• • •
At some point his hand found mine again.
Just — slow and deliberate, his fingers sliding between mine in the dark like it was the simplest thing.
I stopped breathing for a second. He had this effect on me every single time.
He didn’t acknowledge it. Just kept looking at the sky.
So I did too.
Heart loud in my ears. Fingers laced with his.
• • •
“Hey.” His voice was quiet.
“Yeah.”
He turned his head toward me. We were close enough that I could see the stars reflected in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For the last few weeks. I just —"
He stopped. Didn't finish.
But his hand tightened around mine.
• • •
And that — that was the most I’d ever gotten. From him.
About any of it.
“It’s okay,” I said.
And this time —
I actually meant it.
We’re okay.
• • •
Getting back down was worse than going up. He went first this time, dangling from the overhang with significantly more confidence than the situation called for, and dropped to the ground with a thud and a muffled curse word.
“You okay?”
“Fantastic,“ he said from the dark below.
I laughed into the back of my hand so my parents wouldn’t hear.
He caught me at the bottom — hands at my waist as I dropped, steadying me, his face very close when I landed.
Neither of us moved for a second. I didn’t dare. His hands didn’t move. But I felt him slightly tremble.
• • •
Then he stepped back. Like he remembered something.
