“About what?”
“My brother.”
I frowned, toothbrush halfway to my mouth. “What’s wrong with your brother?”
She gave me a look. “You know. Just … him. Bursting in like a hurricane. Classic Josh.”
“Says the dramatic art student,” I teased.
She grinned and bumped her hip into mine. “Hey.”
We brushed our teeth side by side, the way we had at every sleepover since we were twelve, and crawled into the bed we used to pile into with popcorn bowls and high-school crushes on our minds. The lights clicked off. Gina fell asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out.
I lay there, the blanket tucked under my chin, staring into the dark.
The house had gone mostly still—save for the faint murmur of voices and the creaking of stairs as everyone slowly made their way to bed. I kept my eyes shut, willing sleep to take me, but it didn’t.
It never did when my thoughts got like this. Restless. Wandering.
Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour.
Quietly, I slipped from the bed, pulled on thick socks, and crept down the stairs.
The kitchen was unchanged—just as I remembered it. But somehow, after only a few months away, everything felt older. Smaller. The ghosts of past holidays still hung in the corners, in the way the chairs creaked and the thermostat buzzed.
I filled a glass of water and paced slowly, back and forth on the cold tiles. I didn’t realize how much time I’d spent in this house over the years—escaping my own mostly. Back when my grandmother still sort of recognized me and then later, after the house fell into silence altogether.
I hadn’t just been Gina’s friend. I’d been the stray they let stay.
A soft flicker of light caught my eye from the living room.
Still up, Mr. H?
I shuffled closer and peeked around the corner. I stopped.
Not Mr. H.
Josh was stretched out on the couch, resting against a pile of mismatched throw pillows. An animated movie played on the screen, something I vaguely recognized from childhood. He looked … different like this.
Softer. Calmer. Or maybe just less guarded.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, not startled.
I blinked, caught. “I just came down for some water,” I said, holding up my glass as proof.
He nodded, his eyes returning briefly to the screen. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been evading me lately.”
His gaze flicked back to me, pausing just a second too long on my ridiculous pajama pants—the candy-cane ones that were way too long and puddled around my ankles. Still, he didn’t say anything.
“If you want to sit …” he offered, patting the spot beside him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
I hesitated, then stepped forward and lowered myself onto the couch.
For years, I’d dreaded moments like this—just me and Josh in a room. My heart used to thud like a bass drum in my chest. My hands would get clammy, and I’d develop this terrible habit of licking my lips over and over again until they felt raw. It was like a reflex I couldn’t stop—some weird way to keep myself fromblurting out,You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I think about you way too often.
