between the lines//MGG

12

the sun travels slowly across the sky as I sit facing the window of Matthew's apartment. it spills softly over the leather and reaches tentatively up my calves. winter sunshine is my favorite. even without snow on the ground, I love the way it warms up the cold air just a bit.

Lolita is splayed out over my lap, neglected after my eyes grew tired. Matthew's copy lies irritatingly on the coffee table, not a single page dog-eared. of course he read it in one sitting, my intelligent friend. King Louis rests his large head on my ankle.

Matthew went out to get some groceries, but I'm on my period and don't really feel like going out, so he let me stay back with the dog. he said we'd make pasta tonight because I'm craving starchy foods, but I don't know what kind. hopefully something with fennel and a good sauce.

his apartment is so quiet, it's strange being in it without him. I realize that what this is-- the way I spend half my time here, constantly eating together-- is testing the boundaries of friendship, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable with it. in fact, he's the one who calls me to come over half the time. the other fifty percent is me begging because I miss him. I have somewhat latched onto Matthew, but only because he makes me feel so safe.

I get up and start rifling through the crate of old records he has. they're real vintage ones from his childhood, not the pretentious bullshit that they sell at ridiculous prices now. I select an old Frank Sinatra record and set it on the turntable. can't go wrong with Ol' Blue Eyes.

"Witchcraft" comes on and a smile lazily forms on my face.

I mouth the words and grab Louis' paws, starting to wiggle around a bit. he doesn't look very amused by my moves, but whatever. his lack of enthusiasm bores me, so I go to explore the book collection and look at all the film posters Matthew has up. my heart lurches in my throat. he and I are too alike. or maybe we're too different. I haven't quite figured that one out, yet.

the key turns in the lock and a flustered-looking Matthew barges into the apartment. his hair is crazy and curly and his glasses are fogged up from the temperature difference between outside and in. he carries about five full bags. I toss my head back and laugh.

"you okay, there?" I ask, coming to help him with the groceries. he smacks them on the counter and wipes off his glasses. I brush some of the dark hair out of his eyes.

"yep. just... a lot." he's out of breath from carrying all the bags around. could he be any cuter? this question is answered with a vehement yes as he shrugs off his coat and reveals a knitted sweater with little jingle bells and a large turkey on the front.

"let me help." I start to pull things out of the bags and set them on the counter. his nose twitches a bit as he hears the music.

"did you get into the records?" he's got a slight smile on his face. I turn to him with a sly grin.

"maybe."

"you said you dance, right?" he asks with a grin.

"you know I don't." I set my palms flat against the marble countertop.

"do you wanna start?" he asks. "You Make Me Feel So Young" starts playing softly and I sigh. he knows he's already won the fight-- but it's not one I would have fought anyway. I extend my hand and he grabs it gently, pulling us into the living room.

"you do realize I'm gonna step on your feet, right?" I ask. our faces are closer than before, and I can see the slight dimple line on his cheek.

"we can work on it." he presses his hand against my lower back and I feel my entire body respond. "is this okay?" he asks. I nod. he leads, beginning a dance that isn't as complicated as I expected; it's just a few steps, mostly about responding to your partner's movements and anticipating them. we're good at that, it seems, as my feet halt only a few times.