This.
This is what Cassian meant on the roof.
I don’t know who I’d be.
I think I finally understand it.
• • •
I don’t think I’m ready to tell Cassian.
Not like this. Not when he already feels so far away.
Not when I’m still lying awake thinking about a nose brush and a thumb on my cheek and you can’t look at me like that — which means he saw it too. He knew. He’s always known.
And he’s with Abby.
I don’t want this to be the thing that finally pushes him out of reach.
So I keep pretending.
Pretend I’m fine in our texts.
Pretend I don’t notice the distance.
Pretend I’m not counting the hours between his replies.
Pretend I’m not wishing it was me.
Because the truth is —
I can’t lose him.
Even like this.
Even as whatever I am to him right now — best friend, habit, the person he says I’m still yours to and then goes home to someone else.
I’d take it.
I’d take all of it over nothing.
If he decided tomorrow he was done with me —
I’d still be here.
Waiting.
Because I love him.
I’m gay and I’m sixteen and I’m in love with my best friend who keeps almost kissing me and then doesn’t.
And I think I always will be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
• • •
