And all day it seems we've been in between a past and future town

(Part II)

We are nowhere and it's now (maybe one day I'll fly next to you)

Roxie

Figuring out where everyone would sleep was easier than you expected; exhaustion had by now evened out into equally high levels for all of you. You didn't care where you slept as long as everyone was comfortable (you had an odd talent for being able to sleep nearly anywhere, besides), but you were surprised when no one, mostly you, seemed to get embarrassed when you brought up your bed.

You offer it to Neil, since he has the battle scars, but he says he claimed the couch the minute he walked in, and you know you've used up your one chance on insistence working when you told him you were bringing him, them, to your apartment.

Rob, ever polite, chooses the spare room. Doesn't even change his mind when he sees it's almost smaller than him.

Eva shuffles when you extend the offer. "Where will you sleep?"

… I could— no don't you dare say it— "It's a double. We could pretend it's a sleepover."

She doesn't take long enough to consider it. She actually smiles. "What the hell. I'm fine if you are."

I'm so not. "Sure thing!"

No one bothers using your bathroom to change into nightclothes, so you don't either. All your shoes and coats end up in a collegiate pile near your front door. And so:

You have no idea what time it is when you all finally settle in. The pertinent information right now is the clock reads 4:12am, Eva is dead to the world, and you have slept fitfully, far more awake than not, for what feels like at least a couple of hours.

You get out of bed and go into your living room.

By the kitchenette night light, you can see Neil's up. You get a glass of water as if that's what you got up for, and get a second one for him. He nods at you when you hold it out to him. "Couldn't sleep?" you ask.

"Didn't want to." He downs the glass in one go and sets it down.

You'd say that makes no sense, but you'd be lying. Still, it bothers you that he's not asleep, not "truly" safe. He doesn't feel anxious or even unsettled. You're envious.

"You?"

You shrug. "I'm having some trouble." You're about to ask if you can sit down, but it's your couch, dammit, and it's Neil. So you sit on the rumpled blanket and stare at the first-aid stuff you're too tired to put away. "How's your eye?"

"I think it's better. Doesn't hurt as much, and feels different, but I haven't looked."

"Well, since I'm here…" You switch on the side table lamp at its lowest setting. "Let me check."

"Yes, nurse."

You grin. Then: "Oh. No gloves." Washing your hands is faster than going to the bathroom to grab another pair. While you're there, you wet the washcloth under warm water again (you at least rinsed it out earlier).

His glasses are off when you return, and you can see already where the bruise has begun to fade. He can open that eye a little more too. "Looks better! There's still a ways to go, though. More ice tomorrow might not be a bad idea." Grabbing the tube of arnica, you shift to face him, tucking one leg underneath you. "Round two. Maybe some more in the afternoon tomorrow."

As you apply the cream, the air takes on the same strange tension you felt earlier. But this time there's a different weight to it; alone, with him, it's easier to breathe.

"Can I offer some advice?" He makes an assenting noise, so you go on. "You should probably say something before you regret it. To Eva. It's hard to, I know, but… I dunno. I think the regret of not speaking hurts more." You cap the cream, wipe your fingers with one corner of the washcloth, and remove some excess with another corner. "That's all, I guess."

"Okay." It turns into eight syllables, the way he says it. He's not moving, just looking at you, even though you're in his personal space. He didn't before either; you moved first.

Alone, with him, it's even easier to move.

With a half-breath, you say. "I'm about to do something very selfish."

Then you lay a hand against his cheek and kiss him. The few seconds expand into hours, but then he starts kissing you back and time contracts again.

It takes a few more seconds for you to pull away.

And that's when part of your brain wonders what it would feel like to have someone else watching. Her, or both of them, or… The thought makes you so woozy that you come dangerously close to passing out for real, grabbing onto Neil's collar.

"You okay?" he asks. "That's the second time in the last twenty-four hours that's happened. If I were a different person I might be panicking over you right now."

"I'm okay," you say, leaning your full weight against him. "Just… feeling a lot right now." Saying everything and saying nothing at the same time.

"Um. Yeah. That's a mood." He gives your back a dudebro-ish pat. "Uh, so, if you were aiming for kiss it better, I think you're a little off."

You snort and rest your forehead against his shoulder. "Yeah. I have no idea what I'm doing." You say it jokingly, but you also kind of still mean it.

"We'll figure it out."

I guess we will. "Funny. That makes two of you."

"What?"

Crap. You said it out loud. "Nothing." You sit up, finally, barely repressing a shiver as Neil's other hand slides away from your hip. Now you don't want to move. But for quite a few reasons, you have to.

"Go back to her." His voice is so soft, undercutting the glasses hiding his eyes again.

You cannot possibly ask what you really want to. "What about you?"

"Your couch is really comfy. Blanket's nice too."

"Oh." The sky-blue velvety one, you realize as he pulls it back over himself. "That's one of my favorites."

He regards you for a moment. You feel ticklish warmth uncurling low in your belly when he says, with a soft unvarnished smile, "Then I'm great."

You smile back, the kind you feel like you have to contain before it fills your whole body. "Okay."

When you return to your room, the lump that is Eva doesn't seem to have moved. You brush away the guilt trying to well up in you and climb carefully back into your bed.

Even if you're not going to sleep, you should close your eyes. Maybe you can trick your brain.

The next moment you're aware, trying to tell if you fell asleep or not, you almost choke on air. Eva's arms are wrapped around your middle, her chest is pressed against your back, her knees slotted right behind yours. Your heart's in lightspeed and you're just trying to breathe, because if you wake her up struggling you won't live it down and how do you explain this—

She sighs at the back of your neck, and all the fight goes out of you, although your heart doesn't slow down at all.

This isn't a dream. You're not dreaming. (Because you've had dreams like this, and you've never felt her body heat the way you can right now.) But it feels just as unreal, just as primed to break any second.

You wish you could sense what Eva is feeling. On the other hand, you're glad you can't. In this moment, in this space, it feels too much like crossing a line.

One line crossed tonight is plenty.

But the sun hasn't risen yet, so you aren't done being selfish. You're going to hold on to this feeling as tightly as you can, for however long it lasts.

You put your shaking hands over Eva's at your waist, take a trembling breath, and shut your eyes.

Being held, sleep comes easily.