Inversion [Camp NaNoWriMo July 2021]

day 15

d a y   1 5

"You still owe me another truth."

I shoot Cian an unimpressed look from across the couch, but I can't stop the small smile curling at my lips—or the warmth that spreads through me at his answering smirk.

It took a good two hours of crying to get the tears out of my system, a three-week buildup I hadn't realized had taken such a toll. But afterwards, still wrapped in his arms, I felt surprisingly ... settled.

It hasn't kept me from wondering about that silence though. That I'm sorry that had disappeared from the nightmare. I think some part of me, buried deep in grief, understands exactly what it means, but the rest of me doesn't want to confront that truth just yet.

I know I should be concerned at how much comfort I took from Cian's presence. I haven't forgotten how lost I felt when he was gone. How lost I still feel when that grief decides to strike at odd hours, in the middle of a meal or even when I'm having an otherwise normal, harmless conversation. It should scare me that I've come to rely so heavily on his company. But I only think about how lonely I would otherwise be without him. At least for these next few weeks, when I don't know if I'll ever see my old friends again or who I'll be when I emerge from this bargain.

"What do you want to know?" I lock those thoughts away, to be examined at a later time—if at all. I pick up another piece of sushi, a small laugh slipping out as I watch Cian struggling with his chopsticks. He just scowls at me, the chopsticks crossing backwards and the sushi breaking apart. "You might as well just use your hands," I say casually. "Otherwise you'll just be eating decomposed sushi. Which is pretty much just rice and fish."

"Excuse me if I haven't used chopsticks before," he retorts. But he seems to realize the same thing, because he gingerly picks up a piece of sushi with his hands and takes a small bite out of it. Some of the rice breaks apart and falls back onto the plate. An improvement.

I tell him as much.

Cian needs to grab a spoon to clean up the half of his sushi that fell apart before he gave up with the chopsticks, and I finish my food as he returns from the kitchen, setting my plate down on the coffee table in front of us.

"Are you going to ask me a question?" I ask, as he also finishes up his food.

"Did you insist on sushi because you wanted to see me embarrass myself trying to use chopsticks?" he mutters, setting his plate beside mine and leaning back against the couch, arms crossed. Sulking like a little kid.

I raise an eyebrow. "That's the truth you want?" He glares, and this time I don't try to hide my smile.

"I don't want a truth right now," Cian admits, his expression softening. I sober up at his tone. "Not, you know, a truth."

I do know.

"Can we just ... stay like this a while longer?" he asks. His eyes are wide, like that night when I woke him up from one of his nightmares and he asked to come out here to talk. A look that reminds me that he's only twenty, barely two years older than me.

I nod without hesitation. I move to get up, intending to put the dirty plates in the sink, but he gestures for me to sit back down. I watch as he moves into the kitchen, running the faucet for a few seconds to soak the dishes, and makes a second trip to refill our glasses with water. When he sits down again, he settles himself closer to me, our legs barely touching.

Is this okay? his eyes seem to ask.

I just pick up the remote. Cian had introduced me to Supernatural earlier—something to distract me—and we hadn't bothered to unpause the show after the sushi arrived. I press play and set the remote down on the coffee table, nestling back against the couch cushions. Cian's leg presses more firmly against mine as I settle my head against his shoulder, and his arm wraps around mine in a surprisingly natural gesture.