Chapter 3
Reid
Song: Snowflakes by Grapell
There’s something about snow that I’ve always enjoyed—the look of pristine white flakes falling from the sky, the quiet of the street because everyone is staying clear of the roads.
It’s peaceful, as long as I get to stay indoors and don’t have to deal with things like wet gloves or wind-bitten cheeks.
Thankfully, I picked a career that has a possibility of snow days, at least when the storm is bad enough. And this storm is bad.
When I woke up at my usual time to get ready for work, there were already four inches of fluffy white powder blanketing the ground and a text in the work group chat saying that the library would be closed for the day, along with the rest of the city government.
Normal people—or at least people without kids or other responsibilities, like me—would probably just go back to bed after realizing they didn’t have to go out and be an adult for the day.
But I’ve always had a hard time getting back to sleep once I’m awake.
So I make a pot of tea and spend most of the early morning curled up on the couch with my weighted blanket and the queer baseball romance Amy insisted I read.
I’m not usually a romance person, or a baseball person—any kind of sports person, really. But I have to admit, it’s a cute read.
The only downside to the winter weather is that this building is old, with windows that aren’t very energy efficient.
The building also controls the heat. And since the landlord is a bit of a cheapskate, it’s pretty cold in our apartment.
It isn’t a huge deal for me; I usually run warm anyway.
But poor Parker is probably not going to be happy when he eventually wakes up.
As if I materialized him just by thinking about him, I hear his bedroom door creek open.
I look up from my book right as Parker comes into the living room.
His curls are even messier than usual from sleep, and he has the navy plaid comforter from his bed wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He actually looks kind of sweet.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at work? Also, is it me, or is it fucking freezing in here?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Look outside.”
I watch as he shuffles over to the window overlooking the courtyard. “Wow, it’s really coming down out there.” He glances over his shoulder to look at me. “So I’m guessing the library is closed today, then.”
“Yeah, the whole county government shut down,” I say, slipping my bookmark into place to mark my page.
“This explains why it’s practically a tundra in here. God, and it’s worse by the window.” An exaggerated shiver runs down his spine, and he pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I already regret getting out of bed.”
I let out a short laugh because I really can’t help it.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asks incredulously.
“No,” I say, fighting a grin. Except I am. It’s just that he really is adorable, all bundled in his comforter and looking mildly disgruntled.
It’s something I’ve been noticing more lately—that Parker is adorable—although I’ve been trying not to.
I definitely can’t find him adorable. Or cute.
Or just attractive in general. The last thing I need is to develop feelings for my roommate.
My straight roommate. My best friend, really, which is a little strange when I think about it.
We’ve only known each other well for eight months, not considering the handful of times I’d met him when I lived with his sister.
That’s probably too soon to consider someone a best friend.
I’ve known Amy for eight years, but it wasn’t until we moved in together after grad school that I started to consider her my best friend.
Yet somehow, in less than a year, Parker has managed to steal that title.
He is easily the most important person in my life, the person who makes me feel the safest. I felt that way even before we started this cuddle arrangement.
But after spending most nights over the past two weeks in his arms, the usual lines of friendship have gotten a little… blurry. Which is a problem.
Because again, I’m not supposed to feel this way about my straight roommate-slash-best friend.
But then he huffs and shuffles his way over to the couch, plopping down right next to me, and any thoughts about problems are replaced with warm affection.
“Rude. I bet you won’t be laughing when you have to explain to my sister that I turned into an icicle,” he grumbles, although the sentiment is undercut by the way he snuggles into my side.
I laugh again, setting my book down on the arm of the couch, then readjust my blanket so it covers his lap. “You aren’t going to turn into an icicle. It isn’t that cold.”
“Says the human furnace. How are you so warm?” he asks, pulling my blanket up to cover his shoulders too.
I shrug. “I’ve always run warm.”
“Well, not all of us are as fortunate,” he deadpans. “I think I’m going to need about a thousand blankets if I’m going to make it through the day—oh!”
I cock my head at his sudden exclamation.
“I know what we should do with our snow day,” he says, sitting up and turning to face me with a grin.
“What?”
“We should make a blanket fort,” he says proudly.
“Aren’t we a little old for a blanket fort?” I ask skeptically.
“You’re never too old for a blanket fort,” he argues playfully. “Besides, doesn’t cuddling up in a fort for a movie marathon sound like the perfect way to spend a snow day?”
Two weeks ago, I might have said no—at least to the cuddling part. But the idea of spending the day completely blocked off from the world by walls of blankets, with Parker curled into my side like he was a moment ago, does sound like a perfect day.
So I smile and nod. “Okay, let’s build a blanket fort.”
It takes about forty minutes to put together, but thanks to the collection of patchwork quilts from the chest at the foot of my bed—all made by my grandma—we make a pretty decent blanket fort in the middle of our living room.
Every couch cushion and pillow we own is spread across the floor inside the fort, forming a plushy nest. Parker even pulled down a strand of battery-powered string lights from our Christmas decorations so we’d have some soft lighting.
It’s not a spacious fort by any means, especially once two fully grown men are sitting inside of it. But it’s cozy.
I’d almost call it romantic, but I immediately squash that thought down.
“Okay, what do you want to watch?” Parker asks as he unlocks his laptop, which is balanced on a tin of tri-flavor popcorn acting as a makeshift table.
“You can pick,” I say as I make myself comfortable against the mountain of cushions.
“Would you judge me if I said I wanted to watch Hallmark movies?”
I wouldn’t say I’d ever seek out a Hallmark movie on my own, but I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy them on some guilty-pleasure sort of level. I watched so many of them when I lived with Amy that I now have a soft spot for them. I’m guessing Parker enjoys them for the same reason.
“Only if you pick a Christmas one,” I tease.
He glances over his shoulder and sticks out his tongue. “No, apparently there’s an entire collection of non-Christmas-y winter-themed ones.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
When the familiar purple home page fills the screen, he pulls up the “Winter Wonderland” collection and just presses play, letting whatever winter-pun-titled movie the platform picks play first. Then, he scoots back and starts fluffing the pillows next to me to get comfortable.
I watch him for a moment, wondering what I should be doing.
When he suggested the fort, he used the word cuddle, but cuddling doesn’t always mean with another person.
You can cuddle a blanket or pillow, and we have plenty of those.
But then he looks at me, almost questioningly, so before I can overthink it too much, I stretch out my arm in a tentative invitation.
“You want to be the cuddler this time instead of the cuddle-e?” Parker asks.
“Okay, well I’m fairly certain you just made that second word up just now,” I say with a fond shake of my head. “But you said you were cold, so I thought—we don’t have to. We could just do what we usually do if you think it’d be weird.”
“No, not weird at all,” he says. “I’m an equal opportunist with cuddling.”
The voice in my head saying I overstepped quiets once he smiles. Then he lies down, tucked against my side, his head resting on my shoulder, and I curl my arm around his back, ignoring the way my stomach flutters just a little when he snuggles the tiniest bit closer with a contented sigh.
Eventually, after several terrible movies and lunch—eaten outside of the fort to avoid making a massive mess—I end up back in my usual position as “cuddle-e,” except laying down.
I still maintain that isn’t a real word, but I honestly can’t think of another way to put it other than “little spoon”, which isn’t entirely accurate since we aren’t spooning.
We’ve never spooned, actually. We’ve never cuddled while lying down until today.
My head is resting on his chest while his arms are wrapped around my shoulders. It’s nice.
Okay, better than nice. It’s amazing. Part of me regrets that I’ve never sought this out until now. But I don’t know if I would tolerate this much physical contact with anyone but him. I’m practically sprawled on top of him, and I only want to be closer.
“You know,” Parker muses, breaking the silence, “I never would have expected you’d be such a koala when it comes to cuddling.”
I crane my neck to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Hold on.” He digs around in the blankets for his phone, then one-handedly types something before showing me the screen.
It’s a picture of two koalas—a mother and baby I assume based on the size difference between them. But what do adorable marsupials have to do with me?
“See how close and snuggly they are?” he asks. “That’s kind of you.”
I frown a little. “Is that a bad thing? I can give you a bit more space.” I start to scoot away, even though I don’t actually want to. But I also don’t want to be intruding on his personal space too much.
But he quickly drops his phone and wraps his other arm around me to pull me closer again. “No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. At least I think it is—especially right now because you’re keeping me warm.”
I let out a breath but don’t quite settle back into the embrace yet, needing a little more reassurance.
“Usually when people have said, ‘I never would have expected you’d be… insert whatever comment here,’ they’ve had some sort of negative subtext to it I only ever realized after when someone explained it to me. ”
“Oh, no. No negative subtext. I meant it in a good way,” he rushes to say. His cheek comes to rest on the top of my head for a moment. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
Finally, I let myself relax into his arms again, and his posture loosens a little too, almost as if he was waiting for it. Or that he was afraid I would pull away again.
I think it’s the end of the conversation, but then he continues. “If I had any sort of problem with anything between us, I would talk to you directly, not make some sort of passive-aggressive comment expecting you to guess what it is.”
Oh.
To most people, that might not mean much. But to me, that means the world. I never actually thought I would have to guess with him, but hearing him explicitly say so is a weight off my shoulders. It’s confirmation that he sees me.
“Thank you. Me too,” I say.
“Yeah, I know. It’s why I like living with you,” he says, sounding almost fond. “You always say exactly what you mean.”
“Most people hate it,” I say dryly.
“Most people don’t have a raging anxiety brain trying to convince them everyone secretly hates them all the time,” he deadpans.
There’s humor in his tone, but I suspect there’s also some sort of hidden fear behind his words.
I’m familiar with that anxiety, although the origins are probably different for both of us.
But I know what I would want to hear, so I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him, needing him to see my face when I say it.
“I don’t hate you.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then his face breaks into the softest smile. “I think you’re the first person I actually believe when you say that.”
“Good because you’re my best friend and it would suck if you thought I secretly hated you,” I say, unable to help a sarcastic tone.
I expect him to roll his eyes, but he just tilts his head. “I’m your best friend?”
I nod.
“I would have thought that’d be my sister, since you work together and lived together for like three years.”
“She’s the friend I’ve had for the longest, and I care for her deeply, but you understand me better than anyone I’ve ever met,” I explain. “It’s okay if I’m not yours, though. I know you have more friends than I do—ones you’ve known longer.”
“You know what?” he asks, and I shake my head. “I think you’re actually my best friend too.”
“Really?” I have a hopeful tone in my voice that I kind of hate.
But he grins, and I can’t find it in me to be that embarrassed by it.
“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “I tell you everything. We get along better than anyone else I know. You’re certainly the only person I’d want to spend all day cuddling in a blanket fort with.”
Until you get a girlfriend, then she’d be the one you want to cuddle in a fort with.
The thought stops me in my tracks. No. Nope. I can not be jealous. Finding him attractive is one thing, but jealousy? Jealousy means that I think he’s mine. He’s not. I don’t want him to be. Do I?
No. I don’t. It would ruin our friendship if I did, and I wouldn’t be able to handle that.
So I shove the stupid, jealous thought out of my mind, and lie down again. I rest my head back on his chest, and his fingers almost immediately find their way into my hair.
“You’re the only person I’d want to spend all day cuddling in a blanket fort with, too.”