I set my alarm to leave before he comes home. Buy some food for us on the way back, surprise him with it after work.
I hadthe best fucking sleep of my life in his bed earlier. Wrapped in his sheets, breathing him in. Almost didn’t leave. Only did because showing him the real me too soon would scare him off.
Have to pace this.
Eventually he’ll figure it out. That I’ve already decided he’s mine. That there’s no version of this where he walks away. But by then, it won’t matter because he won’t want to leave.
I knock, holding a bag from that diner. The one I tailed him to last week where he sat alone in the corner booth eating pancakes.
I hate pancakes. Always have. But he seemed to enjoy them. So here we are.
The door opens.
Kelly blinks at me. Wet hair pushed back, skin flushed from a shower. Forest green shirt, gray sweats. Collarbone still damp.
We smell the same.
Satisfaction hits my chest knowing I was in his shower earlier, using that exact soap, that exact towel. The one he just used. The one that touched his skin is the same one that touched mine. I left it slightly damp on purpose. If he noticed, he’d assume he just didn’t dry it properly last time he used it.
He has no idea.
I lift the bag a little. “I brought food.”
He looks at it, then at me. Opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, doesn’t. Just pushes the door open wider and steps back to let me in.
I brush his shoulder as I pass him.
“It’s pancakes.”
His eyebrows twitch like he’s trying not to laugh, then shuts the door.
“I love pancakes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
I know.
I know which diner you prefer, which booth you always sit in. But I’m trying to pretend to be civilized, so I don’t say any of that.
“Want to eat on your bed?” I ask, lifting the bag.
“Go ahead, I’ll get us some plates and forks.”
I nod and head toward the bedroom, sit on the edge of his bed. Clover’s still passed out in the same spot I left her when I snuck out an hour ago. Her little legs twitch like she’s dreaming.
His bare pillow stares back at me. The case is still safely hidden inside my hoodie, pressed against my skin. Warm from my body heat now. Mine.
Tonight, I’ll find out if stealing more pieces of him helps me sleep or just makes the craving worse.
Probably worse.
Kelly walks in with two plates, a stack of napkins, silverware balanced on top. He’s smiling, dimples showing. He sets everything down and sits beside me. His knee bumps mine, and he doesn’t move it. I lean toward him before I realize I’m doing it. Like a plant toward sunlight. Fuck.
“Why don’t you have any furniture?” I ask, eyeing the room. Just a bed and a desk shoved against the far wall. Nothing else.
He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. “Oh, uh. Please don’t think I’m weird. I swear I’m not. I just haven’t really made this place mine yet.”
Would it be weird if I bought him furniture? Is that another boundary I’m not supposed to cross? I could fill this entire apartment with everything he needs. Everything he wants. Make it perfect for him.
Restraint is harder than making people disappear. Who fucking knew.
