An unexpected pang of jealousy flares through me.
I imagine someone else watching slasher flicks with him on Friday nights, or his future roommate throwing their pillow at him when he snoozes through his alarm for the fifth time.
Mental images of another guy bringing him his favorite chocolate bar float through my mind.
Those areourthings.
Then I think about how, because of seminary, we might drift apart naturally.
It’s such a horrible thought that I briefly squeeze my eyes shut before opening them again.
“Just… it’s nothing,” he says, thumbing his nose and walking over to his desk. He picks up his keys and wallet, shoving them into his pocket. “I’m going for a walk.”
He turns and walks past me, and I don’t know what compels me to do it, but I reach out for his arm and wrap my hand around his wrist.
“Julian, talk to me,” I urge.
Julian slowly drags his eyes up to mine. “I’m sorry. I need fresh air.”
I don’t let go—instead, I curl my fingers tighter. His pulse is racing against the tips of my fingers, and his eyes flick between mine as if he’s searching my face for something.
“I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything,” I say, my voice softer.
A sad expression drags his features down. “Yes. We’re the best of friends,” he says, sounding sarcastic.What the hell?
The corner of his mouth curves up slightly, and I can’t help the way my eyes track the movement. He tugs out of my grip and pulls the door open before disappearing through it.
“Fuck,” I whisper, running a hand through my short hair.
Quickly turning off the TV, I begin pacing the dorm room. I’m not sure what just happened. Everything was fine until I told him about seminary.
No, he was fine until you said you had to move out.
The thought nags at me.
But why? Why does it matter if we live together or not? We can still see each other all the time when I’m not busy.
I walk in circles as my mind races.
Is… is it possible that he has feelings for me? Is that why he’s acting out? There’s no way he’d willingly go back to England otherwise. He hated the pomp and circumstance of his title. Julian madesensein California. The long-ish, blond hair. Thejeans and flannels. The friendly attitude. He was more of a native Californian than I was.
A flash of lightning is immediately followed by a clap of thunder.
Chewing on my lower lip, I deliberate between staying put or going to make sure Julian is okay.
Another flash of lightning has me slipping into my boots and grabbing my jacket. Pulling the door open, I almost walk right into Julian, who is standing there, soaking wet. His chest rises and falls as his eyes sweep across my face. Neither of us moves. Instead, he takes a step forward just as we’re both plunged into complete darkness.
Power outage.
“Fuck,” I whisper, looking around.
“Kai,” Julian says, his voice husky.
“Flashlight,” I add, twisting around and stumbling back into the dark room. I nearly trip over something and catch myself on one of the beds, and my hands skim over the wood before my fingers curl around the desk drawer. Pulling it open, I fumble inside for the flashlight and pull it out.
After I switch it on, I look over at Julian. He’s still standing by the door, still out of breath, still soaking wet. His hair lands over his forehead and rivulets of water fall down his face, bouncing off his scruff onto his wet, long-sleeved shirt.
“You okay?” I ask, clearing my throat.
