Page 101 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“I like it here,” I say, smoothing my hand over the cardigan sleeve covering Theo’s wrist.

“I like you here.” He lifts his head long enough to look at me, his expression open and certain. Then he lowers it again and steals one of my grapes.

Sloane’s section of the bracelet comes on while I am halfway through the sandwich. The light remains steady long enough that I picture him in the temporary Blackline room across campus, thumb pressed to the slim band on his finger while Kade talks him through another access log or payment trace.

Idris' light follows a few seconds later. Theo notices both and runs one fingertip along the edge of the bracelet without touching the metal directly.

“They’re checking,” he says.

“They have been checking all morning.” I tilt my wrist and watch the three sections glow together. “Sloane touched his during my first class. Idris did it halfway through office hours.”

Theo’s mouth softens again. “Did it help?”

“It reminded me they were close.” I take another bite and let my hand rest between us. “It also made me think they should be doing their jobs instead of staring at their rings.”

Theo presses his lips together, though the smile still reaches his eyes. “They can do both.”

A softer knock pulls my attention as Theo lifts his head from my shoulder, already smiling before the door opens, and that tells me who it is before Sloane steps inside with two paper bags hooked over one wrist and a drink carrier balanced in his other hand. Idris follows with a folder tucked beneath his arm, though he stops just inside the doorway when he sees my face.

Sloane looks from me to Theo, then down at the food like the bags might explain him better than his mouth can. “We brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch yesterday.”

“We brought better lunch today.” His voice is gentle enough to make my chest ache, and he sets everything on the little table near the window instead of coming straight to me. “Theo said the soup here tastes like beige.”

“It does,” Theo says, already sliding out of my chair so he can inspect the bags. “It tastes like they described chicken to water and hoped for the best.”

Idris’ mouth moves once, but his eyes stay on me. He has that look again, the careful one, the one that asks before his body has moved and turns every inch between us into something measured. Sloane has it too, though he’s trying to hide it behind the drinks and the sandwiches and the bright yellow tulip someone has tucked into one of the bags.

I look at the flower, then at Sloane’s hand hovering near the back of my chair, then at Idris standing beside the door with his folder untouched beneath his arm. My throat tightens, and I have to put my sandwich down before I crush the paper around it.

“Sweetheart?” Sloane asks, the word roughening immediately.

“I love that you’re trying.” I make myself say it before either of them can start apologizing for something I haven’t named yet. “I do. I love the food, and the flowers, and the way you keep touching your rings during my classes because you think I won’t notice from across campus.”

Sloane’s face changes, hope and dread crossing it together. Idris finally closes the door, leaving us alone in the office with the food cooling on the table and Theo pressed quietly against my side.

“But I need you to stop treating every normal part of my day like it might break me.” My voice stays soft, though my hands twist together in my lap. “I need to walk across campus sometimes. I need to forget lunch and remember it myself. I need my phone to ring without wondering if three people are checking whether I survived a meeting.”

Sloane goes pale around the mouth. “I’m trying to fix what I let happen.”

“I know.” I reach for him then, because the hurt in him is too sharp to leave unanswered. “Baby, I know you are.”

He comes to me on the word, crossing the office in two strides before dropping to a crouch in front of my chair. His hands land on my knees, warm and shaking, and the sight of that tremor nearly breaks the careful shape of what I’m trying to say.

“I don’t want space from you,” I tell him. “I want space inside the life I have with you. Those are different things.”

Idris’ breath leaves him slowly. “Calliope.”

I look at him too, because he’s standing so still I can almost see the want caught under his restraint. “And you can come here. You can hold me. You can kiss me in my office and remind me I’m yours. I want that so badly I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”

His folder lowers to the nearest chair.

“But I can’t have every small thing handled before I touch it,” I say. “I can’t have another life where someone else decides what I need, who I’m allowed to reach, or which parts of me are too fragile to manage. Garrett made everything feel like permission. I need the small things back.”

Theo climbs into my lap without asking, careful with my lunch and utterly sure of his welcome. His arms go around my neck, and I hold him because that part is easy, because Theo has never made wanting me feel like a cage.

Sloane bows his head against my knee. “I miss the way you used to fall into me.”