My head feels overfilled with the need to make a decision. This situation can’t be solved with a decision tree as I would do in a clinical trial.
Sighing softly to myself, I feel Nil’s thumb brush the cocoa dust from my lip as he glances toward the sky. “It’s getting colder,” he says. “We should head inside soon.”
Stan’s mouth turns down in a theatrical pout. “We’re going that soon, babe? Are you serious? Did anyone even notice the lights I set up? I even set up a blanket behind me for rollin’ around in,” he protests. “No one’s said anything.”
A thin draft slips across the rooftop, raising goosebumps along my arms. I draw in a breath that catches, my shoulders shivering harder.
Nil’s arm slides around my waist, holding me closer. Stan steps in as well, positioning himself to block the wind.
“Alright,” Stan says, gripping the tray. “Rooftop romance postponed. Time to go back in.”
Nil guides me with gentle pressure, his palm warm through my clothes. “Come on, Em,” he murmurs. “Watch your step.”
They move with me between them, an easy choreography I don’t question. With each step down the spiraling stairs, the cold recedes, replaced by warmth radiating from them.
By the time the rooftop is behind us, the shivers have faded. But my thoughts haven’t.
***
They walk me to my room, and I find myself still unable to respond to either of them. I manage only a silent nod of thanks before closing the door.
The latch clicks shut, the sound too final for the way my thoughts continue to circle.
I prepare for bed out of habit. Glasses folded and placed carefully. Clothes exchanged for something comfortable without conscious thought.
When I lie down, rest doesn’t come. My thoughts move without direction, looping back on themselves. Images from the past surface uninvited—mistakes and oversights, moments that should have caught my attention but didn’t. I replay them with an intensity that feels both unproductive and unavoidable.
How did I miss so much?
The question repeats until more recent instances intrude. Stan’s low, sultry voice, as he fed me. Nil’s hand at my back while he reassured me. Their attention has been honest and offered without pressure. The knowledge that they want me takes up space in my crowded head.
Why didn’t I notice their interest, when I’ve been watching them from the start?
What else have I missed?
I turn onto my side and reach for Stan’s phone.
The screen lights up, their photo filling it. Stan smiling, gray eyes pinched with it. Nil beside him, blue eyes caught in surprise. There’s a sort of intimacy in that image I can’t quite name, a sense of closeness that I think…I might be yearning to be part of.
Perhaps because Nil’s blue eyes remind me of Idris, who has a lighter blue. Who I shared my routine with. My nights with.
Idris is safely predictable. His presence guided my body toward rest. Regulation through repetition. Through closeness over time.
Stan and Nil have offered something similar, in their own way.
At the thought, a chill creeps along my forearms even as sweat gathers around my collar. I draw a slow breath that fails to calm me while I’m here alone in a bedroom where memories from the MedBay sit in the corner.
I sit up, movement taking place without much thought. The phone goes onto the nightstand. I look past the corner desk, reaching instead for my glasses, then cross the distance to my door and theirs.
My fist lifts to knock. Pain pulses at my temples. I push through it.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on their door, without a plan beyond honesty. They were honest with me. I owe them the same.
“Coming!” Stan sings from inside their room.
When he opens the door, his grin’s in place. I note the absence of surprise in his eyes and wonder briefly if he expected this.
“Come in, Em,” he says, stepping aside.
