“Do what?”
“Make everything feel okay again.”
“I just love you, and no matter what, we’ll make it together.” He lifts my face from his neck with a finger under my chin and kisses me.
The feel of his lips on mine instantly hits my core, and suddenly I don’t want to talk anymore. I move to straddle him and deepen the kiss. Just as he slips his tongue into my mouth, the timer blares from the oven, scaring me enough to jolt backward.
He chuckles, his soft eyes and easy smile making me want to drag his mouth back to mine and forget about dinner. Then my stomach growls even louder than before, and he stands with me in his arms before placing me gently on the couch.
The heavy conversation fades as we eat and talk about the past few months we missed. Between his work and mine, we spend hours on his beige couch, the soft sounds of a LANY vinyl playing from the record player. The perfectly baked lasagna is long gone, our plates cleared. Hours pass as we sit there, reminding me of the years we’ve spent on this exact couch and how normal all of this feels, as if no time has passed at all.
A few hours later,we finally make our way to the bedroom. I brought an overnight bag just in case because, as much as I know we should ease back into things, I couldn’t make myself want to be apart from him for another night. For months, I dreamed of this—going to bed wrapped in his arms again and waking up with him.
I pull out my pajamas and lay my clothes out for tomorrow so they don’t get overly wrinkled in my bag. Morgan’s socks, which she gave to me on loan, stare back at me, and I turn to Kane, one hand on my hip and my brow raised.
“Am I ever going to get my socks back?”
He smirks and looks me up and down, heat in his eyes. “Am I going to get my shoelaces back?” He leans his arms on top of the bathroom door frame, and my eyes on his biceps.
It really is unfair how fuckinghotthis man is, and somehow, he is all mine.
I turn around and dig into my bag until I pull out the wad of shoelaces, then throw them at him. Both of us laugh at the ridiculous way the pranks have unfolded. Kane drops the shoelaces on his dresser and opens the top drawer, revealing the mountain of socks he stole from me. I go over to search through them when an envelope catches my eye, my name written across the front.
“What’s this?” I hold it up, watching his face go blank.
“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact.
I look deeper and find a few more envelopes with my name on them. I pull them out and count twelve in total.
I lift them toward him and wait for an answer.
“I wrote them…for you,” he says slowly. “Well, I wrote them to you. When we were apart. I wasn’t sure how to talk about how I was feeling, so I thought maybe I could write it down. Just small things. Things I wanted to tell you over the past twelve weeks. Things I wish I had said and didn’t.”
Vulnerability is etched across his face, reminding me of the times he talks about his parents, as if he’s waiting for disappointment to follow. I can see the anxiety in every twirl of his rings. The silver engraved A he showed me earlier catches my eye again.
“Oh, Kane.” My eyes fill with tears. I clutch the letters to my chest in a death grip, unwilling to let him take them back from me. “Can I read them?”
“You want to read them?”
“Of course I do. This is…” I search for the right words. “This is beautiful, Kane. I want nothing more than to read your words.”
“Okay, yeah…” Unease lingers in his features. I cross the room and take his face in my hand, his cheek leaning into my palm while I hold his letters to my heart. “Can I be in the shower while you read them?” he asks.
I nod, and he gives me a small kiss before he goes. He pauses in the bathroom doorway, one last glance at me, then back down to the envelopes clutched against my chest.
I hear the shower turn on and sit at the end of his bed, the sound of running water soothing the storm that erupts in my stomach at the sight of his script spelling out my name on the envelope.
I crack the first one open and marvel at a full page of his handwriting. He always had such beautiful handwriting fora boy, the small script a little messy but lined up perfectly. He has a habit of writing mostly in all caps, and I always found it so endearing.
Dear Avery,
You walked out of my house twelve hours ago, and I haven’t been able to see the sun since. The world seems to be cast in an ever-present gray. My vision—my entire world—lost all color that seemed to have followed you when you walked out.
And I don’t think I blame it. I don’t blame my world for losing color when I lost the one person who ever made me see the bright side.
When you walked into my world four years ago, suddenly every color had more vibrancy than ever before. Blues sparkled like the sun hitting a wave just right, the hue of your eyes haunting my every dream. They shine so full of life that my heart stops whenever those baby blues are on me. Greens were crisp, emeralds shining like wet grass in the morning dew. And yellow—well, yellow became my favorite color, because when you smile at me, I swear that is my sun. The star I constantly study in the sky. You became the center of my universe, and I will never forgive myself for not chasing after you. For letting the demons inside my head try to keep me from you. For letting them win, even for a few hours.
I hate that I am at the mercy of my fucked-upbrain and the lies it tells me. The lies that I’m no good for you. The lies that you would be better off without me. Because how could that be true when you have become my reason for breathing each morning?
