Page 102 of Disarm
It’s not fine.
He sits up straighter, blanket pooling in his lap. “You came all the way to campus?” Guilt flickers across his face. “Miggy…”
“Yeah, well.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly aware of his roommate pretending not to listen from the other room. “Maybe I freaked out a little.”
“A little?” he echoes, eyes widening and looking behind me. I peer over my shoulder at his roommate that’s flitting around the bathroom like he’s actually doing something.
“Miguel.” He reaches out, fingers wrapping around my wrist. His hand is still warm from sleep. “I’m sorry. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve… I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “You don’t have to report in to me every second, Caleb. I’m not your keeper.”
“You sure?” he asks, a weak laugh slipping out that doesn’t quite land. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re my emotional parole officer.”
I know he’s joking.
My stomach doesn’t.
He sees it land, his face falling. “Shit. I didn’t mean?—”
“No, you’re not wrong,” I say, forcing a breath out. “That’s on me. That’s my shit. I just… when your phone went straight to voicemail, and the game was out of state, and you told me you’d text, and then you didn’t…”
My voice breaks. I hate it.
“I went to some bad places in my head,” I finish.
His fingers tighten on my wrist. “I’m okay,” he says quietly. “I promise. I drank water. I ate. I’m… good. Tired, but good.”
I look at him, really look. There are shadows under his eyes and a hangover ghosting around the edges, but he’s grounded. Just my boy, guilty and soft in my hoodie.
“I know that,” I say. “Now.”
“Come here,” he says, scooting back and patting the mattress. “Just for a minute.”
“I should let you sleep,” I protest weakly.
He just raises an eyebrow.
I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed. He leans forward, wraps both arms around my middle, and rests his forehead against my chest. The hug surprises me, Caleb usually makes me work for these.
“Thank you for caring enough to freak out,” he mumbles into my shirt. “Even if my dumb ass caused it.”
My hand finds the back of his head automatically, fingers tracing damp curls. “Always gonna care,” I say quietly. “Can’tpromise I won’t freak out less. Might just try to freak out… quieter next time.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Mm. We can work on that in your therapy session.”
“Very funny.”
Pulling back, blinking blearily up at me. “Would you stay if I asked you to?” he asks. “Just for a little. Till I fall back asleep.”
Like I’m ever going to say no to that.
“Yeah,” I say. “Scoot over.”
He does, dragging the weighted blanket with him. I lie down on top of the covers, fully dressed, and he curls into my side, head on my shoulder, arm draped across my stomach. Within three minutes, he’s out again, breathing evenly, body relaxing.
I stare at the ceiling in the semi-dark, listening to him breathe, my own nervous system trying to recalibrate.
He scared me.
