Page 14

Jonah

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22ND

Jonah lay on his side, a lazy string of limbs covered in someone else’s too-big clothing. The bed was soft where it sank beneath his weight, enveloping his body in a welcome embrace. Liam was across from him, propped up on one elbow so that his head eclipsed the bedside lamp in just the right way, creating a crown of light in his curls. Jonah thought he could have looked at that picture forever.

They were sharing a bed this time.

Liam had been mortified when they showed up to the room to find the hotel had mistakenly booked him a single-bed room. His reaction might have been endearing, in the flustered way that Liam got sometimes, if he hadn’t also been so sincerely apologetic about it. Jonah had assured him it was fine, but Liam still made a valiant effort by going down to the front desk to sort it out.

It didn’t work. They were overbooked .

Not that he would admit to it out loud, but Jonah felt a little bit pleased by that. He had been thinking about it all week; how when he woke in the night with a scream trapped in his throat and phantom hands on his body, Liam’s presence helped guide his descent back to earth. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to allow himself that reprieve.

They had abandoned all attempts at studying a while ago, finally throwing in the towel after hours of diligent focus (on Jonah’s part) and countless attempts at distraction (on Liam’s part). Some re-run of a 90s sitcom hummed softly in the background, cutting in with a laugh track every few minutes, but their focus was entirely on each other.

For hours, they just. . . talked.

Liam told him more about his job. How he had started working at the diner as a busboy at sixteen and slowly worked his way up to host, and then server, where he could finally take home decent tips. He told Jonah about his manager Kim, who was only five years older than he was and probably the closest thing he’d ever had to a big sister.

He talked about how there were whispers of bumping him up to assistant manager next year if he stuck around, but how he probably wouldn’t take it if they offered, because something about accepting a full-time job in his hometown felt like signing the death certificate on his dreams.

He asked about Jonah’s family and didn’t press when he was reluctant to give too many details. Jonah told him he had a brother who looked just like him, and a little sister who was six years younger but somehow smarter than both of them put together. Jonah told him how he missed them so much, and wondered aloud if they ever thought about him. If they ever wondered where he was. He wondered if they missed him, too.

When Liam asked about his parents, the cellophane around his lungs shrank tighter. He closed up, unable to find the words.

“You don’t have to talk about them,” Liam told him, effortlessly reading the shift in his demeanor. Jonah resisted the urge, not for the first time, to pull him into a hug.

Liam didn’t try to touch him, didn’t try to kiss him or inch closer or turn the evening into anything more than it already was. He never did, which Jonah appreciated more than he could put into words, even though sometimes he got lost in the fleeting daydreams about what his hands might feel like in his hair, on his waist, his hips.

He hadn’t wanted those things from anybody in a long time, and he didn’t know what it said about him that he still could. There was a dull sense of shame, but maybe something like hope, too; maybe he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was.