Page 665 of End Game

“What do you mean, apparently?”

“I found it in an old sketchbook.”

He looks up at me. “Before us?”

“Yes.”

Something in his face changes.

I lean against the counter because standing without support suddenly seems less appealing than it did a minute ago.

Dex turns the page.

His hands around guitar strings.

Another page.

His boots beside the front door, one knocked sideways because he has never once put them away correctly.

Another.

Dex laughing with his head tipped back at the D&D table.

Then one I made after we started sleeping together, his face half buried in my pillow, eyeliner still smudged beneath one eye.

“Holy… Micah.” His voice has gone quieter.

I let him keep going.

Dex with Cami asleep against his shoulder.

Dex under stage lights.

His hand resting on my thigh.

His mouth against Ronan's.

The back of his neck in the kitchen while he tried to cook something I should have stopped him from attempting.

That one makes him laugh. “What the fuck is this?”

“The quesadilla incident.”

“The quesadilla was fine.”

“It was burned.”

“It was crispy.”

“It adhered to the pan.”

“Semantics.”

He keeps turning pages.

There are twenty drawings.

I considered fifty.