Chester’s lips twitch. “Surprisingly okay. Bryantiscapable of being tactful when she’s called upon. It’s just not her default state, so?—”
A retching sob cuts Chester off. Instinctively, Obie drops Chester’s hand, leaning forward to focus on the memoryscape. “What the hell was?—?”
All at once, his heart seizes.
Memory Chester is on his knees on the cold tile floor of his room’s bathroom, his fingers gripping the toilet seat. He dry heaves again, his eyes squeezing shut and his face screwing up, but it looks like he’s already thrown up everything in his stomach.
And then he chokes on another sob, his forehead dropping to the porcelain as he tries to breathe.
Obie’s eyes sting. He fights down the irrational urge to smooth Memory Chester’s hair back from his forehead. “You were so young,” he repeats quietly.
Chester’s eyes linger on his younger self. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I guess I was. Sometimes, though, it’s—it’s just easier to pretend that I wasn’t.”
Before Obie can ask what he means, Memory Chester spits into the bowl one last time, clambers to his feet, and flushes the toilet. Washes his hands, stumbles over to his bed, and collapses onto the mattress, shivering.
Obie’s chest hurts. “Please tell me Bryant is going to show up soon.”
Chester nods. “If I remember correctly, she should be?—”
Right on cue, there’s a knock on the door. Memory Bryant’s voice floats inside. “Chester?”
Memory Chester flinches. He squeezes his eyes shut, curling up into a ball.
Another knock. “Chester? Locke, you there?”
Memory Chester still doesn’t answer.
Obie raises his eyebrows at the real Chester. “Wow. You straight-up ignored her, didn’t you?”
There’s a fond smile on Chester’s face. “Wait for it.”
Unexpectedly, there was a quiet clinking sound from the direction of Chester’s door. Within seconds, Bryant unceremoniously opened it, dropped her lockpick back into a gap in spacetime, and sauntered over to Chester’s bed.
Chester gaped up at her. His brain wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders just yet, but he was fairly certain that this situation was breaking several rules of etiquette and also some actual laws. “I’m sorry. Did you just break into my room?”
Bryant made a show of looking from Chester to the door and back again. “Would you look at that? Seems like I did.” She poked his shoulder. “Scooch over.”
“Isn’t there some kind of rule about not being alone in a room with someone of the opposite sex?”
Suddenly, Chester snorts. “Clearly, I didn’t realize I was gay yet.”
Obie’s brain promptly derails. Sure, he’s suspected that Chester is attracted to men, but he’s never confirmed it so bluntly before. “You are?”
Chester squints at him. “Obie, we’re literally dating.”
The words make Obie’s chest feel squiggly. Viciously, he forces the squiggles down. “We’re literallyfake-dating. Big difference.”
“And I’m a damn good fake boyfriend,” Chester says loftily.
Yeah. You are.Obie is fervently glad that he already released Chester’s hand, because frankly, he doesn’t know how he’d explain that remark if it slipped through their telepathic link. Forcing a smile, he rewinds the memory a few seconds.
“Isn’t there some kind of rule about not being alone in a room with someone of the opposite sex?”
“Rules are made to be broken, Locke.” Bryant poked his shoulder again. “Nowscooch.I’m joining you.”
Chester still felt utterly out of his depth, but he scooched to the wall side of the mattress anyway. Bryant sprawled out next to him, like it was perfectly normal for her to just invite herself into other people’s beds.
For a few long moments, silence reigned. And then?—
