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I missed him more than he did…

I roll a pen across the carpet, Blue launches after it and misses completely. He slides into the wall, and looks offended like it’s my fault.

“That’s on you,” I say.

He comes back and climbs into my lap like that was the plan all along, kneading my stomach as I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes.

He’s been here through late nights, early mornings, breakdowns I never even accepted. He doesn’t care about my schedules or my secrets. He just waits. Every day. Every night.

I scratch behind his ears and he purrs loudly, like he’s reminding me I exist outside of my own head. “I love you so much, Blue.”

For a while, I let myself stay there, no cases, no patterns, no Damien.

He falls asleep shortly after, and I follow for a quick nap, like my body is finally too exhausted for me to stay awake.

After a few minutes of rest, Blue weaves around my ankles, meowing loudly, then bolts toward his bowl like I’ve never fed him in my life. I scoop his cat food, refill his water, and clean out the litter while he supervises from the bed.

“Quality control?” I ask.

He blinks at me as if saying yes.

I check the clock. 11:38pm, then pull my phone out to text Hayzel.

Me: Going for a run. If you hear Blue screaming, you can come in.

Hayzel: You could’ve just talked. I hear everything you do

There’s a knock on the wall between our rooms. Then her voice, muffled, comes through, “Talk next time, woman!”

“Emergency cat coverage,” I yell.

Another knock. “Love you.”

“Me too,” I called back.

Blue jumps onto the bed as I lean closer. “I’ll be back,” I promise, rubbing his head.

He ignores me completely, so I change quickly, zip my jacket, and check the hallway.

At midnight, I step out. I leave my dorm, taking the stairs to avoid the lobby. A few students are heading out, and I keep my head down, moving fast so no one notices me.

The library doors are open, so he’s already here…

I pause, glance inside, just to check, and it’s empty. So I step in, checking quickly between the stacks, walking down the aisles, fingers brushing the spines, when I feel it, a hand, large, warm, light, brushing the side of my hair. I freeze and turn around.

“You’re always late these days,” he says.

I tilt my head before replying, “Seems like I don’t want to see you these days.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But you came.”

Something in that simple observation makes me realize, we’re standing closer than I expected.

“Come on,” he says after a beat. “Sit with me.”

I glance at the table he’s pulled a chair out for, hesitating a fraction of a second. Then I walk over, heart beating a little faster than it should, and sit.

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