“I want,” he starts, half mumbling, “to go back to sleep.”
Stubborn asshole. “If you fall asleep on the couch, I will levitate your big butt upstairs and hurl you into your bed.”
He grins but throws it into a pathetic whine. “No, Seb. Carry me.” He pokes my arm.
“Ow.” I rub the spot, and as I gather our dinner stuff and stand, he follows me up, scrubbing awareness into his face.
“Wait—your party,” he says. “How’d it go?”
I made peace with the guy whose family tortured us for four summers straight.“Fine. Weird. But fine.”
Orok grimaces, fighting a losing battle with staying awake on his feet. “That’s cryptic.”
I deposit the bowls and water bottles in the sink as nonchalantly as I can. “I gotta inject some sense of mystery into our relationship or you’ll get sick of me.”
He shoots me an amused look before plodding up to his bedroom with a warbling yawn. I follow, hitting the lights and activating our security wards.
By the time I’m upstairs, Orok’s face down across his comforter, bedside lamp on.
“I should make you brush your teeth.”
He scowls with his eyes shut. “Noooo, Mom; I’ll do it in the morning, I promise.”
I swat his head and click off his light. “Night, dumbass.”
He grabs my hand in the dark with the same constricting desperation as he did downstairs.
We’ve lived together for six years. Roomed together at Camp Merethyl before that. He’s been one bunk or door away for more than a quarter of my life, and maybe that’s why I’m not worried about things changing after we graduate. I can’t imagine any future where he’s not close.
He doesn’t say anything now, just keeps hold of my hand.
“You want some company?” I try. He doesn’t always.
Another stretch of silence. Then a grumbled “Yeah.”
“Give me a sec.”
It doesn’t take long to throw on sleep pants and a T-shirt and fumble through my night routine, then I’m back, tossing my glasses on his side table and crawling into the space Orok leaves me in his queen-size bed. He’s going to squash me by morning.
He flops onto his side, facing me, still above the covers where I huddle under them, and his hand seeks out mine on the sheet. “Thanks.”
Don’t thank me,I want to say. The same way he reassures me it isn’t my fault.
I settle into his pillow. “Tomorrow’s the day: we’re officially going to have your therapist help us work through our codependency issues.”
There’s no heat in it. We’ve made promises and threats like that before.
“She’d love that,” he mumbles. “She calls you my security blanket.”
My throat pinches, but I force out, “Ablanket? Hardly. A high-end cashmere sweater at least.”
“We are, though.” Orok yawns again. He’s fading fast. “To each other. Security.”
“Well. I mean, yeah.” I stiffen. “This is probably crossing a line then, right? One of the first things she’d tell us to stop. This, I mean.” I pat his bed, ribs contracting. “If this isn’t helping you, I should—”
I start to get up, but Orok grabs my shoulder and thumps me back onto the bed.
“Go to sleep,” he tells me.
