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He follows me down the short hallway, and we both head into the bathroom to brush our teeth. When we’re done, we strip down to our boxer briefs and get into bed. Ryder lets out a contented sigh as he burrows under the blanket, his arm brushing mine, and something about the casual closeness nearly undoes me, even though this is very standard for us.

I want to reach for him, pull him closer, and wrap him up in my arms because that’s how needy I feel tonight. And if I did, he wouldn’t think twice. We’ve cuddled more times than I can count. Honestly, platonic cuddles should be more of a thing between friends.

But I know tonight if I let myself reach for him, I’ll want more. Not just a sleepy shoulder to lean on, or the kind of casual cuddle that means nothing. I’ll want him to wrap his arm around me like I matter.

And I can’t want that.

Ryder shifts onto his side to face me, fingers brushing myarm as he gets comfortable. A few seconds later, he drapes an arm across my chest, and I don’t move. I just smile to myself and let it happen.

5

RYDER

Holy shit, it’s hot.

Logan’s always been a human furnace and, if I’m being honest, I love it. I think that’s why I always end up gravitating toward him in my sleep. Even if we don’t start the night curled up together, I somehow manage to have wrapped myself around him by morning. My arm is still draped over his chest, and my face is buried in the pillow just inches from his shoulder, which is pretty on par for us.

We’ve been doing this for years. Seven, to be exact. Ever since that night junior year in college, when Logan’s girlfriend at the time, Jenn, dumped him publicly and brutally. As soon as she finished making a scene at the party we were at, I grabbed Logan and told him we were going home. He didn’t argue, and he didn’t say much of anything on the walk back to our apartment, which is how I knew what happened had really gotten to him. Neither of us is usually quiet unless something is wrong, and that was the quietest I’d ever seen him, until we got home, and it all came spilling out.

“She’s right, you know,” he’d started, leaning forward onthe couch with his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t prioritize her, I couldn’t. I didn’t care the way I knew I was supposed to.”

I’d gone over to sit next to him and comfort him. “Logan?—”

“No, seriously, Ry,” he’d cut me off, and I’d hated seeing him beat himself up. “I did screw this relationship up. She wanted more, and I couldn’t give it to her. I couldn’t even make my girlfriend a priority. And you know what? I don’t even care! I don’t. I really don’t think I do. I still would have picked you to hang out with all those times. I don’t care if that makes me a bad boyfriend.” He scrubbed his hands down his face and then laughed to himself before continuing. “She’d always get so mad at me when I’d show up to class and bring you a coffee, but forget her order. Whatever, it’s probably better this way.”

I remember feeling so mad at her in that moment for making him doubt himself. Sure, Logan wasn’t perfect. No one is. But he’s kind, generous, and loyal. The idea that he wasn’t enough was ridiculous. He did kind and thoughtful things for me all the time, he still does, because that’s just the kind of person he is. And maybe we spent a lot of time together, but hedidmake time for her. I don’t know what she expected, because we were in college, lived together, and were best friends, so of course, we spent a lot of time together.

“Hey,” I’d said softly, nudging his shoulder with my own. “That’s not true, okay? You’re one of the best people I know. Screw her if she can’t see that.”

He scoffed out a bitter laugh, his gaze fixed on the coffee table. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, nudging him again with a small grin. “But I’m also right.”

Logan didn’t argue, but he didn’t look at me, either. He sat there beside me, staring at nothing, with his shoulders hunched. His tears were silent when they fell, and I didn’t want to push him to talk, so I’d run my thumb over his cheek every so often to wipe them away. I wanted him to know I was there and he wasn’t alone.

Finally, after what felt like hours of us sitting on the couch together, he turned to look at me.

“Can I—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

I was caught off guard by the question because we’d never shared a bed before. “What?”

“I just...” He ran a hand through his blonde hair, looking down at his lap, and I hated that he was nervous to ask me this. “I don’t want to be alone right now. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

Something in his voice broke me. He sounded so lost and so unlike himself that I didn’t even hesitate. If he needed someone to sleep next to, I wanted that person to be me.

“Yeah,” I said, standing and holding out a hand. “Of course you can. Come on.”

He looked up at me then, and there was something so vulnerable in his eyes. Part of me wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go. Instead, I waited with my hand outstretched until he finally took it. He didn’t say anything as I led him to my room; he just climbed into my bed, pulled the blankets up to his chest, and waited for me.

I slid onto the other side of the mattress and for a moment, we laid there side by side, until I finally reached out and pulled himinto me. I didn’t think about it, I just did it. It felt right. And I’m glad I did because he melted right into me with a long exhale, snuggling closer like he’d been waiting for that moment, too.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Anytime,” I said, meaning it.

And I did, because that night when I felt him curl into me, I knew I’d never say no to him. I’d let him crawl into my bed every night for the rest of our lives if he needed to. That night, I realized how much space he took up in my heart.

We didn’t talk about it when he woke up, but the next time he was sad, or tired, or lonely, or even had one too many drinks, he’d ask again. And again. Until he no longer needed to ask, and it was just…us.