Zara #3
“Shut up and do as you’re told.” I close my eyes. “It’s a good talking song. Minimal distractions.”
He huffs but taps it. A second later, the sound of a soft guitar fills the room, warm and slow. The volume is low enough that it feels more like background noise as we lie there, side by side, staring up.
“This week was weird,” I admit after a moment. “Good weird. But weird.”
He hums. “Yeah.”
“I kept turning corners thinking I’d see you,” I say. “Even though you were five minutes away and not an hour, I hardly saw you. It messed with my brain.”
He’s quiet for a second. “I kept checking my phone for your random bullshit texts. Then I’d remember you were in class. It sucked.”
“Aw,” I coo softly. “You missed my bullshit.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, but his voice is softer.
I roll onto my side, propping my cheek on my hand. He’s still on his back, but his head turns to look at me, dark eyes catching the faint glow from the hallway.
We’re too close like this.
I can see the tiny scar in his eyebrow from when we were sixteen and he tried to grind a rail without a helmet. I can see the faint smudge of pizza sauce he never wiped off his chin.
I feel stupidly fond.
Well, that’s definitely not dangerous.
“Thanks,” I murmur quietly.
“For what?” His voice drops too.
“For not dropping me when life got different. You didn’t have to keep the tradition. Or drive me home. Or let me hijack your mother. You could’ve just started your own life up there and left me to figure it out.”
He frowns like the idea genuinely offends him. “Zae, you’re not optional.”
My throat tightens. I look away too fast, staring at the cracked ceiling paint instead.
“Okay, sap.” I try to make it a joke. “Chill. I’m gonna get cavities.”
He snorts softly, rolling onto his side too, mirroring me. I can feel his gaze on my face even with my eyes closed.
The song shifts to the chorus, Hozier’s voice low and rough.
My eyelids feel heavy. The week is catching up with me all at once. I stifle a yawn, but he catches it anyway.
“Tired?” he asks.
“A little. I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I crack one eye open. “You gonna tuck me in, Brin Lee?”
He rolls his eyes. “I should have never told you my middle name.”
“Too late.” I grin, but it’s fuzzy around the edges now. My body is starting to melt into the mattress. “It’s stuck in the vault.”
He huffs, but his expression softens. The bed dips closer as he inches toward me, just enough to feel his warmth.
Then, slowly, his hand slides across the space between us. His fingers find mine where they’re resting on the blanket, hesitating for a second like he’s giving me a chance to pull away.
When I don’t, he laces our fingers together, palm warm against my knuckles. My breath stutters in my chest. This is not new. We’ve held hands before. Multiple times through my panic attacks.
It’s just—different, in the dark, on his bed with Hozier playing and my heart doing cartwheels. Not to mention the fact that Stacey isn’t feeling super permanent right this very second.
His forehead bumps gently against mine a second later. I hadn’t realized he’d moved even closer.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Mm?” My voice is barely there.
“Breathe, Sunshine,” he whispers. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I hadn’t even noticed I was holding it.
I exhale slowly, eyes fluttering closed. I focus on my senses, on the warmth of his palm, the press of his forehead, and the soft rasp of his breathing. Before I know it, sleep pulls me down and my body starts to float. Somewhere in that fuzzy in-between, I feel his fingers tighten around mine.
His mouth is close enough that when he speaks, his breath brushes my lips.
“I’m so fucked,” he whispers, voice almost inaudible. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend you’re just my friend.”
The words slip under my skin like a needle. I’m not sure if I hear them or dream them. Or even if my brain is filling in what it wants to hear. All I know is my heart slams against my ribs, hard enough to hurt.
I want to open my eyes. I want to say his name, ask him what he meant, and force everything out into the light where it can’t hide anymore. But my body is too heavy and my brain is too slow, and by the time I manage a tiny inhale, the moment has already passed.
His thumb is just stroking absently over my knuckles now. His breath is steady, like he might already be half-asleep too. I let myself sink further into the mattress and his warmth. Into the familiar, dangerous comfort of him.
Maybe I imagined it.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
He still has a girlfriend. Well, a maybe-girlfriend, but a girlfriend all the same. And I still need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life. So I do what I always do. I bury it.
I lie there, his hand wrapped around mine, his forehead resting against mine, and I fall into a deep sleep.
I let myself want him, just for a second, in the dark where no one can see before reminding myself that I cannot lose him.
If the price of keeping him is swallowing how badly I want more, I’ll pay it again and again. Until it kills me.
Because he is my whole life, and without him... I won’t survive.