The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Watson P.O.V

It was very warm. That was the first thing I noticed when I started to rouse: an unusual but pleasant warmth surrounding me. It was almost enough to soothe me back to sleep, and it might have if it hadn't dawned on me that the oh-so-comforting warmth was breathing. My eyes snapped open to confirm my suspicions. Elijah's body was wrapped around me like an intricate pretzel. It felt right. Was that weird? I've had a one-sided crush on Elijah since freshman year, but I never dreamed that we would end up sleeping in the same bed or living under the same roof. I carefully shuffled closer, desperate to draw out the moment that would inevitably end the second Elijah woke up. I needed to enjoy this comfort, this closeness, while it lasted. Our faces were so close, centimeters apart.

I wanted to close that distance so bad.

But after what happened last night, I decided against it. I saw a new side of Elijah, a deeper one. I had never seen him exhibit such care before; it was nice... but it didn't settle the concern and worries knawing at my heart. I had to be a burden; never in my life have I not been one.

Elijah let out a small groan, his body stretching slightly as he unconsciously readjusted, resulting in one of his legs sliding between mine, our feet tangling. If someone saw us like this, they'd assume some pretty colorful things about our nonexistent relationship. I mean, I think he considers me a friend. I hope he does. And if he doesn't, then this entire situation makes even less sense. None of our... whatever-we-were made sense. We went from two people who happened to attend the same school despite the drastic difference in our socioeconomic standings to weird acquaintances to this even weirder savoir-savee kind of dynamic to living together to friends? I cannot be the only one struggling to follow point A to point B. Then again, I'm probably the only person thinking about how our relationship has developed as intensely as this.

But how much longer could I continue to enjoy this life? As comfortable as the situation was, I knew that there was something that I needed to do, and lounging in bed wouldn't help me resolve my overwhelming fears. This could be the thing that opens the Andrews' eyes and results in me getting kicked out. The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit, but I had to be honest with reality. If this was (potentially) the last time I'd be this close to Elijah, there was something I wanted to do while I still had the opportunity to do it. He was so close, and in the moment, I had the bravery to do what I have wanted to do since I realized I liked him.

My lips connected with his, a short kiss that left me wondering what it would have felt like if he had been kissing me back, if this kiss had been the result of mutual feelings. If he liked me in the same way I did him. I pulled back, feeling like this kiss was my sh*tty way of a somber goodbye. I slowly unwound myself from his tender embrace, trying desperately to keep him from waking up, and hurried back into a room I wanted to call mine but couldn't. More like I wouldn't let myself.

I wanted to resume what I had been doing before Elijah had stopped me, save myself from the conversation that I feared would end one of the few good things that had ever happened to me. Elijah sounded convinced that his parents would never kick me out, but I couldn't just pin all my faith on his predetermined belief in his parent's goodness. Nothing was free, even kindness. It was better for me to acknowledge that now over letting myself get delusional and think that I deserved all this when I didn't. But I promised Elijah that I wouldn't just leave without vocalizing my concerns, and I didn't want to break our first promise - even if that promise was engulfing my body in dread.

I had never asked the two of them for anything before, which I think tipped them off that this particular request was serious. They both didn't question my request to have a meeting, and soon, I found myself sitting across from the couple. Mrs. Andrews' looked like she wanted to ask me a million questions with how strong her concerned expression was. It made me second guess my uneasiness because she was clearly worried about me, about the motivation of this discussion.

I struggled with where to start. It's not like I could pinpoint the moment I started feeling this way or what induced it because there was no specific moment or reason. I couldn't figure out how to express that I didn't feel worthy of any of their kindness, how the constant fear of being kicked out weighed over me. The last thing I wanted to do was sound ungrateful. As if sensing my apprehension, Mrs. Andrews' reached over and clasped my hand between hers, startling me. She gave me a reassuring smile when I looked at her but remained silent. I wondered briefly if that was what having a mother felt like.

Once I started talking, I couldn't stop. Neither one of them dared to interrupt me, letting me vent my worries and frustrations. I liked that about them, about their willingness to hear me out. Being heard matters more than I initially thought it did. I was used to getting ignored, shut down, pushed away, and I seldom ever vocalized my feelings. The dread that I came into this conversation with disappeared from my mind the more I talked. It felt therapeutic, this one-sided conversation. It was just nice knowing that someone, anyone, was listening was patiently waiting for me to say everything that had been previously trapped inside my head.

When I finished speaking, the Andrews' looked at each other for a moment before turning back to me.

Elijah P.O.V

I woke up before Watson did, finding the two of us entangled, limbs wrapped around limps. It felt right having him in my arms, holding him close. I could have laid there all day if Watson would let me. Once he started stirring, I feigned sleep, hoping in the back of my head that he would go back to sleep so I could linger in the moment longer. I knew the moment he realized the position we were in, and I half-expected him to pull away, to freak out.

Instead, he moved closer.

I faked an unconscious groan, readjusting myself to further tangle us together, my leg sliding between his. I could hear Watson hold his breath for a moment before he readjusted as well, adapting to my new hold on him. I mentally pleaded that he would go back to sleep, but he did something even more unexpected.

I had felt his breath on my face before I felt his lips grace mine. I had been so startled by the motion that I almost blew the sleeping facade. If his lips had remained on mine a mere second longer, I would have reached around and held him tighter to me to return the kiss with the sudden urgency that filled me to do so. But he pulled away and carefully slid out of my grasp. I listened as his small feet pitter-pattered out of the room and down the hall before I rotated onto my back.

"F*ck."