He rests his head on my collarbone as if it's too heavy to hold up alone.

We stay like that until he's all cried out. Then I offer him a pair of pyjama bottoms, a dry T-shirt, and push him towards my bed.

"But-" he starts, hesitantly sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"It's fine," I interrupt. "I have something I have to finish and I'd rather you not on the floor while the bed's empty." It's partly true. I know I won't be able to sleep for a while and I don't want to even pretend that I will. And I'm not fond of having him on the floor while my bed is empty nor the idea of him on the floor behind my chair while I'm in it. I wouldn't want to run him over by accident.

He frowns at me. "It's, like, one in the morning. You shouldn't be working on anything this late at night."

"It'll be fine; it won't be the first time I've been busy this late."

It doesn't do anything to get rid of the frown, instead, it just digs it deeper into his face. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

I pause as I realize that it wouldn't make him feel better, so I concede. "Okay, so it may not be the best argument, but it still doesn't change that I have to finish this," I lie. "Just go to sleep. You look exhausted."

He does. His shoulders are slumped in and he's slouching in a way that he only does when he's tired and doesn't have the energy to keep his back and shoulders straight. His head is starting to tip to one side and his red, puffy eyes aren't completely focused behind his glasses. He's purposely keeping them open while they threaten to fall shut; forcing them back open when they do.

"So do you," he mumbles, but when I give him a stern look he caves and lays down. I don't think he had the mental or emotional energy to fight me.

I distract myself with meaningless tasks so I don't have to watch him climb in my bed. I know my heart won't be able to take it. So instead I pretend to be busy and am careful not to seem too obvious about it.

Soon enough, I'm at my desk 'writing something' while I listen to his breathing even out. When I know he's asleep, I glance over my shoulder at him.

He's on his side with his back to me, curling in on himself a little. His glasses are on the table by the head of my bed. The light from the lamp is highlighting his upper arm and the smooth plains of his skin. My shirt is taut over his broad shoulders, stretching over his back muscles. His curls splay out on my pillow.

I think about how he's the runner up for valedictorian and wonder, again, why he didn't tell me. How did Lia and Holland know before I did? But, then I think of what I'm keeping from him and I feel even worse. I can't really expect him to tell me he's the runner up if I can't even tell him I'm gay.

I want to tell him, but it's getting harder to tell him the more I drag it out. I need him to know, but I can't. I keep chickening out.

I rest my cheek on my hand, propped up as I fiddle absentmindedly with my pencil.

Why can't I just tell him?

I know he won't just drop me the way Lia dropped Eden in such a cruel way, but I still worry that he's going to change how he acts around me. I won't be able to take any changes that my coming out would bring. I remember how Lia spoke about Eden at prom and my stomach grows cold. The disgust in her eyes when she realized that I'm gay.

Thinking about prom brings forth another of the many reasons that I can't sleep: what Mason did after. I know it's not fair to not want to see Mason with someone who makes him happy but to see him kissing Bahti broke my heart. I also know that he is straight and definitely doesn't like me back- not like that- and seeing him kiss her only solidified it. That doesn't mean that I have to like it, though.

But doesn't it? I'm his best friend and I'm supposed to be supportive of him. Through whatever it is that he wants and what makes him happy.

It doesn't stop the sting of tears as I picture his strong hands cupping her cheeks, fingers pushing into her hair.

I scrunch my eyes closed, as though that's going to stop me from crying. I take a few deep breaths and suddenly, my eyes are too heavy to open and I lean more and more on my arm, gradually needing it to keep me up.

My last thought before falling asleep is how I wish, desperately, that it was me sitting under the tree with him and cuddled up in his jacket.

When I wake up, there's light reflecting off the wall in front of me and I scrunch my eyes tight to keep out the attack. I turn my head into my pillow and breathe deeply, silently wishing that it was still night so I could go back to sleep. That's when I notice my pillow smells different. It smells like Jamie. Why would my pillow smell like Jamie?

Bracing myself for the light, I carefully open my eyes and look at the wall that's not normally in front of me.

It's not my wall. It's not my room. This is Jamie's room. I'm in Jamie's bed.

Suddenly, I remember what happened and why I'm here. I broke down and cried into him because my father hit me. I feel my chest tighten at the memory of the sting. Both from his words and his hand.

I roll over to see where Jamie is- he said he had to finish something before he could go to sleep and I want to make sure he is sleeping. He's been looking too tired and worn out lately. His body has been strung with tension, his face pinching with worry, and his eyes, which expose his unease, have bags slowly darkening underneath.

Instead of him sleeping, I find that he's still at his desk and the room is bathed in artificial light, rather than the natural light of morning that I was expecting. I check my phone for the time and see it's 2:44. I slip my glasses onto my face to see what he's doing and his blurry form shifts into focus.

I can see now that he's not working, but is sleeping at his desk instead.

I push the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. It takes two steps to reach his side.

He's leaning over his desk, head propped up on an arm, curled fist smushed into his cheek.

The paper in front of him doesn't have anything written on it. It's just messy scrawls and scribbles and I think back to earlier when he was writing something, what he said he was working on. Was he only pretending to write something to have an excuse not to sleep? My concern grows as I consider this.

I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking softly. "Jamie?" His head slowly slides down his inner forearm from the movement, gravity pulling it to his desk. I expect him to wake up, but he doesn't.

"Jamie?" I shake his shoulder a little harder. He hums and turns his face into his arm but otherwise doesn't respond.

I feel myself frown at that. Jamie's not that deep of a sleeper; he usually wakes up with a light shake.

I look at his posture, how he's curled over to slump on his desk and I know he can't stay here for the rest of the night. It'll kill his back. If I can get him into his bed, then hopefully he won't be in pain tomorrow morning.

I pause for a moment, wondering how I'm going to do this.

I give his shoulder one last shake but he still doesn't wake up. So instead, I crouch next to him and pull his arm closest to me over my shoulder. Jamie slumps into me, pushing his face into my neck as his other arm moves to drape over my other shoulder. He pulls me into him and my own arms wrap around his waist, instinctively hugging him back and I think of how this is what I needed earlier.

His body is cool to the touch and I think about how he's only wearing a T-shirt and has been sitting in front of his window the whole night so far. I have no doubts that it's cold from the night air.

I hold him to me for a few moments- to warm him up, I tell myself. Definitely not because I have a massive crush on him and cherish every moment that we touch. I force myself to pull back a little, not enough for his arms to fall away from me, but enough to remind myself of what I'm doing.

I keep one arm around his back, one of my hands falling to rest on his waist. From the way his body is twisting to lean into me, the hem of his shirt has ridden up and my fingers brush over his expose skin. It's soft over his firm muscles and warms under my hand.

Mentally shaking myself from that train of thought, I focus on getting a good grip of him I slide my other arm under his knees.

He is lighter than I was expecting and I lift him out of his chair. I kick it out of the way as I turn around to put him in his bed, making sure to pay attention to his feet so I won't hit something with them.

I'm suddenly aware that I'm holding Jamie- my long-time best friend and crush- bridal style and he's cuddling into me, his soft breath brushing over my skin and lighting me on fire. I feel my own breath almost leave me from the intimacy we're sharing that only I am privy to.

Without thinking, I tilt my head down to press a kiss into his hair. I just stand there for a moment with my face tucked into his hair, holding him close to me and inhaling the scent of pure Jamie with a hint of his shampoo.

My arms start to grow tired, though, so I step forward and put him down on his mattress. I start to stand up to pull the blanket over him, but his arms are still latched around my neck. He whines when I try to pull away.

It takes a few minutes, but I am finally able to unhook his arms from me and I push him onto his side to discourage him from reattaching himself to me.

I stand back and look at where Jamie's now laying- where I had been sleeping only a few minutes ago- and wonder where I'm now going to sleep. Fuck. I really don't want to have to find the sleeping bag at this time of night.

I contemplate my options as I study Jamie, who's curled up on his side, facing the wall where I left him.

Would he mind if I…?

I decide to fuck it. If it's an issue, we'll deal with it in the morning. I'm way too emotionally drained from crying earlier to care.

I turn off his lamp, put my glasses on his bedside table and slide myself in behind Jamie, nudging him over a little bit for me to fit in his bed. There's still not a lot of room for there to be a space between us without me falling onto the floor, so I shuffle closer to Jamie, pressing my front to his back and throwing an arm over his waist.

The warmth of the bed and Jamie's body heat instantly pulls me in and I only barely recognized that we're spooning for the first time and that I can't even appreciate it because I fall asleep only a few seconds later.

I wake up the next morning to shuffling.

A body pressed against mine is turning and it takes a few tries before my eyes open to see who it is.

Jamie.

He's now on his other side, his face only inches from mine and he's slowly blinking awake. He's staring at me with bleary eyes.

"Mace?"

"Hey," I reply.

Not wanting to wake up just yet, I close my eyes again and tighten my arms around Jamie and pull him into me. One of my legs is thrown over Jamie's and I use it to hold him close. I'm warm and content and relax into him.

"Um," I hear him start.

"Noo," I protest, burying my face into his shoulder. "It's too early."

"But, how did- how did I…" he trails off and I know what he's asking. I also know that it means that we aren't going back to sleep, so I let go of him and roll onto my back.

"I woke up at, like, quarter to three and found you sleeping at your desk- which is awful for your back, by the way. I tried waking you up, but." I finish with a shrug and an arm thrown over my eyes, still not inclined at waking up already.

"And, and you climbed in bed with me?" his voice is hesitant and I know it's because he's nervous from having a crush on me.

I hum in reply. Then open my mouth to continue. "It was three in the morning and I was way too tired from…" I think of my father hitting me, "last night to have the energy to go looking for the sleeping bag. Plus, you had said that I could sleep here for the night."

The 'oh' that escapes Jamie is quiet. "Okay."

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes and I'm just starting to fall asleep again when he speaks up.

"Um, I, uh, I'm going to go shower, but you can go back to sleep if you want." I feel the bed moving as he sits up before he swings a leg over me- and he's straddling me for a second- before he lifts his other leg, standing up on his floor. " I can wake you in half an hour?"

"Mmkay," I mumble as I roll over and bury my face into his pillow. It's still warm from where he was just laying and I drift off into a light slumber.