Nick
TWENTY-FIVE
Waking up with someone else’s arm over your back and their leg thrown over your thighs should be disorienting and under no circumstances should it feel natural.
It should feel like an intrusion.
I should want to untangle myself.
I should be grateful I’m up first so I can fix this mistake.
I don’t.
Instead, I stay still.
I feel the steady weight of him.
Blue.
I feel the slow rhythm of his breathing at my shoulder.
His fingers are curled loosely against my side.
The idea of moving makes my stomach clench.
I find myself wanting things.
Stupid, stupid things.
I want to take a nap on the couch with him.
So goddamn stupid.
I want to watch movies with him.
Where is your brain, Nicholas?
I want to cook him breakfast.
Reckless asshole.
I want to kiss his neck.
Fucking idiot.
I want to hold his hand.
Moron.
I could go on forever and not much about the bottom line would change:
I’m fucked.