When I wake, it’s barely six. The sky outside is still gray, the kind that makes it hard to tell where night ends. My body’s sore from work, from not sleeping enough, and from missing someone I’m not supposed to.
I reach for my phone before I even get out of bed.
Nothing from Caleb.
He probably fell asleep late. Or maybe he didn’t sleep at all. I picture him curled up on that narrow dorm mattress, a clean hoodie pulled over his head, headphones in. He always says he sleeps better with noise, but I know it’s because silence makes his thoughts too loud.
I scroll through our last messages again. “Good. I like knowing you’re safe.”
It still sits there, unanswered.
I sigh, drop the phone onto my chest, and drag a hand over my face. The sheets smell like him, faintly of shampoo and soap and whatever lotion he uses. I should wash them, but I don’t. I let the scent stay, something small and stupid to hold onto.
The alarm on my watch buzzes.Time to get ready for work.
I pull on my boots and uniform shirt and grab a thermos and fill it with coffee. The world outside is wet, the air thick with salt. The ocean’s close enough that I can hear the low crash of waves if I stop moving long enough.
Before I head out, I check my phone again. Still nothing.
So I type instead.
Miguel
Morning, baby. Missed you in bed.
Hope you got some sleep. Have a good day, yeah?
I stare at the message before hitting send, thumb hovering over the screen. It’s too much. Too soft.
Then I send it anyway.
If loving him in the quiet, in the spaces between, is all I get, I’ll take it.
By the time I lock the door behind me, my phone buzzes.
One message.
Caleb
Missed you too. Heading to my first class. Thanks for last night.
That’s it. No heart emoji, no punctuation. But I can hear his voice in it, rough with sleep, a little shy.
And it’s enough.
I slip the phone into my pocket, start the truck, and let the heater fill the cab to defrost the windshield. When I pull out of my spot and onto the road, it stretches out ahead, wet and silver in the fog.
I drive to work smiling like an idiot.
Because for once, he sounded okay.
THREE
CALEB
My alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes before I finally roll out of bed. My body feels like lead, and my hoodie smells of Miguel’s body wash. I left my other one at his condo last night. Not on purpose, but I left in a hurry because I didn’t want him to convince me to stay. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing for the tightness in my chest.
I don’t eat. Not because I’m avoiding it, I’m not trying to restrict myself, but because I know I’ll just overthink it and pick at my food until I hate myself. Instead, I grab a granola bar from the bottom of my backpack and shove it in my mouth while I pull on an identical pair of basketball shorts, the same as the ones I wore yesterday. They smell like laundry detergent and effort, like I’ve been trying too hard to be normal.
