Page 139 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Stupidly curious.

Terminally curious.

Maybe even… into him.

But one disaster at a time, right?

We walked up the stairs and into Ethan’s room. It wasn’t what I expected.

It was warm.

Not in the ‘sunshine and hot cocoa’ way—more like quiet lighting, navy walls, and an actual fireplace that probably wasn’t just for show. There were shelves filled with books that didn’tlook fake. Real ones. Dog-eared. Annotated. A punching bag hung in the corner like it had seen things. And on the far wall, a massive window spilled soft light onto a king-size bed that looked like it could eat mine for breakfast.

There were posters too—concerts, space maps, some abstract art that might’ve been either an explosion or a heartbreak. Typical demon ambiguity.

“Wow,” I said, immediately regretting how basic that sounded.

Ethan looked back at me, something smug and something soft flickering in his eyes. “Thought you’d say that.”

He crossed the room, shoved aside some socks, summoned his laptop from under a pile of half-folded laundry, and gestured for me to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

I sat. Mostly because my legs weren’t currently accepting other commands.

“No jump scare videos, okay?” I asked.

“Worse,” he smirked. Then he pressed play.

The screen lit up.

And I saw… me.

Smiling. Quietly. That small, guarded kind I do when I think no one’s watching. Then another clip—me sitting on the bus, head bobbing to music, sneaking a glance at Ethan when I thought he was asleep.

Spoiler: he wasn’t.

The clips kept coming, stitched together like some kind of chaotic masterpiece. Max screaming about someone stepping on his chips. Joy and Mia singing off-key. Me shivering slightly in the cold morning air, Ethan wordlessly throwing his hoodie around me.

Every frame was perfectly, horribly, accurately me.

The laughter. The stumbles. The awkward pauses. My hand brushing Ethan’s for one second too long. The way I flinched when people raised their voices. The way I laughed like I wasn’t supposed to.

And underneath all that—him.

Always him.

Sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes watching me like he was trying to solve a riddle with no answer.

There was the moment we’d snuck out—me whisper-yelling about breaking rules while Ethan climbed a fence like gravity was optional. The near-mauling (thanks, wild raccoon). Our camera falling into the river. A bird divebombing Max.

It was absolute chaos. Funny. Painfully us.

But what ruined me was the quiet.

The moments in between.

Where I didn’t realize I was being seen.

I blinked at the screen, trying not to look like my internal hard drive had just caught fire. “You… made this?”

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