the other direction before his hand touches mine.
I wish he wouldn’t.
I wish he’d let me feel the warmth of his skin, the gentleness in his touch. I know it would be enough to ground me, to pull me from this spiral and allow me to just breathe—even for a moment.
I don’t have it in me to ask for it, though.
“No matter what happens, I need you to remember something,” he says, thankfully oblivious to my internal musings.
“Okay.”
