Page 116 of Even in the Dark

He peers down at me with hooded eyes, slides his tongue along his lower lip, poking at the silver hoop. “You always stand there peeking at the issues when you’re waiting for me at the cash. Figure if you’re not gonna quit pretending you don’t want to read the entire thing cover to cover, I’m gonna have to start getting them for you.”

I’m sure I must have the goofiest smile on my face right now—like a real-life version of the toothy smiley face emoji—and I don’t even care. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever got me.”

“You realize I bought you a comic book about horses, right? Not anactualhorse.”

“Pony,” I correct him, for the zillionth time. “It’s My LittlePony.”

“Right.”

“Thank you,” I say again. More serious this time. Because this is about so much more than a My Little Pony comic. It’s about him pushing through lies and fears and comfort levels and taking so many leaps of faith just for us to be able to do what we’re doing right now. Lying side by side, talking, laughing, listening… holding and hugging, running fingers along forearms and collar bones and lips.

God, I want to kiss those lips.

I want to kiss every inch of him, just so he knows how grateful I am to have him in my life. But I think he knows, in his ownquiet way. And I don’t care if it takes him another year before he feels comfortable kissing or doing anything more than what we’re doing right now. Because I don’t want to share anything with Dylan that doesn’t feel as right for him as it does for me. Besides, I’ve got my own hang ups, too—ones that will probably start slithering between us when T-shirts get tossed on carpets, bra unclasped, lace sliding softly against my ribs along with memories of that blinking red light and the nagging reminder that refuses to fade completely—the notion that beautiful, private moments can sometimes turn into ugly public lashings.

But if Dylan is willing to work through so much in order for us to keep moving forward—get stronger and happier—then I am, too. Not just as a couple, but separately. Just as two people who want to know what it is to feel lighter.

I snuggle closer into the crook of his arm, my head against his chest, fingers trailing circles on the soft material of his long-sleeved T-shirt stretched across the dips and grooves of his stomach. Outside the paned window, the snow is coming down fast and in thick fluffy clumps, blowing and drifting so it looks like we’re looking into a giant snow globe that someone shook and shook and shook some more.

“That’s so cool,” Dylan murmurs, mesmerized by the beginnings of the storm.

We should probably head back soon; the roads are going to get messy. But we have half an hour or so before we need to worry, and I’m going to savor every one of those minutes. I watch Dylan drink in something I probably wouldn’t have given a second thought to if I wasn’t seeing it through his eyes. And part of me hopes all these things will never stop being novel for him, and another part of me wishes more than anything he gets to a stage where everything about his new life feels familiar and as comfortable as an old sweater.

I stroke my fingers back and forth across his chest, and after a while, he brings his arm over to rest against my hip. Neither of us makes a move to reach for our comics.

“This is okay…” Dylan whispers, almost like he’s saying it to himself. It’s something he does sometimes when we’re snuggled like this. Physically close. Almost like he needs to remind himself that it is okay. He rests his other hand against my head, holding me closer against his chest, and weaves his fingers lightly through my hair.

“Do you ever think about that suitcase?” I ask softly. “The one you and Eli packed… in case you ever needed to take off or whatever?”

His hand freezes briefly, then his fingers go back to playing with my hair. “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes.”

“I think about it sometimes, too,” I confess. “I get this fear that when things are really hard or you have a really shitty week or something, that you’ll hitchhike across the country or take a bus or whatever and collect that suitcase and just… disappear.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he ducks his chin and places a soft, lingering kiss against the top of my head. “I’m not gonna disappear,” he murmurs into my hair.

And holy crap.Dylan. Just. Kissed me.

And while I get it was on the crown of my head,it was still a freakin’ kiss.I still feel a hundred times more tingly about that scalp kiss than I felt about my first technical “real kiss”. I am bumping this one to Number One—kiss categories be damned.

“You promise?”

“Sure.” His voice is so deep right now. Smooth and lazy and sexy. It’s his early morning and late night voice, I have no idea why it’s showing up midway through the day.

Okay, I have an idea why. And that makes me tingly, too.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else before,” I say softly. My voice sounds like my late night voice, too.

“You want me to tell you something I never told anyone?”

“If you’re okay with it… And I promise it will never leave this room.”

He stops running his fingers through my hair for a moment. Then starts up again. I can feel his breaths getting a little heavier against my scalp; his chest rising and falling a little more deeply.

“For most of my life, I was scared of women,” he whispers. And his next breath hitches.

I feel his heartbeat quicken beneath my palm.

I want to tell him I’ve known his secret for a while now. But it’s my secret to keep now too, so I’m going to handle it like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. To me, itisthe most fragile thing in the world. And he shared it with me.

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