Page 173 of In Somnis

He pulls back from Lennon but keeps one hand on her shoulder, like he needs the anchor. “I don’t know. Wrong. But now…” He looks at her again, smiling. “Now it feels better.”

“She does that,” I say, watching him carefully. “Makes things better.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, genuine. “She does.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Not long enough.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “But you know those people you instantly click with, and you’re like… yeah, you’re mine.”

I ball my hand into a fist.

She’s mine, my tether.

The projection-Lennon doesn’t speak. She’s not advanced enough for that, not without more concentration than I’m willing to give right now, but Nevan doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking at her like she hung the moon.

“She’s special,” he continues, and my jaw tightens. “I mean, she doesn’t see it, but she is. She’s been through hell, and she’s still kind and caring. Still trying to help people even when she’s barely holding it together herself.” He grins. “And she makes these terrible jokes. She’s my best friend.”

“Best friend,” I repeat, letting the words hang there.

“Yeah.” He looks back at me, defensiveness creeping into his posture. “Why?”

“Seems like a lot of feelings for a friend.” I unwrap a lollipop that appears in my hand and stick it in my mouth. “The way you’re looking at her. The way you talk about her.”

His ears go pink. “I don’t… what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you just spent thirty seconds listing all the things that make her special.”

“That’s just…” He stops and swallows roughly. “That’s what friends do. They appreciate each other.”

“Sure.” I study him. “But do friends usually look at each other the way you’re looking at her right now?”

He glances down at projection-Lennon, then quickly away, his face flushing deeper. “I’m not⁠—”

“You are.”

“She needs a friend,” he argues, and there’s an edge to his voice now. “She just got here, she’s dealing with… she needs someone who’s not going to complicate things.”

“So you’re what, martyring yourself?”

“I’m being a good friend.” His jaw sets stubbornly.

“By lying to yourself about what you want?”

“I’m not…” He stops again, and I watch the shift behind his eyes. The defensiveness cracks, just a little. “I don’t want to fuck it up, okay? She’s the first real friend I’ve had in… God, I don’t even know how long. And yeah, maybe I—” He cuts himself off, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe you what?” I push the lollipop to my other cheek.

“Maybe I think about her more than I should. Maybe I notice things like how she scrunches her nose when she’s thinking, or how she smells like lemonade, or how her laugh makes everything feel less heavy.” He swallows hard again. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it.”

I look at his pink ears and the hand still resting on her shoulder as if he doesn’t know he’s doing it. How he keeps glancing at her and then away.

The subconscious doesn’t lie.

He came to her apartment at midnight because she needed him.

He showed up.

I pull the candy out with a pop and think about what I did tonight, which was lie on the other side of a wall and listen to her cry and not move. I think about what I’m capable of giving her in waking life, which is, if I’m being honest, which I apparently am tonight, at least with myself, not much. I have a personality that most people find exhausting, and whatever I am to her in dreams, in the daylight, I’m just the asshole next door who doesn’t open his door for her.