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The mattress moved under him again. He might have rolled over to face me, but it was too dark to see. “I think you understand it perfectly. Nothing makes sense to him either. His whole world is falling apart, and once he realizes he can’t stop it or fix it or change it, there’s only one thing left to do.”
My eyes adjusted slowly, maddeningly. “What’s that?”
His shadow shrugged in the gloom. “Absolve yourself. Blame it on fate.”
I lifted my arms over my head uncomfortably, thinking over the implications of what he had just said to me. I heard him sigh and roll onto his back. So he had been facing me. The room went silent for an immeasurable amount of time - I would have believed if you told me five minutes or fifty - and I assumed we were both trying to sleep now, after the odd night. That was, until James spoke again.
“Oliver?” I hummed questioningly in return. “I know you… probably don’t want to talk to me about this, but…” I turned fully towards him, waiting pointlessly for my eyes to adjust so I could see him through the rich darkness. “Are you and Meredith a thing? Like… officially?”
I sighed, rolled back onto my back. “James, I-”
“You don’t have to answer, but I’m not judging this time. I mean, I know you’re sleeping with her, so…” His voice trailed off awkwardly. The way he was acting right now was unfamiliar to me. It wasn’t like his usual level of shyness, but more of an uncomfortability with his own words.
Now I thought about what I would be doing if James hadn’t shown up at my door. I had decided almost instantly upon his arrival that I would be calling Meredith and letting her know I couldn’t go to her. But what if he had shown up a day later? What if James had shown up at my door, needing a place to stay, hurt from the disturbing events we’d all endured, and I had been gone? In New York with Meredith? Though I didn’t want to think about it, I knew that the idea of James being alone during the break hurt me more than Meredith. I hated it, but I knew it was true.
“No, we’re not together,” I said, and I felt bad about it, but it was the truth. Officially, we were not together. The bed squeaked as he moved next to me, and I couldn’t tell if it was my own hypersensitivity from the moment or if he really did move closer to me. We lapsed into silence once more.
His hand lightly touched my arm. I started slightly and he pulled back. In an uncharacteristically brash moment I found myself reaching for it in the dark. Finding it, I intertwined our fingers, pulling his hand up to my mouth. I didn’t have a plan here, didn’t know what to do now. My impulse had expired and I was left nervously holding his hand, waiting for him to pull away or draw closer.
“Oliver…” was all he said, before moving forward and kissing me in the dark. Just one closed-mouth, gentle kiss. I breathed shakily. He did too. “Was that okay?”
“I- yeah, I, it was-” He interrupted me, kissing me again, the same way as before. My ribcage felt fragile, subject to shattering at the quick pace of my heart.
“Good night,” he whispered, his voice cracking, and I heard him roll over to face away from me. I raised my hand to touch my mouth, breathing still shaking, heart still racing. I knew that in the morning neither of us would mention this. It would melt into the night, a confusing, dark, muddled night in our two pasts that we would not try to forget, but would try not to recall. I closed my eyes and attempted sleep.