61. Seth
Seth
“I feel like we haven’t talked in forever,” Lou says.
It’s Saturday night, and Kaden’s with his band.
He’s been doing that weekly now and I think it’s been good for him.
The more he goes out, the more relaxed he is and while I miss him, I also use his night out to call Lou so we can chat in private.
I haven’t spoken to her since I had my personal crisis a few days ago.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a weird couple of days.”
“Why? Did something happen?” She puts the phone in front of her, curling up on her couch, and I do the same. I cross my legs and snuggle up in my oversized hoodie.
“I told Kaden. About… Everything. About high school, and everything.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You did?”
“Fuck, Lou, I had a complete meltdown.” I put my head in my hands. “I yelled at him, and…” I shake my head, looking up at her. “So fucking embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing, Seth. You did nothing wrong.”
“No, I know. I mean…” I sigh. “The way I yelled at him, and fucking broke down in front of him. I hate that.”
She nods, biting the corner of her mouth.
“So, what did he say?”
I shrug, taking a deep breath. “He said that nothing’s changed. That I’m still me, and…” I wrap my arms around myself, and swallow as my vision turns blurry. “He was saying all the right things, you know, but…” I chew my cheek, eyes glued to the floor.
“But what?”
I drop my head back, gaze in the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears but then my bottom lip starts quivering.
“Seth?” Lou says, her voice low, and I swallow again before I look at her, and shrug.
“I’m in love with him, Lou.”
And this doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone, least of all me, but it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. I’ve cloaked it as a harmless crush. As something small and fleeing.
But it’s not.
I’m full on, head over heels, irrevocably in love with Kaden to the point where he consumes my every waking thought.
I’m so deep down that every song I hear seems to be about him.
Every poem ever written is about him.
Every word in the English language only exists to describe him.
It’s terrifying. I didn’t know you could feel like this, that people actually felt this about each other. I mean, I’ve seen the movies, I’ve read the book, and I’ve got all the socials where people are more than happy to broadcast their happiness and love stories.
But being on the other side of that?
It scares the living fuck out of me.
Later that night I’m splayed out on the couch, trying to decide what to watch when Kaden comes back.
There’s a clicking sound as he unlocks the front door with the key I gave him some weeks back.
He promised to use the key if I promised to keep locking the door, and I don’t know who got the better deal.
“Yo,” he calls from the hallway. There’s a low thump as he puts the guitar case down.
“Hey! How was it?”
“Great! Finn’s got a new song.”
He walks past me, wearing a smile, and throws me a bag of cherry ropes before he continues into the kitchen and washes his hands.
“Yeah? Was it good?” I ask, popping a rope into my mouth.
He comes back and lifts my legs, drops down and places my legs in his lap.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s not finished yet, though, but the chorus was good,” he answers, smiling at me.
“Thanks,” I say, waving the rope at him. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugs. “Saw it when we grabbed some food, and thought of you. What are you watching?”
And I don’t know if he even realizes that he’s circling a finger on my ankle where my sweats have ridden up and there’s a sliver of skin exposed above my sock.
I swallow, trying to ignore the heat wave that small motion’s sending through my body and into my chest.
“Nothing. Couldn’t find anything.”
He glances at me, squinting a little. “Have you talked to Lou today?”
“Yeah? Why?”
A small smile is playing at the corner of his mouth, and he bites his lips together to hide it, before he climbs on top of me, in between my legs. The scent of his cologne hits my nostrils, making my stomach flutter.
“Are you brooding?” he says, sliding his hands inside my hoodie and places them on my chest, resting his chin on them.
I twirl a strand of his hair between my fingers. “No. Why?”
“You get this facial expression when you’re brooding,” he says, pushing his bottom lip out, like he’s pouting.
I scoff. “No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do. Look!” He shifts, shuffles higher, and softly bites my bottom lip.
I tug it free, glaring at him. “I’m bottom-heavy.”
He snorts, eyes gleaming. “You’re what?”
“My bottom lip’s heavier than my top. It always pouts. That you haven’t noticed until now—”
“Shut up,” he mumbles with a smile, and presses his lips to mine. “I’ve seen your lips in every shape and form.” He kisses me again. “I can probably draw them from memory.” Another kiss. “Blindfolded.”
He’s an artist. That’s what he means. Nothing else. And he has a good eye for details. Because he’s an artist.
Be still my stupid heart!
“Yeah? Well, I could probably draw your dick from memory.” Deflect and redirect. Rinse and repeat.
He pulls back, chuckling a little. “Yeah? You sure? Maybe you need another peek?” He rolls his hips against me, setting me on fire.
I snort, because yes. The answer will always be yes when he’s near me, and especially when he kisses my neck, and I can feel him hardening against me. And my dick’s already on board.
He pulls back, squinting at me. “Was that a ‘yes, you idiot’, or ‘no, you idiot’?”
I roll my hips against him. “What do you think?”
Afterwards, we’re slouching on the couch, scrolling on our phones. My dad keeps sending me memes, and awful dad jokes that I hate, but can’t ignore it without feeling bad, so I watch them anyway.
And then I feel Kaden’s hand against my wrist, up my hand, and he intertwines his fingers with mine. I glance at him but he’s still staring down his phone, so I lift our joined hands, holding them between us.
“What’s this?”
He looks up at me, tongue in his cheek. “Oh, those are hands,” he says, nodding a little and goes back to stare into his phone.
And I try so hard to keep the crazy grin from taking over my face. I’m failing, obviously.
“And we’re holding them because…?”
He looks up at me again, cocking an eyebrow. “I held your dick twenty minutes ago, but your hand is off limits?”
I snort, and that turns into a chuckle, and he shoots me a grin before he looks down again, lightly stroking his thumb along my index finger.
“Is this because of what I told you? Because you think I’m a softie who wanna hold hands?”
“Your hands are soft.”
“Kade—”
“Seth,” he says, looking up at me, sighing. “Either hold my hand, or don’t,” he shrugs, shaking his head.
Fine. I’ll hold his damn hand. No skin off my back. It’s not like it’s harming me in any way. It’s not like I haven’t dreamt of precisely this for years.
And maybe it’s even worth him thinking I’m a softie, because I am, aren’t I? And if that makes him hold my hand, then so fucking be it.