‘It’s nice to have enough room to stand,’ I observe. ‘My back won’t be so sore in the morning.’
He still seems distracted by the situation at hand. I’d even say he looks quite frazzled. ‘Do you… want to borrow anything? A hoodie or something?’
I can’t control the guttural laugh that escapes me. I put my hand over my mouth quickly.
‘Sorry, I didn’t think we were in hoodie-sharing territory,’ I joke.
‘I don’t exactly love the idea of you freezing to death overnight. It gets cold at night, even in August.’ He digs into his bag and wordlessly holds out a black hoodie to me.
I take it with an awkward smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘Listen… maybe we should just have a truce in the tent overnight,’ he suggests. ‘If we say we’re bothmetaphoricallyholding the stick until morning – kind of makes sense given we’ll let go when we sleep anyway.’
‘I’m not sure if anything about this deal makes sense,’ I say honestly.
He just looks at me.
‘AndIprobably wouldn’t let go,’ I add.
‘You wouldn’t?’ His brows fly upwards. ‘You’d hold tightly onto it even while unconscious?’
‘Maybe I wouldn’t sleep at all if it means I would get to keep it.’
‘Nora, could we try and stay at least a little bit sane in this situation and get some sleep? Do you really think passing out with exhaustion would be a good addition to this weekend?’
I hum thoughtfully and lift my eyes to his, looking for any hint of mischief. He’s deadly serious. And I’ll admit, he looks tired.
‘Fine,’ I relent. ‘Sounds fair.’
I reach my hand out for another handshake, just as I did earlier. He takes it immediately with a laugh. ‘Is this a tradition now?’
‘We need to be holding the stick again by ten a.m., that’s the deal,’ I say without humour.
‘Deal.’
Without another word, he lets go of the stick and reaches for the sleeping bag to unzip it. While he throws it over the mattress and starts getting ready for bed, I take the opportunity to sit on the floor and tackle the disaster that is my hair. Leaving the drumstick in the corner next to me, I reach up to detect what level of chaos we’re dealing with. I remember my mum sitting with me for hours when I was younger, taming my wild frizzy curls with a comb and countless creams and serums. Nothing ever worked to calm it down or keep it from bouncing back up into disarray, so I ended up cutting it into a long bob for ease and leaning into the ‘frazzled mess’ aesthetic.
‘Fuck,’ I whisper, wincing in pain as I start to gingerly unravel the tendrils tangled in the tiara.
Elliot’s head spins in my direction and his eyes stay on me for a moment before he ducks back down to dig into his bag. I truly have no idea how to conduct myself, and my body sags in relief when he begins brushing his teeth and steps outside.
We’ve definitely receded back into painfully awkward territory in the tent. But things have been so much easier in the last hour or so, potentially even… briefly pleasant? Conversation had flowed with ease, and I even found myself not wanting to throttle him.
I do wonder if this sleeping arrangement is strictly necessary, given that we’ve decided on a truce until ten a.m. anyway. So why am I not leaving? I want my cosy sleeping bag and my make-up remover. And yet? Here I am?
Why? What am I doing?
I successfully tug the tiara out of my curls and throw it aside before reaching for Elliot’s hoodie. A warm, woody scent fills mysenses as I pull it over my head. Just as I resist the urge to grab a fistful and breathe it in greedily, he steps back inside.
He turns to see me sitting in his hoodie and he briefly stills, before his eyes flick nervously to the mattress. He clears his throat.
‘I’ve just thinking about this and, listen…’ He sighs. ‘I really don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep here. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than a girl in bed next to me who didn’t want to be there.’ His shoulders tense as he stumbles on the words. ‘Not that this is likethat, but you know – you see what I mean?’
Of course I see what he means. I feel myself blushing furiously, not at the idea of being ‘a girl in bed next to him’, but being the specific kind of ‘girl in bed next to him’ that he clearly doesnotwant there. The type that doesn’t belong there. The overfamiliar sensation of rejection prickles in my stomach with a pinch.
‘I know it’s not like that,’ I say with a glare.
‘Okay.’ He crosses his arms and avoids my eyes. ‘I mean, I just wanted to check you were okay with this.’
