Theea
cause every night i lie in bed
the brightest colors fill my head
the brightest colors fill my head
He squeezes back and releases me, and only then do I realize I grabbed his hand without thinking. Heat climbs fast into my cheeks; I wrap both hands around my cider and take a sip like I can blame the flush on the drink. As if I don’t know what his fingers feel like through my hair, or what his heartbeat sounds like, or how soft and tender his voice gets when he forgets to guard himself.
The warmth that settled there hasn’t really left me.
I’m about to say something—about that night, about nothing at all—when salvation chirps. Aria’s got a prize: a tiny Ludo duck wobbling in the grass. A laugh breaks out of me, bright and small, as she pounces and tosses it, all paws and pride. Relief moves through me like air after holding it too long.
“Here,” I say instead, fishing in my pocket. I hold up my own rubber Ludo-duck, give it two squeaks, and tuck it into the breast pocket of his coat—careful, but not careful enough to keep my fingers from brushing him. “Backup. For when she tears that one to bits. Or… if you get jealous of her.”
He’s got that smile—one of those hidden but true ones—and the lantern near us lines it in pale gold, a quick spark catching in his eyes, and I stare just a moment too long, letting the silence stretch just a little too far. My gaze drops to the lantern in his hand—pine trees, snowflakes, quiet and honest—and a small ache tugs at the edge of my joy. None of this is either of our faults. Still, I feel it, a twinge of guilt for having this when he doesn’t.
I look up and meet his eyes, let warmth do the talking. “Do you want help hanging it?”
The warmth that settled there hasn’t really left me.
I’m about to say something—about that night, about nothing at all—when salvation chirps. Aria’s got a prize: a tiny Ludo duck wobbling in the grass. A laugh breaks out of me, bright and small, as she pounces and tosses it, all paws and pride. Relief moves through me like air after holding it too long.
“Here,” I say instead, fishing in my pocket. I hold up my own rubber Ludo-duck, give it two squeaks, and tuck it into the breast pocket of his coat—careful, but not careful enough to keep my fingers from brushing him. “Backup. For when she tears that one to bits. Or… if you get jealous of her.”
He’s got that smile—one of those hidden but true ones—and the lantern near us lines it in pale gold, a quick spark catching in his eyes, and I stare just a moment too long, letting the silence stretch just a little too far. My gaze drops to the lantern in his hand—pine trees, snowflakes, quiet and honest—and a small ache tugs at the edge of my joy. None of this is either of our faults. Still, I feel it, a twinge of guilt for having this when he doesn’t.
I look up and meet his eyes, let warmth do the talking. “Do you want help hanging it?”
a million dreams are keeping me awake
