Page 166 of The Sound of Him

I had not gone back inside my body.

I was still floating, walking in a sort of trance, when I went to the kitchen for breakfast. His eyes had felt dangerous as he’d dragged them over my body, like he might find out I had escaped it and force me back inside. Like maybe that was why he hadn’t hurt me yet. He was waiting until he could get to my mind too.

His voice had almost rolled right past me when he spoke up.

To this day, I am so glad they didn’t.

Because Kellan simply said, “I hope you slept alright. The heater broke halfway through the night. I was a little worried you’d wake up an icicle. Keaton would have never forgiven me.”

And slowly, carefully, my mind had sunk back into my body.

When Matt’s trembling fingers slowly, carefully take my hand, I sink back into my body.

Everything is so warm.

I am so fucking tired.

He pulls, just enough for me to feel it. It’s more of a suggestion than anything else really. I step into it. “I’ll come,” I tell him. He’s looking at me with those big brown eyes wide and trusting. “Wherever you wanna bring me, I’ll come. Go ahead. Take me there.”

His expression softens in relief before he tightens his fingers and pulls me along. He’s suddenly the confident man I’ve been lucky enough to meet in the recent late night hours, when he’s been confident enough to make a song request, or teases me during a conversation.

He comes to a stop at the couch, me settling beside him. He doesn’t let go of my hand.

I look at the couch, not sure if I’m unable to understand because of how tired I am or if this is a genuinely confusing situation. I look at him. “You want to sit? We can sit tog-” but he’s shaking his head, so I stop.

He lets go of my hand and takes a single step back before gesturing toward the couch with a raised eyebrow that clearly means he wants me to sit. Which is fine. I can do that.

I sit.

He waves his hand.

I feel a little like I’m playing a game without being handed the rules. I don’t want him to be frustrated with me, but I honestly don’t know-

He grabs my feet and carefully lifts them.

“Oh,” I say like an idiot as he places them down on the couch. I’m in a very awkward twisted position now. “You want me to lay down?”

He gives me that look that he usually reserves for bad pop songs and my singing voice. It’s somewhere betweenno shitandyou can’t be serious. I smile and adjust myself until I’m actually laying down properly, legs stretched out, head nestled on that cross-stitched throw pillow I bought just for him. It’s a damn comfortable pillow. All I need is a nice blanket and -

- and he’s draping a blanket over me. One of his from his hiding spot. The deep blue one that I couldn’t help but get when I realized it matched his worry stone. It is unfairly warm and soft and the perfect weight as it presses on me.

“This is nice.” I rub my eyes. “I - uh. I need to-”

He waves a hand and I shut up. Then he shows me a single finger, letting me know he needs a minute, and pulls out his notebook.

The words have already been written. All he needs is to flip to the right page and turn it to show me.

ALL DONE. SLEEP NOW. PLEASE.

“It’s not done, though. I need to-”

He signs,Later.

“But I-”

He flips to the next page and shows it to me. More words have been written here too.

ASKED MAISON. SAYS ALL DONE. NO EXCUSES. TIME TO SLEEP.