I flicked off the bathroom light and padded down the short hallway into the living room.
Swift was on the couch, one arm stretched along the back cushion, long legs spread like it was his place.The TV cast blue light across his face, making the angles sharper.Harder.He had the remote in one hand, but he wasn’t really watching whatever was on.
Or maybe he was.
It was hard to tell with him sometimes.
I sat down beside him and tucked my legs under myself, careful of my shoulder and even more careful not to think too hard about how easy it felt to sit next to him now.“I was just talking to myself,” I confessed.
One corner of his mouth twitched.“You do that often?”
I laughed softly and leaned into the back of the couch.“More than I should probably ever admit to.”
That got a low chuckle out of him.
It was half past ten, and somehow I was still awake.
After the whole confrontation in the hallway with Tyson, the rest of the evening had gone weirdly quiet.Swift had smoked at the window.I had sulked around my own apartment like a brat for a while because, apparently, being the center of an attempted murder plot did not make me more emotionally mature.Then we’d watched TV until I dozed off for a bit on the couch.
When I woke up, I made a frozen pizza because if there was one thing trauma and healing hadn’t taken from me, it was my desire for carbs covered in cheese.
And now here we were.
Two people who had definitely become something to each other, even if neither of us seemed really interested in naming what that something was yet.
“Not tired?”Swift asked.
I shook my head and grabbed the remote, paging through the apps until I found reruns ofFamily Matters.
“Apparently not,” I said.“Which feels unfair because I’ve been exhausted for like ten straight days.”
Urkel’s voice filled the room, nasal and cheerful and somehow comforting in a deeply embarrassing way.
Swift looked at the screen.“You watch this?”
“Don’t sound so judgmental.This is quality television.”
He huffed a laugh.
We watched in silence for a few minutes.
Or more accurately, I watched, and Swift sat there being broad and warm and distracting while trying to pretend he wasn’t paying attention to me.
Urkel knocked something over.
Someone on the sitcom shouted.
I smothered a yawn behind my hand, and Swift looked over immediately.
“I might be a little tired,” I admitted with a laugh.
“You think?”
I rolled my eyes.“Okay, rude.”
He shifted slightly toward me; his arm still stretched behind me on the couch.
“Sugar, you’ve been running on spite and pain meds for the last week.”
