61. Dylan #3
I smile. “The sea glass we collected when we went camping in Maine,” I say. “And the marbles and coins.”
Adrian grins and digs around in there. A second later, he starts to laugh. “Remember these?” He pulls out two figurines.
I take them from him and hold them up. “3D Adrian and 3D Dylan.”
Adrian’s uncle taught at MIT when we were eleven, and he made them for us with a 3D printer.
Adrian roots around in the box some more, and every once in a while, he lifts up some treasure or another. All things we’ve collected over the years. All things filled with memories. So many of them.
“Bingo,” he says, and pulls out a piece of paper. It’s turned all yellow, and the edges are crumbling when Adrian carefully unfolds it and slides his hand over it a few times to straighten it.
“Dylan Emerson Lang and Adrian Elias Olsen promise to be best friends and have each other’s backs,” he reads the words written on it. He touches the faint signatures we once wrote with our blood and glances at me.
“I know you said that thing about not wanting our foundation to be on an uneven ground, but Dyl? This will always be our foundation. You’re my best friend. That’ll always be the baseline for us, no matter what.”
I look away, throat dry, heart galloping too loudly.
“What else is in there?” I ask with forced cheerfulness.
He takes my chin between his fingertips and gently nudges my head upward until I’m forced to meet his gaze.
“Dyl,” he says, “I?—”
“What else is in there?” I grit out, because fuck. Fuck ! I’m trying so hard to keep it together, and he can undo me with a few words.
He ignores me and the box. Instead, he slides his thumb over my brow again.
“You’ve got a bruise here,” he says, voice turning gravelly.
I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry.
“Have I?” I say faintly.
He hums and keeps sliding his thumb over the hurt spot, over and over again.
“We should put something cold on it.”
“There’s nothing here.”
His eyes lock on mine, and our gazes hold.
“Then let me kiss it and make it better,” he murmurs, cupping my cheek now. A shuddering breath escapes from my mouth, and I close my eyes.
His lips plant a soft kiss on my brow. Then another. His nose moves over my forehead and down my temple, over my cheek, and then the tip of his nose rubs against mine affectionately.
He doesn’t go any further, instead, he presses his forehead against mine, and we just sit like that in the darkness.
And get lost.
In the moment.
In each other.
“You remember when we tried to build kites, and I sliced my thumb open with a box cutter?” he asks.
“Our first emergency room visit. How could I forget?”
He chuckles and lies down on his back. A second later, his fingers wrap around my wrist, and he tugs me down too. I go without protest.
He turns his head and grins at me. Crickets chirp all around us and stars peek through the leaves above our heads. For the first time in weeks, I feel peaceful. My shoulders relax, and my back melts into the wooden boards of the deck.
“I was thinking the other day,” he says.
“There’s nobody else in the world who knows me like you do.
” His eyes remain on the sky, even when I turn my head to look at him.
“I don’t think it’ll even be possible for anybody else to know me like you do.
Ever. Considering everything.” He meets my gaze then. “And vice versa.”
“Do you think that’s a good thing, though?”
“What do you mean?”
It’s my turn to look away. “Don’t you ever feel like it’d be easier to just have a blank slate? A fresh start. No baggage.”
He’s silent for a bit, processing. “Is that what you think?”
I shrug, because I don’t know right now. Between the loneliness and missing him and the consistent struggle to somehow fit back into my life… I’d be lying if I said I haven’t missed easy .
“Dyl.” He pushes himself up on his elbow. He puts his hand on my cheek and turns my face toward him.
I swallow.
“Yeah?” My voice barely sounds like my own.
His eyes are deep pools of blue. Midday sky. Blueberries. Ocean. Cornflowers.
Blue, blue, blue.
“I wouldn’t erase a single moment with you. Ever. They’re mine.”
I swallow hard.
“Me neither,” I whisper. It’s like a confession. I don’t know what to do with it, so I give it to him to keep.
He leans just a tiny bit closer, almost imperceptibly, and then stops. There’s a flash of apology, and he pulls back that same imperceptible distance.
“Hey, Dyl?”
I swallow again. “Yeah?”
“When is a door not a door?” he asks hoarsely. Softly.
I want to cry. I don’t know why.
I breathe out slowly. Deliberately. I have a part to play.
“I don’t know, Adrian,” I say, equally hoarse. Equally soft. “When is a door not a door?”
His lips quirk into the tiniest smile. “When it’s ajar.”
My gaze stays locked with his and his stays locked with mine. I never want to stop looking at him.
“Why do seagulls fly over the sea?”
“I don’t know, Adrian. Why do seagulls fly over the sea?”
His smile gets just a bit bigger, and the gentleness in it makes my chest vibrate with joy.
“Well, Dylan. I’ll have you know that if they flew over the bay, they would be bagels.”
“That is so bad,” I whisper.
“Why do people say ‘break a leg’ to actors?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
“Because every play has a cast,” he says, then softly adds, “Duh.”
It’s not even funny, but I start to laugh anyway, and once I start I can’t seem to stop.
Adrian’s smile is his usual full-on, no-holds-barred, megawatt grin now.
“What’s brown and sticky?” he asks.
I’m still laughing, shaking my head helplessly. “I don’t know. A stick?”
He holds his hand up, and I high-five him.
“Wait, that was actually the answer?” I ask.
He nods, smile wide and luminous. He lies down. Close. So close.
I have to move.
I already know I won’t.
He moves closer. Then closer again. Closer. He maneuvers one arm underneath my neck, wraps the other one around me, and pulls me to him so my head is resting on his chest, and I’m safe and sound.
It’s once again a bad idea, but I don’t have the strength to resist. Not tonight.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will regret and lecture myself and worry and feel remorse.
Adrian’s fingers comb through my hair.
I burrow closer and bury my nose in his chest. His heart beats calmly and steadily under my cheek.
I close my eyes.