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The stern tone is back in his voice, but it’s mingled with something that lights me up from the inside.
“What?” I say.
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, staring into my eyes like he’s searching for something. He must not find it because he shakes his head and pulls away.
“It’s getting late,” he says gruffly, getting to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you clean and go to bed. We can worry about the mess inside tomorrow.”
I let him pull me up and dust the snow off my jacket. We take our time heading back to the cabin. This side of the mountain is beautiful, covered in snow and dotted with towering verdant green pine trees. My fingers itch to put Wesley’s gift to use and draw the scenery in my non-Wesley-filled sketchbook.
I can’t help but still feel bad about the bed thing, but Wesley promised me he’s fine with it. I made him pasta as an apology. It was only from a tin, but it cooked well on the range, and it didn’t taste too bad since I had my own seasoning. Wesley objected to me bringing it, but I refused to budge.
Good food is important. It’s also the only way I know how to help him in return. He’s always been so kind to me. I’m not spoiled, but my family is big, and my two older brothers usually did all the chores before I could get to them. Except for cooking. I take after my mom; I love to cook and shower people with things that taste good.
But when I arrived at university, I knew next to nothing about everything else. Wesley is the one who showed me how to use the accommodation washing machines, how to work the electronic library scanners, and how to find my way around. He’s always been great at directions.
Even though we don’t live in the same dorm, he’s always there when I need him. He never makes fun of me, but I can’t help feeling like a burden.
I don’t mind making all our meals this trip if it means he knows how important he is to me.
*
Wesley showers first and, somehow, there’s hot water. He explains to me through the bathroom door about immersion heaters and how the hot metal rod heats the water around it, but I’m still not sure I get it. Heartbeat Retreat somehow managed to get hot water and a stove working, but not a central heating system?
When it’s my turn, I strip off my clothes and shower in record time. Wesley left his shampoo on the small lip of the windowsill beside the shower, so I step out smelling like pine trees and petrichor.
The bathroom mirror is foggy, but I wipe it down enough to see myself properly. I’m not a thin guy, I’ve got wide shoulders and a flat, taut stomach, but I’m no Wesley Campbell.
Visually, we’re complete opposites. Where his eyes are ice-blue mine are a light brown, my mom always says they’re the color of autumn leaves. Water has turned my blonde hair into a dark flaxen and, compared to Wesley’s longer hair, mine is short enough to tickle the middle of my cheek. Freckles litter the pale skin of my face like constellations in the night sky.
I lick my lips, catching my eyes in the mirror. They look pitch-black, the pupils dilated to cover most of the brown. My lower belly feels tight and hot, like that feeling I get before I settle down at night to touch myself. It’s anticipation for what’s about to happen. Calm down, Oliver. It’s just a bed.
“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. My reflection doesn’t look convinced.
When I’m dressed in my pajamas, I head to the bedroom, lingering on the threshold. My hands dangle loosely at my sides, damp hair resting against my forehead. I feel a bit lightheaded.
Wesley’s in front of the window, staring out at the blizzard. The snowstorm is in full swing.
“You’re not in bed,” I say quietly.
He glances at me, eyes lingering on my torso. “Is that my sweatshirt?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I absently tug at the hem of his red Harper College sweatshirt. It’s a bit faded and must be a little small on him, but it fits me perfectly.
“Yeah, sorry. In my defense, you left it out and it looked cozy so-”
“It’s fine, Ollie,” Wesley says, cutting me off. “I told you I don’t mind sharing anything with you. You should have told me you booked the wrong cabin.”
“I know, but… I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”
“When have I ever made fun of you for making mistakes? I do it all the time. You’re usually the one helping me.”
I make a face and wrap my arms around myself. The urge to touch him overwhelms me, my hands are itching with it.
“There’s no way that’s true,” I say.
“It’s true,” Wesley says. He pushes off the wall and comes to stand in front of me, an indecipherable expression on his face. “I forget deadlines for my essays all the time, don’t I? And I always need help studying for exams. My mind doesn’t synthesize topics as quickly as yours does.”
Warmth, slow and sweet, spreads in my chest, and I step back. If I’m not careful, I’ll latch onto his large frame and never let go. The ache for touch is deep and longing, but I can’t give in. I don’t want Wesley to hate me.
