Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Total shutdown. The world kept spinning, yet we were all expected to stay still, lie low, wait. I understood the why, maybe not so much the how of it happening (was working on reading more about it), but I knew enough germ theory—and had enough common sense—to stay at home.

The order was called statewide. Nationwide. Worldwide.

I was lucky enough to have a guest with me when the order was called. He was unlucky, testing positive and forcing us to quarantine together. I played nurse for a short while, which terrified me during the worst of his illness, but once he started getting better, it was nice to have another person in the apartment.

I looked up from my laptop, bored of writing and editing and writing even more of my neverending thesis. Austin was on the phone, talking with family back home. Already, people were refusing the mandate there, he voiced his concerns to the person on the other end.

These days, I couldn't help but catch myself staring at him. Not in a bad way, in a state of curiosity I suppose would be the best phrase to describe my feelings. I spent countless hours with him on tour and many more outside of our work just as friends. Yet, I noticed little things, small idiosyncrasies of his, that I never thought to—or had the pleasure to—notice before. He was an interesting creature. Our sleep schedules were almost opposite; he rose late in the afternoon finally sleeping in the early hours of the morning, whilst I slept in the early hours of the night, waking up sometimes with the sun. He would talk to himself throughout the day, especially when focused on a task, little songs and phrases muttered under his breath like a personal radio. It was almost cute.

Austin sighed and laid back on the couch, his unfortunate bed for the time being. The call sounded rough from my end.

I didn't say anything. I learned when he talked with his family, it was better to let be than to pry. He would share what he wanted to.

He gave me a look, his face full of disappointment and frustration and… I couldn't pinpoint the third thing. He was still difficult to read sometimes.

"My brother is spewing bullshit at me again. It's like, dude, quit being selfish and use your brain." He scrunched his nose, wiggling his glasses up to the proper place. "I don't know what to do about him." Another long sigh.

I still waited, anticipating more.

"Be grateful your family has half a brain. I didn't think it would be a scarce commodity."

"Like toilet paper?" I joked.

He snorted, a fresh smile replacing the frown.

"Don't get me started on the ridiculousness of that," he said.

I returned my focus back to my laptop. The words began to scramble, my writing suddenly illegible. I needed to sleep. Nightfall already darkening the apartment was my first clue I was close to being done for the day.

I shut the laptop and yawned, stretching big in my chair. Something popped, I think my shoulder, it did that often now, but the break from sitting static for hours felt good.

"Uh oh, past your bedtime already grandpa?" Austin teased.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "I'm not that old yet." I stood from my desk, something else cracking, probably my knees. It didn't hurt, just a common annoyance. 

"Don't." I pointed at him, a shit faced grin growing wider on him.

"Did I say anything?"

"You thought it."

He held his hands up in defense, laughing, "I didn't say anything!"

I shook my head and laughed with him. "Well, I'm turning in, I think my retinas permanently have my thesis burned into them."

"Alrighty, g'night."

"Night."

I undressed in my room, changing into comfy shorts, it was getting almost too warm to wear a shirt to bed, but I threw one on anyway. My bed welcomed me graciously, the soft sheets wrapping around me. I laid there for a minute nearly falling asleep, relishing in the comfort, before pulling myself away and finishing the rest of my nightly routine.

Back under the covers (well, cover, no need for extra blankets this time of year), I let myself sink into the cozy bed, nearly asleep when I heard the thump of a blanket and pillow thrown on the hard couch. Austin was having a rare early night, I guessed. The phone call must have been more upsetting than he let on. This was now… I lost count of the days we had been fatefully put together. Who knew how long he would be staying with me.

"Austin," I called out.

"Yeah?" A pause. Then, the sound of bare feet on cold hard floor echoed quietly in the apartment. A wild Austin appeared in my doorway, popping his head in the room.

"Why don't you share the bed?" I offered.

"I'm good, really-"

"My back hurts just thinking about you sleeping on that god awful couch for so long. My bed is big enough for two."

He hesitated.

"I promise I don't kick. Now if you shared a bed with Jack that's a different story," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Austin smirked at the comment but still glanced at the empty half next to me. "It won't be weird?"

"We're friends. Friends do this stuff, right?"

"Okay. Only because you insist," he cautiously sat in the open space, testing the feel of the mattress with his hand, "Dude, you've been sleeping on this every night?"

Was that bad? "Yeah?"

"This is so much better than the couch. No offense."

"Sorry for putting you there, I didn't know if you'd be comfortable sharing."

"If I wasn't, I am now. Your bed is so soft," he pressed into the mattress again, "I'll join you a little later if that's okay. Not quite tired yet."

"Okay."

Our eyes met. Behind his thin wire frame glasses, soft brown eyes stared back at me. I knew his eyes were brown, but I had never looked before in such detail.

"I've got some stuff to work on," Austin blurted out, breaking the moment.

I nodded. "Okay."

He left. 

A small tension in shoulders appeared. It was most likely from exhaustion sitting in my desk chair all day.

The unknown feeling in my chest I couldn't place. I chalked it up to general anxiousness. I always had some bout of it nowadays.

Chapter Text

My brain awoke, though my eyes weren't quite ready to open. Another day of staying inside. I thought about sleeping in for once, but that would only delay the inevitable. Besides, I had a small list of things to get done today—the work never stops. Taking a few minutes more in bed as an act of denial, I rolled over.

A delicate breath tickled my nose.

My eyes shot open. I forgot about my offer the previous night. Austin clearly took me up on it as there he was lying there, mere inches away, blissfully unaware of my small panic of surprise. His dark hair—almost an abyssal black in this lighting—fell in his face, a disheveled mess. A small ray of sunshine peeking in from the gap in the curtains highlighted his features. Up close and in the strand of light, I could see stubble dotting his face, long eyelashes protecting his closed eyes, thin lips resting in a slightly parted manner, that one freckle on the bridge of his nose. A single hand curled up under his chin, the other wrapped around his ribs, grabbing onto his shirt.

I wonder if he saw something similar when he crawled into bed last night. I never heard him come in, completely out and sleeping hard.

There was a certain domesticity in the situation. The only other person I had next to me in this bed was my former girlfriend. But this felt different, it looked different. He was a friend, placing his trust in my hands in exchange for rest and comfort. A friend who I had made suffer on that terrible couch for so long, and he didn't say a word. I made a mental note to get an air mattress; if this lockdown proceeded until the six weeks we were told (or longer), I wasn't sure if he wanted to share for that long.

Shifting my position to move not so close to him, my stupid shoulder popped. Loud. Austin sniffled and cleared his throat, all subconscious actions. I held my breath, for fear of waking him too early, but nothing could get through to this heavy sleeper.

My gaze continued to linger longer than it should have. I was enamored. Why?

Hunger interrupted my pondering. As carefully and quietly as possible, I slid out of bed, and tiptoed out to the kitchen.

I didn't know why I was trying to be extra quiet while cooking. Typically, he would be in the same open area, just a few feet away, sleeping through it all. I didn't know how he did. I wasn't loud per se, but I also didn't make an effort to be silent, and the noise didn't bother him one bit. Now, my room was more isolated, and had a door to block the excess sound, and I was doing my best to tone down the noise. Ironic.

The eggs sizzled in the pan while I scoured the cabinet for the new container of paprika I had stashed away, a plethora of spices and cooking ingredients in the way of my search. I pushed aside the vinegar, smiling to myself. The other day, he had sat at the counter and watched as I painstakingly learned how to pickle. Offering no help of course, just documenting the process. That batch didn't come out great, our faces wincing in disgust at the unpleasantly sour taste. I told him not to try it after I was assaulted by the awful flavor, but he did anyways.

Search completed. I sprinkled a dash of paprika in the pan, along with the staple salt and pepper, and threw in some turkey and cheese and a little leftover onion from a few nights ago to make the scramble complete.

Sitting down at my table for two, I listened to the silence, unsure of what I was listening for. I looked over at the couch, the blanket and pillow casually thrown on it. Every morning since we had been stuck together, he was my breakfast view. Some mornings he would have his back to me, nestled in the couch cushions. Others, he would be facing me. But not as close as earlier. The new memory of his detailed resting face made its way to the forefront of my brain.

I decided to brush it off and eat my eggs.

Hours dragged by. More than a few lovely emails from my advisor flooded my inbox, all containing notes and further edits I needed to make to my writing. Hashing them out one by one was like pulling teeth. Some parts I could have sworn I rewrote a thousand times. My head hurt.

The sound of a turning doorknob caused my ears to perk up. The creature was finally awake, emerging from his new den. I looked over my shoulder to see a very unkempt, but well-rested Austin.

He mumbled something resembling a good morning. I checked the time, it was almost afternoon. At first, it took time for him to get comfortable with his routine; the first instance of him waking up "late" he apologized for sleeping in. I reassured him that I really didn't care. I grew up with a brother that did the same thing.

Pouring a bowl of cereal, another new addition to the household, he sat down at the table in the spot where he could observe what I was doing. I liked having an audience. He forced me to be productive, even if he didn't realize. A little encouragement from him every now and then didn't hurt either. I smiled, half in acknowledgement, half in greeting. He gave me a brief smile back. A silent hello. It would take a few minutes for him to fully wake up.

And we existed. The sound of clacking keys mixed with the crunch of the cereal.

The clink of a spoon in an empty bowl broke through my flow state. I turned over my shoulder again. He stood behind me, those brown eyes pacing back and forth as he read what was on my screen.

"That's a lot of big words," were Austin's first words of the day.

"Good morning to you too. Sleep okay?"

He nodded. "Thanks for letting me share."

"Yeah. It's what friends do."

We repeated the same moment as yesterday, the eye contact drawn out. I was the first to break this time, turning back to my laptop. The same anxiousness arose again, little flutters I pushed away. I needed to get this finished. That was the cause of my worry.

Chapter Text

I had been stuck at Adam's place for three weeks now (and two days). The first week and a half were debilitating, bound to the couch coughing my lungs out, horrendously weak, and violently sick. I should have been in the hospital, but I refused, there were other people who had it worse than I did. Poor Adam did the best he could trying to feed me soup and force medicine into me and keep me warm, tending to me like a malnourished kitten. Even going as far to help me wash my hair when I was too frail and especially too embarrassed to ask. I genuinely thought I wasn't going to make it.

But I got better. Mostly. And he didn't catch it from me, thank God.

Initially, I was staying at his apartment because of a pest problem at mine. I was only supposed to be here a less than a week. Yet here I was doing laundry again to have clean clothes. Once we realized I would be stuck, he tried to offer some of his clothing too ease the laundry load. I accepted a few shirts and a hoodie, which were a size too big on me, everything else didn't fit right. So I sucked it up and did my laundry.

I had developed a routine with him, learning to share his space. Adam was like the roommate I never had, except I had a roommate and he was nowhere near as considerate to be around.

He also wasn't as good looking.

I'll admit it, Adam had caught my eye once or twice in the time I knew him, and the general consensus of our shared friends agreed. But they had never been trapped 24/7 with him, never shared the same bed with him. I panicked when he brought up the idea, but my exhaustion and bad memories from sleeping on the couch won. I did my best to keep cool. From my performance, I don't think he noticed anything out of the ordinary. Besides, friends could admire each other without going any further. Lots of people thought their friends were hot.

The washer shut and running, I left my bag on top of the dryer, waiting for me to get back. It was my day to shower, we swapped every other day since we weren't going anywhere to get dirty.

The water was cold. Very cold. I ran my hand under it, testing for warmth. The shower apparently thought I was too impatient and suddenly spewed water all over me. I yelped and jumped back, slipping on the bath mat. My body hit the floor with the unexpected force of an imaginary football player tackling their opponent, knocking the breath out of me. Meanwhile, the water continued to have a mind of it's own.

I laid there on the tile, the air gradually refilling my damaged lungs. Groaning, I got back on my feet, successfully turning off the shower.

Adam knocked on the door. "You okay?"

Thankfully, I was still clothed. I let him in to witness the disaster. "Yeah, a uh, bit of a problem though." I reached my arm as far out as it could go, maintaining a safe distance away from the shower, and turned the water on. Prepared, I yanked my arm out, the issue on display. The showerhead begun to leak, the spray in every direction but down.

"Ah. That's not good." He frowned.

I shut off the water again. I watched as he took off his socks and stepped into the wet shower, hands up and analyzing around the showerhead.

He turned to me and asked, "Okay, will you turn it on, slowly, so I can see where it's leaking?"

I obliged. The water came out in a trickle, small streams running down his wrists and arms, droplets dripping from his elbows. His fingers wrapped around the showerhead, dexterously feeling around the stainless steel.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

Adam messed with the placement of his hands more. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I broke your shower, man. That's the only one you have."

He chuckled. "You didn't break it, shit happens. I noticed a small leak about a month ago, you just happened to be the one to experience the burst."

I giggled at the last word. He gave me a look, but he was giggling too.

"Poor choice of words," he said, returning his focus on the water, but smiling to himself. "Um, could you grab the duct tape? Junk drawer."

"Yeah, where?"

"Kitchen, second drawer from the sink."

I retrieved the tape. It was the classic grey color.

Adam was still in the same position I left him. "Thanks. Here, tear me off a strip."

I tore off a piece with ease. This tape was a staple when things broke on tour. He took the piece and wrapped it around the head. "'Nother piece please."

It failed to stick to his fingers, the wetness screwing up the adhesive.

"Can you hold this right here?" he motioned to the neck, partially detached by his fiddling.

I tried to reach from outside the shower, but to no avail. The angle was wrong, twisting my wrist funny. So, I stepped in with him, ducking under his raised arms to grab where he told me to. My heart raced, my breath catching when I realized how close I had voluntarily gotten. Less than a hairbreadth away. I swallowed and tried to focus on the task at hand.

But there was a pause from Adam too. Maybe he was concentrating. I felt his breath falter then resume on the back of my neck.

"Uh, I'll take the tape," he said. I passed the roll to him.

Together we managed to layer enough tape on to hold the showerhead together until a new one could replace it. During the process, our fingers brushed up against each other, light touches that threatened to send chills down my spine. I was distracted—almost—admiring the callouses on his fingertips, his neatly trimmed nails, the veins and tendons all working in harmony to make his hands dance with purpose. His plain hands contrasted with the artwork on mine, complimenting each other. His nimble fingers crossed over my hands, sometimes nudging them out of the way, other times resting on mine while they worked.

Job complete, I cautiously stepped out of the shower, feet firm on the ground. Adam followed and turned the water on to the normal pressure. We held our breaths. The shower didn't leak, didn't explode, but the tape would only last so long.

Chapter Text

One not cold, not leaky shower later, I found Adam on the couch, knees curled up to his chest, holding something small in his hands. He was intently focused in on his task, a slight furrow in his eyebrows, but overall, a relaxed appearance. I noticed the laptop at his desk was shut. He deserved a break.

The urge to plop down next to him was strong; I would do that with the other guys no problem, casually invade their space and annoy them with questions about their doings, but I stood in the entrance of the main room with wet hair, contemplating. Would it be too annoying? Would we be too close? Would he mind? Did he want to be left alone?

My inner debate was interrupted by him looking up from his human cocoon. An eyebrow raise of acknowledgement. Yeah, I could bug him. It's normal to bug him.

So I did. I satisfied the urge and made myself at home on the couch by his feet; he hadn't bothered, or maybe forgot, to put his socks back on after the shower incident. Craning my neck over his knees, I finally caught a glimpse of what he was so focused on.

"Have you caught them all yet?" I asked.

Adam smiled at the reference, intently pulled in by the game on his screen. His character had just begun a battle. The designs of the characters were cute: a generic red trainer outfit with a small fiery rabbit-like animal up against another character with similar looks and a round fluffy sheep. A lot more high definition and detailed than the previous games I had played in my childhood.

"Not yet," he said, "Just started this one." A few selections on the screen clicked with the sound of small buttons on the device. "Here, you wanna watch?"

He stretched his legs out and swung them around, positioning himself shoulder to shoulder with me now. Though we barely made contact, I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin through both of our shirt sleeves. I wanted to scoot further away, give him space to play his game, but he was so warm, like the coals of a mellow fire had absorbed into him, and he was merely passing along the excess heat to me. Not enough time had passed for the coldness in my bones to disappear after fighting off my sickness, and his warmth wrapped right around the chill, handling it with care. Goosebumps ran down my arms. It was just the cold. I was just a little cold from my wet hair still.

Adam defeated his opponent with ease. He said this was a new game, but I knew he had a history for this franchise. I remember talking with him for hours after a show once I found out he played. We talked about our favorite characters, the different games we grew up with, the best ways to beat the games, the worst bugs of each game, battle strategies, card collecting (I collected, he never got to), and so much more. Our conversation back then felt natural, unconstrained. I didn't think about every sentence—every word—when talking with him. We would interrupt each other, building a staircase of anecdotes, in the excitement of sharing and also listen intently to the other when the conversation lulled and calmed down.

When did Adam become so complicated to be around? Nothing had changed. Not that I had noticed anyway.

I brought my attention away from the game to his concentrating face. This was a safe moment to observe. His soft dark brown eyes darted back and forth with precision, and his mouth twisted in a small fixated expression. Far overdue for a haircut, his loose curls began to make themselves known and started to cover his ears and neck, the longest I had ever seen it. Just once during my study, he would shift his jaw in the most minuscule motion, an action of concentration or maybe slight frustration with the gameplay (I wasn't watching too closely to see what he was reacting to); he probably didn't even realize he did that. Speaking of, from this angle, I could count every individual hair in his thick, slightly overgrown beard—far better than the one I could grow, and probably with less effort too.

Touch it.

I mentally yanked back my hand before any movement could occur. Was I insane? No. No. Just a little unwanted thought. Everyone got those.

I let out a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding, I think a little too loudly.

"You okay?" Adam asked, never looking up.

"Yeah. Forgot to breathe." It was true, in a way.

He let out a small chuckle, "You get that too? It's like my lungs don't talk to my brain sometimes," and he resumed playing his game, his character traversing through a dark forest now, encountering another battle.

We remained on the couch for hours, sitting side by side. I had nothing better to do—well I could have found something to do, but I didn't want to—so I watched him play. I didn't realize as the time went by that I ended up resting my head on his inner shoulder to get a better look. I could feel his heartbeat, quick at first from the excitement of his game I thought, then slower, rhythmic, a steady pulse calming my own lively heart. He didn't say a word about it, so I anxiously indulged in his warmth, not moving a muscle for fear of alerting him.

Until I had to turn away to cough, a linger after I had gotten better. It wasn't infectious, just annoying at this point.

Another question from Adam, finally looking up from his game, and saying the first words spoken in well over an hour, "Cough drop?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to leave from the newfound heat source. My lungs decided against me, coughing again. "Ugh, fine," I said, getting up to retrieve one from the kitchen.

"Stubborn," he teased.

"Nuh uh," I replied, my tongue more occupied with the lozenge than forming a proper comeback.

He looked down at his shirt, pulling it slightly off his chest for added dramatics "Thanks for getting me wet."

I snorted.

Adam feigned an expression of annoyance, "You know what I mean."

"It'll dry," I said.

"This is why we can't have nice things."

"I wouldn't call your t-shirt from the nineties nice."

"You don't think I look nice?"

He paused. I paused. That hold of eye contact we had gotten so good at lately happened again. Across the room, I could see a slight panic? in his eyes. Maybe it was me projecting my own onto him.

He continued, but I heard a faint stumble in his normally steady voice sneak out, "This shirt, I mean."

I cleared my throat. "It's a shirt, man. I don't think people are paying top dollar for an old used shirt."

"Sure."

The easy banter we had fell through my grasp, not as simply as sand, but more like a rope, giving me burns as it passed through. Was my reply too much, too harsh?

"I like your shirt, Adam," I said, returning to the couch.

His focus was back on the game. "Thought you said it was old and dirty."

"I was jokin-" I started, then, "Hey, I never said it was dirty!"

The frown disappeared from his face, replaced by a little smile. "It is now, you got Austin all over it."

Chapter Text

I scrolled through the options on my phone: Thai, Greek, Chinese, Korean, Mexican, Indian. Nothing sounded particularly good. I wasn't in the mood to cook dinner, but, this might sound a little mean, I didn't particularly trust Austin's skills in the kitchen. Maybe he could pick something out for the two of us.

I looked over at Austin from my view on the couch. He was using the tiny dining table as a makeshift workspace. An SD card was sticking out of his laptop, and the mouse had made an entrance in favor of the touchpad. Little clicks echoed through my near silent apartment. He sat slightly slouched over, any presence of good posture lost to the attention needed for his work.

Ever since a few days ago, he had been keeping himself at bay, almost avoiding me, which was difficult to do in the square footage we shared. If only I could read his mind, what was he thinking? Evidently not much at the moment, his head bobbing back and forth in time to the music in his headphones, a laser focus on his laptop.

Had I gone too far in offering to share the bed? Was he uncomfortable and not telling me? I ruminated over the possibilities of Austin's reservedness. He would have said something right? After all, he kept returning to my bed—the bed?—each night, leaving me to slip away quietly in the mornings. Was it something else? I thought back to the chaotic shower fix, could it be embarrassment from that? I told him all was well but perhaps he held onto that feeling.

I held onto that feeling. My hands shivered under the cold water when trying to get the stupid tape to stick. Him being in the way—no, not in the way, just particularly closer than normal—proved to make the situation more difficult to maneuver. My concentration wavered when he was right there, his cool tattooed fingers nudging against my shaking hands. Those had to hurt, right on the fingers. I'd have to ask him about that later.

Austin's head bobbing shifted into a subtle sway. His nose wriggled and his face scrunched funny to push his glasses up. He was in the zone now. I couldn't break that, I knew how important it was to stay in a flow state.

So, I continued scrolling through the delivery options.

The gnawing inside of me wasn't stopping. I had asked him if he thought I looked nice? What was that supposed to mean? Why would he care? Why would I care? I subconsciously made a face at my inner monologue, hastily dropping into a neutral expression and checking the table to find Austin still oblivious to anything but his work.

My stomach growled, breaking up the impending spiral in my head. Food. I needed food. And so did he. It was time to break up his ongoing relationship between him and the laptop.

"Hey, Austin?" I said, a little louder than normal to break through the embrace of his headphones.

No reply.

I considered calling again but decided it wasn't worth the effort. How to get his attention?

I sat up, pulling my outstretched legs into a half criss-cross applesauce position, still thinking. He looked so professional right now. Despite the poor gremlin posture and the casual clothes, the seriousness and pride that he took in his work shone through. I smiled to myself. I liked a guy with a good work ethic, a passion for what he does. He was a good choice to have on our team.

A memory of our first meeting seeped into the forefront of my mind like a warm hug. Austin assuredly convincing us to use his photography for a trial period. From onstage, watching the new face in front of the crowd rush back and forth, a single camera in hand, a determined expression etched in his eyes. The gathering with my brothers the next day when he sent the files over, having labored through the night, with probably no sleep, to get the pictures edited in time. And the shots blowing us away, he had a talent, a skill, an aptitude for taking lively moments and capturing them forever.

I freely allowed myself to sink into the sigh that escaped me, no fear of him hearing me reminisce alone. We took him for granted at times now, didn't we? No one else could do what he does with us. It's an intimate job, a balance of faith that our lives would be documented respectfully and artfully through his lens. A look of fondness grew on my face, and I let it rest there.

Unfortunately not for long, as I was interrupted by hunger again. Okay, laptop breakup time.

I unraveled myself and walked the few steps over to him. From over his shoulder, I could watch the lighting shift on a picture of a folk band. This was the last group he was on tour with before everything shut down.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped about ten feet in the air, then, gently removed one ear from his headphones, music escaping through them.

"Hey." Austin's voice was flat, but not unfriendly.

"Can't decide what to get for dinner. Thoughts?" I leaned over his shoulder and showed him the nearby options on my phone.

He leaned away, barely noticeable to an unfamiliar observer, but enough to spike a stabbing pain in my heart.

"Dumplings?" he suggested.

I turned him down. "I've got some in the freezer." This was true. And while frying them would be quick, I didn't want to make a mess to clean.

"Oh." An air of disappointment hung around his voice. He covered it quickly. "No worries. Hmm."

I watched his finger settle in a consistent scroll motion, having commandeered my phone.

Maybe he needed space. Even when cramped together on tour, we still had time away from people, a space to decompress, to become human again. I took advantage of that space more times than I could count. A little room to breathe could be the issue.

"How about sandwiches from that one place you had been talking about?" Austin finally said.

An image of a sandwich filled with delicious veggies and sauces made my mouth water. He had solved the food dilemma.

"Go for it. You order first."

"Mkay. Also, I got this one." He said, selecting his order preferences.

"No no, it's okay. I can take care of it."

Austin paused and gave me a look of disapproval. "Adam you've covered how many take out meals? And you've cooked how many more for us? Let me get this one."

I opened my mouth to argue. He shushed me.

"I can't order if you're debating me," he said.

We ate and finished our dinner on the couch, the dining table still occupied. I rested one foot on the coffee table—take out boxes stacked in a carefree manner a few inches away—the other under my leg. It was the most comfortable way to sit for the next 10 minutes before shifting again. Austin sat next to me, at first at a reasonable distance, then drifting closer.

I didn't say a word about the gap between us gradually closing. My heart had other ideas. Each time I glanced in his direction, and he was that small amount nearer, my pulse would increase. That anxiousness I brushed off for days and days coursed through me again, but in a strange abnormal way. This should be relaxing, calm. We just ate satisfyingly filling food. We were watching a cheesy movie. Nothing stressful was imminent.

There was only one way to go about this situation. Test for causes.

I focused on the movie, doing my best to ignore my friend next to me. Thinking about any other stressors in my life, I tried to up the tumbling feeling in my chest. A separate anxiousness appeared, but it manifested in my shoulders, tensing slightly.

Pushing away the tension, I snuck a peek over at Austin, curled up under a blanket, half watching a meme on his phone, half paying attention to the movie, full almost leaning on my shoulder any second now. His eyes were obscured by the reflection of light on his glasses, which had slipped down his face. Instinctively, he scrunched his nose to bring them up again.

He looked cute doing that.

The feeling intensified, a newfound ache spreading from my chest to deep inside of me. Oh no. Surely not. Definitely not. Never in my life had I had feelings for…a guy. Is that what this was?

A soft thud hit my arm. My thoughts scrambled and short circuited, any coherence I possessed went out the window. It was like I could feel the individual synapses in my brain fire off, sending signals of panic to the rest of my body. Every cell was telling me to move, to do something, and yet I remained frozen, fearful of waking the beautiful boy resting on me.

Beautiful. I considered him beautiful.

I tried to make sense of the scene, approaching my new problem from as many angles as possible, but each path resulted in the same ending, causing the inner turmoil to escalate. There was nothing I could do to diminish the fire started in my heart, and yet I didn't want to extinguish it.