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There was a king-size bed pushed against the far wall, with a blue-and-white-striped blanket on top—and Russell asleep underneath it. He was sleeping on his side, his back to me, facing the wall. The covers were pulled up around him, his breath rising and falling steadily.
As I looked at him, at his chest gently rising and falling, I knew I was seeing a part of him that was private and personal. This was Russell as his unguarded self, the person he was when he just was. I tried to tell myself that I needed to say something now, to break this spell, wake him up so this didn’t seem creepy and Twilight-esque. But his name was caught in my throat.
I saw a white sound machine on Russell’s nightstand, and I reached over and turned it off.
It was jarringly quiet in the room now that there was no artificial ocean being piped in. I hoped that maybe this would do it, that Russell would wake up and I could tell him goodbye and head back downstairs, job done. I was just about to say his name again when Russell sighed and rolled over, facing me. I took a step back, my heart beating hard.
He was shirtless, the blanket falling off one shoulder, his eyes closed, his lashes long on his cheeks, his expression peaceful. I could see now that he had white foam earplugs in—and I realized this, along with the fake ocean, explained why I’d had such a hard time waking him up.
For just a second, I had the strongest impulse. I wanted to reach over and brush his hair back from his forehead. I wanted to trace my fingers across his cheek. I wanted him to look at me the way he had yesterday, before everything had gotten wrecked.
But then I shook my head, trying to clear it. Russell and I were going to be friends. I’d decided it last night, and he’d agreed. These were just vestigial feelings from the day before, that was all.
I’d taken a breath to say his name again when Russell’s eyes opened. He smiled lazily as they fluttered shut again, and he burrowed his head deeper into his pillow. I could see now that he had a crease across one cheek, making him look like a very cute pirate. “Darcy,” he said with a yawn, smiling as he did so. “Hi there.” His voice was slow and easy, like maybe he was on the verge of tipping back into sleep again. “What are you doing all the way over there?”
“I…” I blinked, trying to figure out what to do with this. What did that mean? I took a step closer and wiped my hands on my jean shorts. “Um…”
Russell’s eyes snapped open again, and his happy, lazy expression was gone. “Hi,” he said, sitting up. He took out his earplugs and raked a hand through his curls. Then he leaned over to the nightstand and picked up a pair of glasses—tortoiseshell, with rounded frames. He slipped them on, and I tried to hide my surprise. He looked different in them—younger, somehow, and more serious.
I tried not to stare at his chest or his stomach muscles, despite the fact that this was very challenging. “Darcy,” he said again. His voice was still sleep-fogged, but it was sharper now, the languid earlier tone gone.
“Hi, sorry,” I said quickly, feeling like I needed to explain my uninvited presence in his bedroom. “So—”
“That was so weird,” Russell said, rubbing his eyes. “I thought I was still in my dream, and we were just continuing our conversation.”
“So I was… in your dream?”
“Yeah… which is why this is so strange. Like I’m going from a dream and into reality, but without a break between?”
“Or maybe this is just another dream? And we’re in some kind of Inception situation.”
“That seems likely.” He leaned over and looked at his bedside clock, and his eyes widened. “It’s early.”
“I know. And I’m sorry to wake you up. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
Russell sat up even straighter. “Goodbye?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go to the bus station and then catch the bus back to LA. I was going to get an Uber, but your dad said he’d arrange a ride for me.”
“You have to go this early? We’re flying out later.”
“I know, but I need to beat my dad home. He’s getting in at three, and as far as he’s concerned, I rode a bus with absolutely no issues home from the festival last night.”
“Right.” Russell nodded a few times. “Got it.”
I took a big breath, not really sure what I wanted to say. “I just—I hope you have a great time next year. And that Michigan isn’t too cold. It’s…”
“I can drive you,” Russell said.
“Oh—that’s not—”
“I’ll just run you over to the bus station,” he said, talking faster now. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up. And I could see that he was in long basketball-style shorts that sat low on his hips. After a moment, I made myself look away, concentrating on the poster on his wall. “It’ll be no problem.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said simply. “It’s what friends do, right?” He held my gaze for a moment, and I nodded.
“Thank you. That’s really nice.” I was relieved I wouldn’t have to ride with Kendrick or Bella—and that we wouldn’t be saying goodbye like this, in his bedroom with its rumpled sheets where he’d just been sleeping—and dreaming, apparently, of me. Better to say goodbye outside, with other people around. And the fact that he’d have to drive me to the bus station meant this, right now, wouldn’t be the last time that we saw each other.
