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My eyes well up as I blink down at his phone’s screen. "Guess I was pretty fucking full of shit, because I can crochet." I laugh.
"Yeah?" He frowns, looking confused.
"Learned it at Sheppard Pratt my first stay. Sometimes they'll let you knit and crochet. See over there, on the second-to-last shelf on that book case? Gray yarn for a scarf. I was thinking if I got the nerve up to meet you, I'd give it to you."
"Really?"
"Really, Millsy. You know what else really?"
“What?” he whispers.
“I brought that pillow with me. In fact—” I get up off the bed, and open my nightstand drawer. “I have it right here.”
“I think you liked it in the end,” he tells me.
“I saw it in my room at Mom’s. When I went back up there to get my Jeep, the pillow was one of the only things I grabbed.” I hug the thing to my chest, sitting back on the bed. “So…you made this for me?”
“I did.” He smiles softly.
“So you’re artistic.”
He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
"What, did I insult your art, too? You wanna sprinkle holy water on me and we'll do an exorcism?"
Miller laughs. "You said the art was good. But you snooped without asking, and I didn’t like that. At the time,” he adds with a smirk.
"Fuck."
"It's okay."
"I don’t know about that. Sounds like I'm a plague and you were just this normal guy, and—"
Mills puts his finger over my lips. "I was just a normal guy. This gay guy in the closet, biding time till college. No one I knew ever had a hardship really. It was Mayberry, and I was...stupid." His face twists, and he bites his lip. "I was just a kid, Ezra. Meeting you changed my whole world. You made me hurt in a way I never knew I could, but I had never, ever felt the way I felt about you.”
"And when I left, it shredded you,” I whisper.
"Does that make you want to end things again?" Mills rasps.
"Hell no. I spent months in fucking…anguish, not knowing if what I felt was real. You think I would trade that in because it makes me feel some guilt? So what? I can handle feeling regret."
"You were just...different last time,” he says.
"The only thing that I remember from before I went down there was how much I wanted to be dead. I was on all these pills. Heavy shit, Mills. That I didn't even need. My mom sent me off to Sheppard Pratt to make herself feel better. Let them tell her there was something wrong with me that wasn’t caused by Alton. By the time you and I met, I wasn't normal."
"I saw them—the pills,” Mills says softly. “I didn't know about pills at that time, but I was worried for you. I just wanted whatever was good for you."
"I still think I don’t deserve you." I blow out a long breath.
“I’m not that special, but you do deserve me.” He looks so cute in the lamplight with his freckles.
I tackle hug him, knocking him back on the bed, and Miller laughs.
I'm on top of him. I lean down and rub my scratchy cheek against his, and he runs his hand into my hair. “You deserve all good things. And nothing that happened to you. The fact that any of it did—I want to hurt your mother.” His eyes widen. “Sorry I said that.”
"It's fucked up," I rasp, “but I like that you feel that way. I guess I want someone to care," I manage.
"Of course you do." Miller wraps his arms around me. "Somebody should care. A whole lot of somebodies should care a whole fucking lot. People should get sent to prison. Lots of people."
"Me," I choke out.
"No. Not you, my angel. You should go to therapy and crawl in bed with me as many nights as you can. And eat good food and do things that you like, and live. Because that's what you deserve. You deserve to live and to be happy. Nothing that happened was your fault. Programs like Alton are fucked up, and what happened to you specifically? That guy went psycho. You were a victim. You were locked up, people hurt you.”
Josh hugs me so hard. A few tears roll down my cheeks, dripping on his collarbone. "I'm not upset," I whisper-rasp. I take a deep breath. "I just never really talk about it. And for you to say that stuff." I rub my face against his shoulder.
"I'm your number one fan, Ez. I'm there for the kickoff, for the overtime. The locker room, your Jeep after the game to blow you. And I'm in your dorm room bed…popping a boner every time you move or breathe on my neck."
He makes me laugh. I don't know how, but Josh Miller, frat boy, party boy, small-town boy, blue eyes with the freckles, makes me laugh. Makes me pop a boner too, and makes me want to kiss him.
