He Stayed

For a moment, Owen didn’t move.

Then he set the cream on the narrow shelf beside my pillow.

“Move your feet,” he said quietly.

I did.

He stretched out beside me, stiff as a man lying down in somebody else’s coffin. The mattress dipped toward him. I shifted into the space that created and took his wrist.

“Here.”

I settled his hand against my waist.

He swallowed.

“Is that okay?”

“I put it there.”

“I know. I just meant—”

“It’s okay, Owen.”

His fingers curved carefully against my side.

I closed my eyes, pleased with the world.

“You can breathe,” I added.

He let out a long, helpless breath.

I had to press my face into my pillow to hide my smile.

Our bed was too narrow for two people, particularly when one of them appeared to have been constructed for moving furniture. Owen kept his back near the edge and his knees bent so he wouldn’t kick the frame.

After a few minutes, I looked over my shoulder.

“Are you falling off?”

“No.”

His elbow was hanging over open air.

“Owen.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you fall, I’m not catching you.”

That startled a laugh out of him.

I moved toward the wall until my shoulder touched it.

“Come closer.”

He hesitated, then slid nearer. His arm settled more securely around me. The warmth of him reached my back without touching the irritated patch.

Much better.

Outside our curtain, Ben finally stopped shouting. A bathroom door clicked. Water ran through the pipes.

Owen was still awake when the suite went quiet.

“How do you know?” I murmured.

“How do I know what?”

“That I’m going to roll over.”

“You do it all the time.”

I opened my eyes.

“You watch me sleep?”

His hand went rigid.

“No. I mean, sometimes when I get up, your curtain’s open.”

“I see.”

“And you’ve complained about your shoulder when you sleep on it.”

“You remember that?”

“You told me.”

I had. Once, while hunting for my charger and being generally unpleasant before breakfast.

I lay quietly for a moment.

Then I reached down and moved his hand an inch, until it rested more comfortably against me.

“Go to sleep,” I said.

“I’ll make sure you don’t roll over first.”

He smiled before I could see it properly. I felt the movement of his breath against my hair.

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible?” I asked.

“That depends who you ask.”

“I'm asking you.”

“My coach says I lose my head when a game gets close.”

I turned that over. The Owen I knew checked doors, remembered deadlines, and made sure nobody left a phone charger behind.

“What do you do?”

“Take shots I shouldn't. Try to fix the whole score myself.”

“That sounds unlike you.”

“You haven't seen me play very much.”

“I could.”

His arm shifted around me.

“You'd come to a game?”

“If you invite me.”

“I can get you a ticket for Friday.”

“You said that very quickly.”

“I already know how to get one.”

I smiled into the dark.

“Then get me one.”

“Okay.”

A pause followed, comfortable enough that I didn't immediately fill it.

“Will you know where I'm sitting?” I asked at last.

“I'll find you.”

The answer came without hesitation.

I watched the thin stripe of light beneath the curtain. For once, I didn't have a clever reply ready.

“Don't lose because you're looking at me.”

“I'll try not to.”

I touched the back of his hand with two fingers.

“I'm serious. I'd be unbearable if you did.”

“You'd be unbearable if we won too.”

I laughed quietly.

He was learning far too quickly.

Something inside my chest became inconveniently soft.

I had planned to keep him awake a little longer.

Instead, I fell asleep.

By the time I woke, his side of the mattress was empty.

For several seconds, I frowned at it.

Then I noticed my phone on the shelf, plugged in. I had forgotten to charge it. A fresh bottle of water stood beside the cream.

On my desk below was a paper bag and a note.

Breakfast is inside. Don’t use the new detergent again. Text me if your back gets worse.

His handwriting was careful and square.

I ate the sandwich, read the note twice, and became annoyed.

He could spend the whole night holding me. He could remember my breakfast order. He could look at me as though I was everything he wanted.

Apparently, he could not say one simple sentence.

I like you, Julian.

Was that really so difficult?

Perhaps he needed more encouragement.

I had no classes before noon, so I headed toward the athletic center. I told myself I was returning his cream, which remained on my shelf while I walked across campus.

A flaw in the explanation, certainly.

It hardly mattered. I didn’t intend to explain myself.

Near the side entrance, I spotted Owen with Chloe.

She held a small paper bag. He had his gym bag over one shoulder.

I stopped behind a brick column, far enough away to avoid joining them, close enough to hear.

“Owen, I know you’re busy,” she was saying, “but I’d like to take you out sometime.”

He looked uncomfortable.

She hurried on.

“I brought you breakfast. You don’t have to decide right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I like someone.”

My mood improved so quickly it was embarrassing.

“Oh.” She lowered the bag. “Are you together?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what’s he like?”

The word he came from her without any drama.

Owen looked startled, then relieved.

I was interested too. I leaned lightly against the column.

“He’s spoiled,” Owen said.

My smile stopped.

“He has money, and he gets annoyed when things don’t go his way.”

I straightened.

“He’s kind of lazy.”

I stared at him.

I had given this man half my bed.

A very generous half, considering the circumstances.

And this was how he spoke about me in public?

Chloe blinked.

Owen didn’t notice. He was looking down at the pavement, thinking.

I folded my arms.

Go on, Carter.

Make it worse.