Rude. You just said I look great in dirt.
You look great in everything, baby.
My fingers freeze on the pet name, but before I can type anything back, my supervisor stalks past with a glare that could wilt steel. I shove the phone into my pocket, but the words are already burned into the back of my eyelids. I’m fixated on every silly photo and subtle tease.
He’s handing me pieces of his day like they’re gifts, and I’m hoarding them. He wants me to laugh. He wants me to see him. He wantsme.
I’m not imagining this, right? It can’t all be in my head.
The mulch spreads under my shovel on autopilot, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. A reel of memories unspools without permission, each one sharper than the last.
Freshman year in the library at 3 a.m., both of us slumped over textbooks and my head drooping onto his shoulder. Waking up with my arm slung across his waist and his steady breathing warm against my neck. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. I stayed there until my arm went numb, telling myself it was just exhaustion and friendship… just comfortable.
All those late nights in the practice room, when Dmitri would lean over my shoulder to point at sheet music, his cheek so close to mine I could feel the heat off his skin. His voice low and patient, unraveling a chord progression while I forgot how to breathe.
The rooftop at sunset with my knee pressed deliberately against his under the table. The slow drag of his teeth as he took the garlic knot from my fingers, with our eyes locked like the rest of the world had gone quiet. How my pulse jumped when his tongue flicked the butter off his thumb.
Then the lake just a few days ago. Cold water closing over us, our chests colliding, and his hands on my shoulders like they belonged there. Thumbs stroking over my skin, and my whole body answering with a rush of heat before my brain could catch up.
I’ve never fallen so shamelessly into someone before. Never replayed a single moment with a girl the way I replay every second with him.
Frame by frame, sound by sound, feeling by feeling.
It’s not normal… and I think I’ve known that for a long time.
There’s no panic, not exactly, just bone-deep exhaustion from fighting something that’s already won. I don’t know what label fits, and right now I don’t care.
The rest of the day drags on with me deep in my head, and by the time I get back to my dorm and shower, I’m exhausted. Sleep should come easily, but every time I close my eyes, I get sucked back into my memories. Saturday is two days away, and I don’t know if I can wait that long.
I feel like I might die if I don’t see him.
The clock on my nightstand reads 1:47 a.m. when I finally give up on sleep. The room is dark except for the blue glow of my phone screen. I open our thread and scroll up to the pictures again, and my thumb hovers over the keyboard for a long minute before I type.
Still up?
The dots appear almost immediately.
Dmitri (1:48 A.M.)
Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. You?
Same. Brain won’t shut off.
Want to talk about it?
Not sure I can put it into words yet. Just… miss seeing your face.
The second I hit send, I drop the phone on my chest like it’s radioactive and stare at the ceiling, heart hammering so loud I swear the neighbors can hear it. What the hell did I just do? I could’ve said “yeah, rough day” or “just work stuff” or literallyanythingsafe. Instead I handed him the soft underbelly of everything I’ve been trying not to feel.
Too much.
Too honest.
Too needy.
Too close to the thing I’ve been circling without naming.
Miss seeing your face.
