20 Zara #2
“Don’t worry,” he says as he kicks off his shoes and nudges mine with his toes until I step out of them too. “I had no plans for the living room.”
Heat flickers in my stomach.
“Okay, sir,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks warm at the thought, because no matter how many times we sleep together, I’ll never get used to the butterflies that flutter in my stomach when I look at him. “Lead the way before I combust.”
He grabs the pizza and the almost-empty grocery bag now, then nods toward the hallway. “Come on.”
I follow him past the family photos—tiny Cass with missing teeth, middle-school Cass with unfortunate hair, high-school Cass with a black eye and his arm slung around me in front of a skate park. It makes my chest ache in that weird nostalgic way.
When we get to his room, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks back at me.
“Ready?” he asks, voice quieter now.
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek as he pushes the door open, and I actually stop breathing for a second.
His usually-chaotic room has been transformed.
There’s still the familiar bones—his bed, his posters, his bookshelf—but the focus is the blanket fort spanning half the room.
Sheets and blankets are draped from the bedpost to a hook in the ceiling and over to his dresser, forming a soft, tented cave.
String lights are threaded through the fabric and along the inside, casting a warm, golden glow.
Pillows are piled inside—some from his bed, some clearly stolen from the couch.
There’s a nest of blankets, a laptop on a crate facing the fort entrance, and beside it, a small spread of snacks: my favorite chips, chocolate pretzels, gummy bears, and those fancy sodas he knows I love.
The Calcifer plush sits in the center of the fort like a tiny fire demon guardian.
On the laptop screen, paused at the title sequence, is Howl’s Moving Castle.
My vision blurs immediately.
“Cass,” I whisper, hand flying to my mouth as my eyes sting. “What did you—how—”
He shifts his weight, suddenly self-conscious, the pizza box still balanced on one hand.
“I thought game night might be too much.” He watches me carefully.
“So I thought, okay. No game. Just us with your favorite comfort movie, your weird snacks, and a blanket fort that probably won’t survive one of your falls.
” His mouth kicks up at one corner, teasing me about how clumsy I can be.
“I wanted somewhere that didn’t feel like you had to perform. Somewhere you could be you.”
There’s a buzzing in my ears as a rush of something huge and bright presses against my ribs.
“You made me a fort,” I manage with an emotionally thick voice. “With my movie. And you… you bought my soda and the gummy bears that get stuck in your teeth and—”
My throat closes up completely, cutting me off as a tear slides down my cheek and hits the floor.
“Hey.” He sets the pizza and bag down on his desk in a hurry, then crosses the space between us in three strides.
“No, no, no.” His hands hover at my shoulders, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.
“This was supposed to be a happy thing, not a ‘my boyfriend emotionally destroyed me with blankets.’”
I half laugh, half sob as I grab the front of his hoodie to steady myself. “This is a good cry, you idiot,” I choke out.
His face crumples as he watches me with concerned eyes, not fully convinced. “Zae.”
“You’ve always shown up,” I whisper, tears spilling faster now. “You never run. You don’t act annoyed or burdened. You just made me a fort and put on Howl and brought me snacks and—” My voice cracks. “You’re making it really hard to believe I’m not too much when you keep doing shit like this.”
He exhales slowly, then pulls me into his chest, arms circling my shoulders and tucking me under his chin.
“You’re not too much,” he assures me, voice low, steady, vibrating through my cheek where it’s pressed to him. “You’re a lot in the best way. Loud, emotional, and dramatic as hell.” His hand rubs slow circles between my shoulder blades as he continues. “But never too much. Not for me.”
A small, broken sound slips out of me as I grip fistfuls of his hoodie.
“You never have to be anything but yourself with me,” he murmurs into my hair with absolute conviction. “Happy, sad, catatonic, cracked-out-on-caffeine, whatever. I want all of it. I want you.”
He says it so simply that it wrecks me more than any grand speech would have.
“I love you,” I whisper into his chest, the words barely leaving my lips but still feeling loud. “So much, Cass. It scares me.”
His arms tighten almost painfully before they soften again. “Good. We can be terrified together.”
I laugh wetly, wiping my cheeks on his hoodie. “You’re so stupid.”
His lips curve as he pulls back a bit to look down at me. "Come on, Sunshine.” He wipes gently at the damp under my eye with his thumb. “Let me show you your throne.”
He leads me over to the fort entrance, dropping to his knees and ducking inside first. He pats the blanket next to him while staring at me with warm eyes. I crawl in after him, the string light glow wrapping around us as the blanket falls back into place.
The world outside dulls until it’s just us and the soft rustle of blankets and the familiar opening frame of Howl frozen on the screen. He hands me a soda and cracks open the pizza box, the smell of cheese and sauce filling the little cave.
“Dinner of champions,” he says, offering me the first slice.
My chest feels too full.
“This is perfect,” I murmur, taking it from him, our fingers brushing as I do.
We eat, watch the beginning of the movie, quote lines at each other. When Howl first appears, Cass leans over and mutters, “Man’s got bird rage and commitment issues. You have a type.”
“You’re jealous of an animated wizard,” I accuse, nudging his shoulder.
“Obviously,” he says, dead serious. “He has better hair.”
I bark out a laugh that feels good all the way down to my toes. As the movie goes on, I end up half sprawled across his chest, his arm under my shoulders, his hand curling at my upper arm. My fingers rest over his heartbeat, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump under my palm.
I’m still tired. I still feel that underlying hum of sadness in the background. But layered over it is this warm, sticky mix of gratitude and love and genuine contentment I never thought I’d be allowed to have.
At some point, the movie fades into background noise. The lights in the fort feel hazier, softer, as Cass traces small circles on my arm with his thumb.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, his breath moving a piece of hair that’s fallen near my jaw.
I tilt my head up to look at him. His eyes are darker in the low light but still soft around the edges.
“Yeah,” I answer, and it’s startling how true it feels right now. “I’m really okay.”
His chest rises on a slow breath beneath my hand, relief maybe. “Good,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second.
Heat pools low in my stomach as I realize this has been the longest we’ve actually gone without having sex with each other since he broke up with Stacey.
Which I know sounds awful, because what the crap are we doing having sex almost every day?
But when you’ve been pining over someone for almost four and a half years, it’s kind of impossible to keep your hands to yourself once you finally get them.
But with my brain being the way it is, being together that way hasn’t felt right. And Cass hasn’t pressured, hasn’t brought it up or thrown it in my face. In fact, I’m certain I could make him wait a whole damn year and he wouldn’t complain.
Not that I could survive a year like that.
“Cass,” I whisper, eyes glued to his, because I want him to see it’s okay. That I’m okay.
“Yeah?” His thumb has drifted up to the edge of my jaw now, brushing lightly at my skin as if he’s memorizing the curve.
I shift, turning fully toward him so my chest is pressed against his side. My fingers slide up his hoodie, over his collarbone, around the back of his neck. He sucks in a quiet breath as I move to straddle his lap, the blankets rustling softly under us.
His hands find my hips automatically, fingers tightening, pulling a small sound from the back of my throat.
I’ve missed this.
“I really love your forts,” I murmur, the words brushing his lips with how close my face is to his.
He huffs out a low laugh that ghosts warm against my mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod once, my nose bumping his when I do. “And your face. And your stupid heart. And the fact you bought me like three kinds of gummy bears.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, dropping his eyes to my lips again. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smile, something soft and dangerous that only ever comes out for him now. “That’s the goal.”
I close the distance. The first kiss is slow, sweet, not rushed. His lips part under mine like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all day, and maybe he has. I can taste pizza and soda and something warm and distinctly him.
His hands slide up from my hips to my waist, fingers digging in as if he’s reminding himself I’m real as he kisses me deeper. There’s no frantic edge the way there sometimes is when we’re half dressed and desperate. This is intense but patient.
I shift closer, rolling my hips to press down against him, hearing him make a low sound in his chest that goes straight to my core.
“Zae,” he breathes against my mouth, his hands tightening. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I whisper, pulling back to meet his gaze. My thumbs stroke along his jaw as I hold his face, memorizing the way his eyes shine in the soft light. “I really, really want to. But only if you can do slow tonight."
“I can do slow,” he promises, eyes searching mine as if to really make sure this is okay. “I can do whatever you need.”
My chest aches at how much I believe him.
“Good,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss him again.