Page 52 of Six Years
Well, if you asked Luan, I don’t think there is a line, and if there is, it’s probably drawn in invisible ink.
Wait, am I the only one here having lines in friendships? Specifically in Luan and I’s friendship? I know for a fact I would sleep naked in one bed with Miles and not give a fuck, so why am I trying to find lines around here somewhere? Who the fuck even walks around in my life drawing those lines because I can’t remember doing so.
Ah, right. My dad. He draws the lines…
“Are you just going to keep on standing there letting me stare at your god-sent body or are you going to come over here?”
I’m considering sleeping on the floor for a hot second, but the bed seems far more comfortable and so I walk over there, crawling into bed with Luan.
While he turns off the light on his nightstand, I stare up at the ceiling. “Do you draw lines in your friendships?” I ask, now genuinely wondering if anyone else has them. What’s allowed and what isn’t? What’s accepted and where does friendship stop?
“Like boundaries?”
“Yes.”
“Of course. They’re depending on the friend though. I have other boundaries for you than I have for my best friend. I would push her off me if she ever tried to lay my hand on her body, but you can gladly do that all over again.” He sighs, then I hear him turn but I don’t check if he’s turned toward me or away from me now. “On a serious note, yes, I draw lines. I think everyone does, but it genuinely always depends on the friendship itself, how close you are. If someone I barely see or talk to, talked to me in a flirting way, I’d be… not grossed out but it’d be weird, you know? But if someone I’m close to does it, it’s funny. If someone I see once every three months tried to talk about my trauma, then I’d tell them to fuck off. But if someone I trust talks to me about it, then that’s okay.”
I guess that makes sense, though I personally don’t talk to anyone about anything really. Except for my sister but I don’t see her as a friend. Even Miles had to wait a whole four years before Islowlystarted to open up to him, and still, he doesn’t know half of what’s going on in my life right now. I’m sure he has some ideas.
“Do you tell Doro everything?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Likeeverything?”
Luan moves closer to me, so I turn on my side to look at him through the dark, only to get startled when he’s closer to me than I thought.
His breath is rolling over my skin, his nose touching mine.
“I mean, there are things I don’t tell her. Things aboutyou, for instance. Stuff you tell me about yourself. But other than that, she’s the first person I run to when something goes wrong.” Then he sighs dramatically long. “I’d rather you be that person though.”
I close my eyes for a second, needing to take a deep breath to stop my heart from doing stupid jumps.
We aren’t playing basketball here, heart.
“Can you cuddle me?” Luan asks, laying his hand down on my jaw. “I don’t know when I’ll see you next, so it’s only fair.”
“I don’t do cuddling,” I remind him. And even if I did, I’m sure friends aren’t supposed to do that, are they?
“Because clearly you have never been with someone you wanted to cuddle, so, let me show you how great that can feel.” He takes my arm, draping it over his own body.
“Who says I want to cuddleyou?” Luan’s a bit narcissistic, I come to realize. I don’t know if there’s a good kind of narcissism, but if there is, I’m sure that’s him.
He listens, doesn’t distract himself by doing anything but showing interest, unlike some narcissists would do. And he does show genuine interest in me.
He’s a little self-absorbed, but not to the point where everything always has to be about him. He talks about himselfa lot, and still wants to know me, encourages me to tell him about myself.
I am yet to find out if the other points resonate with him, but even if they do, I honestly believe everyone’s a bit narcissistic. It’s about how much they lean into it until it gets toxic.
“If you don’t want to, you can always turn around,” he says, speaking in a low tone. “Or you can tell me to move.”
I do neither. In fact, I turn over onto my back and pull Luan with me so his head now lies on my chest. He swings one leg over mine, as well as lays his palm flat to my chest. I reach both of my arms around his body, holding him tightly to me.
It’s just for one night anyway. I’ll leave tomorrow evening to get back to NYC, back to playing ice hockey, back to my life.
Luan is a fantasy, one I know can never happen even if we did everything in our power to make it work. So, what’s left is that fantasy, and I’d rather keep that one up than lose him.
“You’ll come visit again, right?” he mumbles after a short while, already half asleep. His sleepy voice is even better than his usual one.
