Chapter 4
FOUR
ROMAN
Ihave no idea how a whole month passes.
A whole month of ‘heys’ in hallways, of companionable silences while we eat, of shared looks that hold entire conversations.
Of leaving my door cracked open so that I can catch glimpses of Jesse fluttering around outside in his sunshine clothes and sunshine hair. So that he can pop his head in to tell me good morning, or to roll his eyes about something our parents said and did, or to simply snoop at what I’m up to.
Of feeling like I’ve managed to finally breathe in this house.
Jesse’s late-night confession never stops playing in my head over and over even days and days later; his dejected tone, the resigned slump of his shoulders, the sadness and worry swirling in his light blue eyes—in the eyes of a boy who only moments earlier had been smiling at me, and asking me to be his friend.
It’s been four weeks of me and Jesse driving to and from school together. My lips still lift into a smile as I blow the smoke from my cigarette when I remember the way his eyes widened when I offered to give him a ride that very first day of school.
Or the way he blushed, his cheeks turning adorably rosy as he mumbled his ‘thank you.’
The faint smile never fully goes away as I wait for him to come out so we can go home.
I’ve been keeping an eye on him from a distance since we’re not in the same class, making sure there’s no one bothering him during the breaks, and so far, I haven’t seen any fuckers giving him trouble.
He doesn’t know I’m doing it, of course, and he doesn’t have to.
I take one final drag and put out my smoke when I spot his blond head in the sea of people getting the hell out of their classes.
My mouth twitches at how cute he fucking looks with his hair in a simple braid that falls over his shoulder, in his blue jeans and light purple shirt.
He hasn’t spotted me yet, since he’s still stuffing a couple of books in his bag.
I tense when I notice the strain around his eyes, but his face lights up when he sees me and all but runs towards me.
He’s been doing it ever since that night in our kitchen—looking happy when he sees me.
It makes my chest feel tight.
“You know, if one day you stop wearing black, I’ll probably not even recognize you,” he says when he reaches my side and goes up on his toes to brush a kiss on my cheek.
That’s another thing he’s started doing. Being soft and affectionate with me like it’s no big deal.
Like it doesn’t trap the air in my lungs every time he does it.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping,” I smirk at him, tugging at the end of his braid playfully.
He shakes his head at me in mock disappointment, but he can’t hide his small smile as we get in the car and drive home.
“Were you smoking again?” he asks, and I’m pretty sure he’s narrowing his eyes at me from the passenger seat.
“I might have been.” I don’t smoke much, usually a cigarette here and there when I’m feeling extra tense. But I always pop a mint in my mouth afterwards so the smell isn’t too obvious, which I forgot to do when I saw Jesse.
Who I can currently feel leaning all the way over to me, sniffing close to my neck, his exhales raising goosebumps on my skin.
Jesus, what’s the matter with me?
“Yeah, you were. If I could smack you without hurting myself, I would.”
Fuck, it’s the concern in his voice that I can’t fucking understand.
Why does he care if I smoke or not?
Why does he care for me at all?
A month ago, we didn’t even know each other.
Hell, we barely even know each other now. Why does he give a shit about me like it matters to him?
And why does it make my chest hurt so much?
“If you could wait to smack me until we’re home so I don’t crash this car, I will stay very still when we get there and accept my punishment,” I say, expecting him to pipe in, but he’s silent next to me, and when I glance at him, he just nods, his earlier mood replaced by a faint air of sadness.
And damn if I don’t hate that look on him, especially since I’m the one who put it there.
My hands white-knuckle the steering wheel, a sharp feeling of unease curling in my gut when he stays quiet throughout our whole drive.
He never stays quiet. He’s always talking about something and smiling. Always smiling.
My heartbeat races inexplicably when I park the car in our driveway and we get out, but it pounds like I’m fighting for my life when Jesse walks up to me and buries his face against my neck, his hand fisting my T-shirt.
I suck in a breath in surprise, and my eyes almost slide shut as caramel and vanilla fill my senses, a sweetness I can’t help taking in greedily into my lungs.
“I only said that because I want you to be okay, Roman. Please, take care of yourself.” His words are nothing but a soft, rugged whisper, spoken against my skin, but they feel like a punch in the gut.
They rob me of breath, they make me freeze, making my mind reel, because they are words no one has ever said to me.
No one has ever cared enough to say them.
My arms come up as if of their own accord, and I wrap them around him tightly, holding him to me like I’m afraid he’ll disappear into thin air and take all his light and sweetness with him.
So what?
What would it matter if he disappeared right in this moment? He’s no one. Just a boy I ended up living with under the same roof when I didn’t even want to, who always looks tired but smiles anyway, who, for some reason, treats me like I’m actually his friend.
He’s no one.
I hold him tighter.
***
The strain around Jesse’s eyes becomes more and more prominent in the following days.
It makes me want to break things because I can’t do a fucking thing about it. Because I have no idea why he can’t sleep. Because I just want him to fucking rest.
It’s Sunday night when I hear a creak on the floorboards outside my room.
Damn it, is he awake again?
Not that I have any room to talk since I’m wide awake and all, but at least I do get some fucking sleep.
I’m seconds away from throwing off my covers and going to him, but I still when I hear the faint footsteps stop. Right outside my bedroom door.
The doorknob turns, but the quiet sound is drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.
Fuck, did something happen to Jesse? He’s never come to my room in the middle of the night before.
The door opens, and even though the darkness of the night is thick, the sky outside must be clear, because there’s plenty of moonlight slipping in through the window, framing Jesse in its paleness.
He steps in and closes the door behind him, before he slowly walks to the other side of my bed, without saying a single word.
“Jesse?” I whisper roughly, making an aborted move to sit up. But something stops me when I notice his eyes—open and unseeing, staring at nothing.
Realization slowly trickles in and my stomach tightens.
Fuck, he’s sleepwalking.
Fear slashes through me at just the idea of what could have happened if he had gone towards the stairs instead of coming to me.
Has this happened to him before?
I swallow hard. “Jesse?”
He doesn’t say anything, just lifts the covers and slips into my bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I don’t dare fucking breathe as he comes closer and closer, and only stops when he fits his body against my side and lays his head on my shoulder.
Only then do his eyes close, his body relaxing completely as he lets out a relieved sigh I feel in my bones.
I don’t move for fear I’ll do something to wake him up, my eyes roaming his face—his soft features, his loose hair fanning on my arm and pillow like a golden halo—but his steady breathing tells me he’s sleeping deeply.
And the thought of him managing to sleep soundly against me fills me with an odd sense of satisfaction.
I gently pull in him even closer and he doesn’t stir, only curls deeper under my arm, his soft breaths puffing on my collarbone.
And I fall asleep just like that, with the smell of vanilla and caramel clinging to my skin.