Chapter 31
Where have crockpots been hiding all my life?
I’ve hated cooking for as long as I can remember.
Buying fresh ingredients, preparing them, toiling over a hot stove or oven, and then cleaning up afterward?
It’s the worst! Back when I lived at home, our family split the tasks, so cooking was a lot less daunting.
But cooking on my own has made me despise it even more.
How am I supposed to do this every day for the rest of my life?
However, Max and Vimlesh recently introduced me to the crockpot, and it’s absolutely changed the game.
They both use theirs fairly often when they cook, and a full crockpot recipe usually feeds them for days.
It’s usually very low-effort—you just put all the ingredients in the pot and let it slow-cook for however many hours the recipe calls for.
And the pot itself is dishwasher-safe? It’s amazing!
So far, I’ve made a few good dishes, several not-so-good ones, and at least two amazing ones.
Since it’s Halloween and I have the dorm to myself for the evening, I decided to try a weird recipe I found a couple of weeks ago and bought the ingredients for during my last grocery trip—Autumn Pumpkin Chili. It might be gross, but hey, there’s only one way to find out.
Just as I’m giving my chili a final stir in the crockpot, I hear a soft knock at the door. Strange—Theo left last night for Specter, and Max and Vimlesh are out at some nerd-themed Halloween party. I’m not expecting company.
Curious, I open the door, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest when I see Jude.
I crack a smile. “Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” I tease.
They say nothing. No snarky reply, no chuckle, not even a smile.
Only then do I really look at them. They’re in a worn, oversized black hoodie, purple sweatpants, and gray slides.
Their hair lies flat against their head—a far cry from their usual pristine, voluminous style.
Their eyes are puffy and bloodshot behind their octagonal glasses, and patches of pink highlight their fair features.
Oh, fuck.
They’ve been crying.
My smile vanishes at once, concern consuming everything else. “Oh, shit. Jude, are you okay?”
Jude remains motionless, their sea glass eyes fixed on the ground beneath me. After an agonizing second, they shake their head.
My heart sinks to my stomach. “Hey, it’s okay,” I say gently, my fingers itching to hold them, but I resist. “Come on, let’s get you some chili.”
Jude hesitates. “Chili?”
“Yeah, I’m trying a new chili recipe. I mean, it might be gross, but I’ve got good leftovers I can reheat if we need to.”
A moment later, Jude nods, steps through the doorway, and heads straight into the living room, where I’ve been playing Halloween-themed music on the TV. I slide into the kitchen, grab two bowls and two spoons, and ladle out some chili. “Do you want sour cream?” I ask.
“I’m good,” Jude replies, their voice flat. “It’s not made with pork, is it?”
“Nope,” I say. “Ground turkey, actually.”
“Cool.”
Before bringing Jude their bowl, I decide to take a tiny taste of the slop first—just in case it’s actually terrible. To my surprise, it’s not bad. Excitedly, I deliver the chili to Jude and anxiously await their reaction.
“Huh,” they say after a moment. “It’s weird, but, like a good weird. I like it.”
I beam. “Yes! Another good one for the books.”
Jude narrows their eyes at me. “Since when do you cook?”
“Since Max gave me permission to use his crockpot when he’s not using it!” I reply. “It’s so easy! I mean, this one wasn’t as easy as some others I’ve made because I had to use a skillet first, but in general, it’s great!”
Jude manages a weak smile. “I’m proud of you, Mr. Undeclared.”
“Thank you, Mx. Second Row.”
The two of us enjoy our chili to the tune of “Please Don’t Go” by KC & The Sunshine Band. Jude gives me a quizzical look, and I explain. “It’s Halloween, so this is my spooky playlist.”
“Yeah, I got that,” they say. “But this song isn’t spooky at all.”
“Oh, you didn’t watch Ryan Murphy’s Dahmer?”
Jude furrows their brow. “The one where Evan Peters plays Jeffrey Dahmer? I mean, sure, I watched it when it came out, but what does that–”
“This was Dahmer’s favorite song, and he often played it when he was killing people or thinking about killing them. His whole thing was that he didn’t want people to leave him.”
Jude’s eyes widen, then widen even more as another chorus plays. “Oh. Oh, god, why did Ryan Murphy have to ruin this song?”
I laugh. “That’s what I’m saying!”
“Well, now you ruined it for me!”
“My bad.”
After we finish our chili, I leave Jude to handle our dirty dishes and put the rest of the chili away in the fridge. When I return, Jude’s eyes are distant, their smile long gone, and their arms wrapped tightly around their legs. I join them on the couch, facing them.
“So, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you, or are you here for a distraction? Because I could load up the Switch or—”
“Nikki and I broke up.”
I freeze. “Oh. Shit.”
Jude pulls their legs tighter against them. “Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “Did she give you a reason?”
“Actually… I dumped her.”
My eyes widen. “Oh. I guess I didn’t—I didn’t realize that you weren’t happy.”
Jude’s gaze lingers on the coffee table, but there’s a trace of a smile on their face. “I don’t think I realized it either.”
I study them carefully, trying to figure out the appropriate response. “So, should we be celebrating, then?”
Jude shakes their head. “No, it’s not really something to celebrate. At least, not yet. I feel pretty awful about how it all shook out in the end.”
“When did it happen?”
“Last night.”
“Really?” I don’t know why I’m surprised—I guess I expected Jude to tell me about something this big right away. But then again, that’s kind of a selfish assumption for me to make.
“Yeah, I needed some time to process it alone,” Jude continues. “I also didn’t want to interfere with your Friday lab because I know you’re prone to skipping it.”
My mouth hangs open, and I can’t decide whether I’m offended by the skipping lab remark or touched that they considered my schedule at all.
“Either way,” Jude continues. “I decided that I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
My chest aches, and every cell in me longs to hold them. “Well, I can definitely help with that,” I say instead. “What would you like to do?”
Jude shrugs. “I don’t know. What would you be doing if I weren’t here?”
I nod towards the TV. “I was probably just going to watch a movie or two. My traditional Halloween movies are Beetlejuice and The Nightmare Before Christmas, but really, any spooky movie will do.”
A smile creeps across Jude’s face. “I haven’t seen The Nightmare Before Christmas since I was a kid.”
“Oh, well, it’s settled!” I reach for the remote, grinning widely. “We’ll start with that and see how we feel after.”
“Okay, I’ll go use the restroom really quick, and then I’ll be ready.”
As I queue up the movie, Jude stands and stretches with a groan, then winces, rubbing where their neck meets their shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I ask, springing to my feet by their side in an instant.
“Yeah, I think I just slept wrong last night,” they explain, grimacing in pain. “I’ll be fine.”
I peer at the couch. “I can move the couch so you can lie down the full length of it without turning your head,” I suggest. “I don’t mind sitting on the floor.”
Jude shakes their head. “No, I want to sit with you. I need–I mean, I…” They hesitate, looking away. “If you’re comfortable with it, I kind of need physical comfort right now. Nothing crazy, just… sitting close, holding hands, that kind of thing.”
My stupid heart practically somersaults in my chest. “Uh, yeah, that’s…yeah, that’s more than okay with me. We can make that work.” I scour my brain for a solution. “Oh, I have an idea!”
“Oliver, it’s really not a big deal–”
“Shush,” I interrupt. “Let me take care of you.”
Jude blinks, expression indecipherable, but they accept it. “Okay.”
As Jude disappears into the bathroom, I jog to my bedroom to grab the queen-size air mattress Harrison left here on Sunday, along with all my pillows and my comforter.
I drag the coffee table and floor pillows out of the way, clearing the space between the couch and the TV stand.
Lucky for me, Harry’s air mattress self-inflates, so all I have to do is plug it in and let it do the work.
While it inflates, I lay my comforter over the surface, pile the pillows against the couch, and arrange the throws and blankets on top.
By the time Jude returns, they stare wide-eyed at my makeshift cuddle-puddle arrangement. “Holy shit.”
“Do you like it?” I yell over the air pump. “Or is it too much?”
Jude’s glossy eyes find mine, and they smile. “It’s perfect.”
Once it’s fully inflated, we climb onto the air mattress, settle into the pillows and blankets, and scoot close together.
With our proximity, I catch a whiff of sandalwood and vanilla, and I’m instantly transported to the night of the party.
My chest aches in a way it never has before—almost like a hunger pang, but not for food. A love pang.
Fuck. Now all the stupid romance clichés are starting to make sense. I’m literally experiencing heartache. Longing. Yearning. Ugh, how annoying. What have I become?
“Thank you for doing this,” Jude says softly, easing their head back against the pillows. “Let me know if I do anything that crosses a line or makes you uncomfortable.”
I exhale a laugh. That could never happen. “Okay. Same goes for you.”
Jude nods. “Can we hold hands?” they ask.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I tease, interlacing my fingers with theirs. I silently marvel at how our hands fit together so effortlessly, as if they were made for each other.
Fuck. I’m down so bad.