Page 58 of Detectives in Love

I pause, still holding him, then gently tug him back so I can see his face. He avoids my gaze, but even in the dim light, I can tell how shaken he still is.

He pulls away, lets go of me, and turns toward the screen again. His shoulders are tense, his face quiet and unreadable in the glow of the TV. I watch him for a few seconds, my mind foggy, warm with alcohol—then lean over and rest my head on his shoulder.

Xavier stiffens at first, but then he wraps an arm around me, pulling me in.

The smell of him makes my whole body relax. A soft silence settles over us, a little heavy, but not uncomfortable.The whiskey’s in full effect now—everything’s loose around the edges.

When the woman in the movie gets another letter from her dead husband, I yawn, eyes slipping closed.

***

I only realize I’ve dozed off when I open my eyes again. The room is even darker now, except for the soft blue glow of the screen.

Xavier’s still there, eyes closed, holding me—both of us half-sprawled on the floor, backs against the couch. I glance at the clock—1:30. The movie must’ve ended a while ago, leaving us asleep in each other’s arms.

He’s still out, looking unusually peaceful—hair mussed across the couch cushion, face relaxed, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

For a moment, I just watch him, not wanting to break the spell. Xavier Ormond, actually asleep. Like a regular person. He’s snoring, barely. It’s weirdly sweet. I almost want to take a picture.

“Xavier,” I say, giving his thigh a gentle nudge. “Xavier…”

“Mm,” he mumbles groggily, eyes fluttering open. His face shifts quickly, suddenly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Movie’s over, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I stand, instantly missing the warmth of him around me, and stretch out my stiff limbs while he blinks himself awake. After a moment, Xavier pushes himself up off the floor, swaying slightly once he’s on his feet.

I reach out and steady him by the elbow, guiding him through the dark apartment—from the living room, past the kitchen, and down the shadowed hallway to his bedroom.

In the dark, I guide Xavier to the bed, navigating by the faint outlines of furniture. He sits down without a word, unmoving.

“Get some sleep,” I say, gently.

I give his shoulder a light pat and turn to go.

“Newt.” His voice stops me—quiet, almost hesitant.

I turn back. He’s on his feet again, just a step away.

“Yes?”

We stand there for a beat, eyes locked in the dimness. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink—like he’s carved from stone. Then, suddenly, he steps forward. His fingers close around my wrist, cold against my skin.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

There’s something new in his voice. Raw. Unfamiliar. It sounds like pain.

And just like that, breathing becomes hard.

That word—please.Coming from him, it undoes me.

I don’t even remember if I answer, because everything after unfolds like a dream. I nod, take a few steps toward the bed,and watch as Xavier climbs in and shifts to the far side—leaving space for me.

I pull off my sweater and jeans and slip in beside him. Without a word, he lifts the comforter and drapes it over both of us, then pulls me close. Cold hands settle around my waist. A chilled cheek presses against my temple. My heart pounds—off-beat and loud in the quiet—as a shaky kind of happiness takes hold of me.