Page 36 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"Translation: 'I need to manipulate you,' 'How dare you have self-respect,' and 'No one else will put up with mybullshit, so please come back.'" Sylas's voice drips with scorn.
Hugging a pillow to my chest, I'm quietly serious. "What if he corners me somewhere?"
Sylas's expression softens. "Then you walk away. Or call me. Or call campus security if he won't leave you alone." He pauses, an impish grin replacing his concern. "Or better yet, call your new buff boyfriend to flex menacingly in his direction."
"He's not my boyfriend!" My voice squeaks embarrassingly.
"Not YET. But let me just point out that while Fifty Shades of Nay is lurking in bushes like a discount store stalker, Tyler proudly introduces you to his friends and buys you coffee in the most public place on campus."
Burying my face in the pillow, I groan. "I know. It's just... I don't know if I can do this again."
"Do what? Be happy? Have a functioning relationship?"
"Get my hopes up."
Sylas's voice gentles. "Babe, that's kind of the point of dating. The hopes go up."
Lifting my head to meet his eyes. "But then they come crashing down."
"Not always," Sylas scoots closer, his usual sharp edges softening. "And even if they do, you survive. We build this ridiculously comfortable pillow nest, eat our feelings, and try again."
My lips twitch, fighting the losing battle against happiness as my cheeks surrender to a full smile. There is something comforting in our ritual, the familiar smell of our apartment, the pillows stolen from every room, the way Sylas always knows when I need to process rather than study.
"You should have seen how Tyler talked about his major," I say, my thoughts returning to the coffee shop. "He's smart, Sy. Like, really smart."
"Mmm-hmm," Sylas smirks. "And I'm sure his biceps had nothing to do with this glowing review."
Throwing the small pillow at him, my lips turn down in a pout, "I'm being serious!"
"So am I! Smart AND hot is a dangerous combination." Sylas catches the pillow and tucks it behind his head. "What's his major again?"
"Environmental Engineering. He wants to design sustainable water systems."
"Wow, saving the planet AND hydrating the masses. Is he genetically engineered?"
A laugh escapes. "Stop."
"Tell me more about what makes Mr. Perfect so perfect," Sylas says, reaching for his third slice of pizza.
"He's not perfect," I insist, though the warmth in my chest suggests I might think otherwise. "He's... complicated. He's only just figuring out he likes guys. Or at least, that he likes me."
"Ah, the classic bi-awakening. Always a fun rollercoaster."
"That's the thing," A large breath whooshes out. "What if I'm just an experiment? What if once the novelty wears off, he realizes he prefers women after all?"
"That's a possibility," Sylas is surprisingly serious. "But it's also possible he genuinely likes you. Bisexuality exists, you know."
"I know that intellectually, but?—"
"But emotionally, you're terrified of being someone's Phase Two."
"Exactly."
Sylas studies me for a moment. "Look, I'm not saying marry the guy. I'm saying maybe… MAYBE, he deserves a chance to prove he's not an asshat."
"Since when are you the optimistic one?"
"Since you started smiling again," Sylas replies. "It's annoying, but I'll adapt."
