Noah exhaled, long and unsteady.
His body softened against my side. The fit was not the same. The brace changed the angle of his shoulder. His healing hip kept him from settling as closely as he once had.
It was still him.
Still us, though neither of us knew what shape that word would take now.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
His right hand gripped the front of my shirt.
“I’m not promising anything.”
“I know.”
“I might wake up frightened.”
“I know.”
“I could ask you to leave.”
“I will.”
He was silent.
“Would it hurt you?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened.
“But I would still go.”
“Why do you always tell me the truth?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“Before?”
“Now.”
His breathing began to slow.
“Good night, Reid.”
“Good night.”
Several minutes passed.
“Our date,” he whispered.
“Tomorrow.”
“Don’t sing.”
“I refuse to commit.”
