Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
THEN
April, Freshman Year
W hy would anyone in their right mind go to Cancun or Miami Beach or wherever for spring break when, just a few weeks later, they could do something like this? Camping in Joshua Tree National Park on a moonless night with clear skies, the Milky Way stretching out above them and the Lyrid meteor shower reaching its peak.
Zayn couldn’t wait.
He and Aiden had set up their campsite earlier that day, and now they were lying outside their tent on their sleeping bags, settling in for the show.
Aiden was distractingly close. Zayn would barely need to move his arm for it to hit Aiden’s, and that special brand of Aiden gravity—the one that had compelled Zayn to learn how to defy all laws of physics to resist its pull—was at its strongest when they were mere inches apart. Newton’s law in textbook form; the strength of Aiden’s gravitational force demanding Zayn’s inevitable fall.
Not that he hadn’t fallen months ago.
Aiden inhaled, taking an expansive breath that swelled his chest and bumped their arms together briefly, before he let it out in a shuddering sigh.
He did that sometimes, like he was never quite able to get enough air in his lungs. In Zayn’s more delusional moments, he swore Aiden did it more often when they were close, maybe leaning in just to do it, but he had to be imagining that. There was no logical reason for Aiden to breathe Zayn in like he’d drown without him.
It didn’t matter though; this was perfection.
“We should come out here during the next supermoon.” Zayn would happily spend countless nights with Aiden under the stars.
Aiden froze for a second, then gasped. “ Oh . I left my water bottle in the tent. I’m going to grab it. Need anything?”
Full moon. Right. Aiden wouldn’t be around.
“I’m good. Here, I’ve got the—” Zayn cut himself off as Aiden got up and smoothly covered the few steps to their tent, then ducked inside. “…red light flashlight.”
But Aiden didn’t seem to be having any problem finding his water bottle without it.
“You must have excellent night vision,” Zayn said as he returned.
“Ah, yeah. My eyes dark adapt quickly. It, uh, runs in my family.”
When he lay down next to Zayn, he felt even closer than before.
A soft breeze rustled through the scattered desert plants. Around them, a chorus of insects created a song of chirps and buzzes and clicks, punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl and the yips of coyotes. Their melody drifted through peaks and valleys, slipping into caesuras of silent stillness so profound it was as if the Earth itself was holding its breath, and the only movement in the universe was the meteors falling above them.
“I wish we could bottle this and bring it back to the dorms,” Zayn said in the softest of whispers, but Aiden heard him.
“The miracle that would have to happen to get things even a fraction as quiet as this.”
Their neighbors on both sides seemed to hold grudges against the concept of silence, like it had killed their loved ones and they were on a mission to eradicate it out of existence. It made studying for tests a particular treat.
“What are you planning to do next year?” Aiden asked. “Dorms again?”
“I want to get an apartment off campus, but I’m not sure I can afford it.”
Aiden hesitated before he said, “We could probably afford a place together. If you’d want that.”
Their own place. Somewhere quiet where they’d be able to study without all the chaos of the dorms right outside their door. That would be amazing.
“I’d love that.”
Zayn’s cheeks hurt, he was grinning so hard, and when he glanced over, he felt the radiating brightness of Aiden’s smile shining through the dark.
Yeah, they’d get a place together, and their sophomore year would be even better than their freshman one.
Aiden’s hand brushed against his, but he didn’t pull away. Neither did Zayn.
As they lay there in the tranquility of the desert night, under a sky full of infinite stars and possibilities, solitude and serenity a warm blanket wrapping around them and this moment, Zayn couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else in the entire universe.