DON'T WORRY

VI

When the food arrived, Ben suggested we watch a movie. "So, what movie do you want to watch?" Ben asked, a playful grin on his face. "I don't know, I think you should pick. You know you're very indecisive," I teased, watching him search for a movie.

"I'm not," I countered with a mock pout, and Ben chuckled. A brief silence hung in the air before he suggested, "What about Moana?" My excitement bubbled over, "Yes! Moana is literally my favorite movie!"

As the movie played, I couldn't help but notice Ben's gaze on me. "Why do you keep staring at me?" I questioned, watching as a blush crept onto his cheeks. "I don't know, it's just the way you've been humming along with every song, it's pretty cute," he admitted, his smile practically lighting up the room. His smile – it's mesmerizing, one of those smiles that makes your heart flutter uncontrollably.

Nick's head found its way to my shoulder, his breathing steady as he fell asleep. Carefully, I repositioned him, draping the blanket we were sharing over him. My fingers brushed against his soft hair, and I couldn't resist admiring how peaceful he looked, even in slumber.

When I awoke, the movie had ended, and I felt a touch in my hair. Turning, I found Nick's face near mine. "Shit, did I wake you?" I whispered, my playful annoyance masking my surprise. "Language," he scolded softly, a smile forming on his lips. "And no, you didn't wake me." I chuckled, his good-natured chiding a reminder of his distinct charm. "So, are you like a saint, do you not swear?" I teased, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Yes, I don't swear," he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'm a saint," he added, his smirk mirroring my own. As the night grew late, we both acknowledged our fatigue. "Well, I'm going to bed," I announced, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, I'm still tired," Nick admitted. "So, where am I sleeping?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of uncertainty.

"I have a sleeping bag, but if you'd rather not, I could take the couch, and you can sleep on my bed—" I began, before Nick interjected with a laugh. "Ben!" he chided, his embarrassment endearing. "It's fine, I'll sleep in the sleeping bag." His willingness to accommodate was sweet.

Apologizing, I explained my intention to make him feel comfortable. "Don't apologize, I find it cute," he admitted, catching me off guard. I couldn't help but ask, "You find what cute?" His confused expression was met with my response, "How caring you are."

"You think I'm caring?" Nick questioned, genuine surprise in his eyes. "Yeah," I affirmed, my gaze softening. In that moment, a connection seemed to form, an understanding that went beyond mere friendship. It was as if our hearts were whispering what we hadn't yet put into words.

Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I reflected on the events of the day. The delightful distraction of the movie and the presence of Ben had made me forget my earlier indulgence – the large fry and the shake. Now, though, my stomach churned in protest, the guilt of overeating settling in. Panic washed over me as I grappled with my carelessness. How had I let myself eat without restraint?

A sudden idea struck me, swift and desperate. I quietly navigated to the bathroom adjacent to Ben's room, a risky move but the only option in my uncertainty of where other bathrooms might be located. As I sat before the toilet bowl, I steeled myself, putting a finger to my throat. The act was involuntary at first, the retching making me lose track of time. Soon, I didn't need my fingers to induce the purge; it continued relentlessly, an act of self-punishment for my perceived transgression.

"Nick, are you in here?" Ben's voice broke through my distress, sending shockwaves of fear and shame. I couldn't let him find out, couldn't face his judgment. "Um, yes," I responded, my voice shaky and strained.

"Are you okay?" His concern was evident in his tone, amplified by the sounds he must have heard. "It sounds like you're throwing up."

I managed to force out a lie, my heart pounding in my chest. "Um, yes, I think it's food poisoning."

"Open the door so I can help you out," he urged, his voice laced with worry. I flushed the toilet, rinsed my face, and hesitantly opened the door.

"Thank God you're okay, I was so worried," he admitted, his relief palpable. My shame deepened at the thought of him being concerned about me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

"Don't be," Ben's voice softened, his understanding more comforting than I could have anticipated.

"Come on, let's go back to bed," he suggested gently, his presence a reassuring anchor.

Before I could respond, he spoke again, his words catching me off guard. "You should sleep with me on my bed, just so I can be there if you get sick again."

A mixture of emotions flooded me – gratitude, vulnerability, and a flicker of something more. I followed him back to his bed, the weight of my secret heavier than ever. In his presence, though, a sense of solace began to settle in, fostering a connection that held a promise of understanding and acceptance, no matter the circumstances.