Chapter 27 #2
I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer, her head resting on my chest, her fingers playing absently with the drawstring of my pants. Outside, thunder rumbles in the distance. Inside, everything feels quiet and still in the best way.
The movie ends. I don’t even know how. I think zombies fell in love? Someone definitely sacrificed themselves for a girl they met five minutes before the apocalypse. Whatever. Haven’s curled into my side, and I’m half convinced I lost feeling in my arm, but I’m not about to move.
Until she stretches.
That little sigh—that stretch—her shirt lifting just enough to flash skin and a sliver of my hoodie beneath it.
“Hey,” she murmurs, “we should eat something.”
I groan. “I forgot food was a thing. Can’t we just live on snacks and forehead kisses?”
She laughs into my chest. “Tempting. But I’m not letting you go hypoglycemic and pass out mid-movie marathon.”
We drag ourselves up and reheat the leftovers from earlier. Tate reappears from his nap at the sound of the microwave beeping, his hoodie half-zipped, a single headphone dangling from his neck.
“Y’all were loud,” he mutters, stealing a bread stick.
“You were snoring,” Haven fires back.
“I was resting.”
“You were gargling drywall.”
He flips her off without looking. These two are going to be the death of me.
Dinner’s lazy, sprawled out on the floor with plates balanced on thighs and the muted rumble of rain hitting the windows. Eventually, it’s time to clean up. Eventually, we crash again. And eventually, I lose the war with the goddamn air mattress.
“Seriously?” I hiss, kicking the corner. It deflates with the saddest wheeze I’ve ever heard. “I just filled it.”
Tate pops his head into the room. “Did you break it again?”
“No,” I lie.
Haven peers up from the bed. “It’s okay. We can try to reinflate—”
“Nope,” Tate interrupts. “Not doing this again. Just get in the bed.”
I blink. “What?”
He shrugs as he leans against the doorframe. “It’s a queen. You’re not five foot three. Neither am I. She barely is. We’re not playing musical beds all week.”
“But you said—”
“I changed my mind,” he says simply. “Now shut up and get in before I regret being reasonable.”
I glance at Haven. She’s biting back a smile. I glance back at Tate.
He’s walking toward the bathroom, muttering something about needing water and maybe a new spine. He’s brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink when I reach the doorway. I hover for a second, hand braced on the doorframe. “You okay?”
He snorts. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I told her I love her.”
He meets my eyes in the mirror, wipes his mouth with a towel. “Yeah. I figured.”
“You’re not… I don’t know. Weird about it?”
He tosses the towel into the hamper. “You think you loving her makes me love her less?”
I go still.
“That’s not how this works,” he mutters. “Not for me. Not for her. Not for us.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
He turns off the light, brushes past me, and mutters, “Besides, if I was gonna be weird about it, I’d have kicked your ass weeks ago.”
Haven moves instinctively when I come back, making space without looking. I slide into bed behind her, arm slipping around her waist. She hums softly, warm and half-asleep, and I feel her smile press against the pillow.
A minute later, Tate strolls back in with a bottle of water in hand and flips off the light, rounds the bed, and climbs in on the other side of her.
She’s in the middle now. Exactly where she should be, exactly how we work best.
The silence is thick for about five seconds before Tate’s knee bumps mine under the blanket. I don’t move. Neither does he.
“…Your knee’s in my zone,” he mutters.
I sigh. “You don’t have a zone. It’s a bed, not a battlefield.”
“You’re in my zone by default.”
“You’re literally curled around the same girl I am. Maybe stop pretending this is a turf war.”
Haven groans before finally settling between us. “Oh my god. Both of you shut up, I am the zone.”
My arm stays wrapped around her waist. Tate doesn’t say anything for a while, neither do I. But I can feel him wide awake.
Haven shifts slightly, her back pressing closer into my chest, her leg brushing his under the blanket. Tate moves a second later, just enough that his hand finds her thigh under the blanket.
Haven’s breathing starts to slow, but not all the way.
“Comfortable?” Tate murmurs.
She hums, barely audible. “Yeah.”
My thumb drags once against her side. “Good,” I say quietly.
Tate exhales through his nose, shifting closer, his knee pressing more firmly against hers and against mine. Haven shifts again, caught in the middle of it, her hand coming up to rest over mine. “Go to sleep,” she mumbles.
I press a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Working on it.”
Tate huffs quietly. “You talk too much.”
“You’re still awake too,” I shoot back.
“Unfortunately.”
“Night, Hav.”
She hums again, softer this time. I watch the outline of Tate across the bed in the dark, barely visible, but I know he’s still looking too. Same as I am, for the same reasons. My grip on her eases just enough to let her breathe deeper.