Page 269 of Sweet Nightmare

Stephen has been nowhere to be found all day. I haven’t seen him since last night, and for approximately two seconds, a small, deeply embarrassing part of me wondered whether the photographs and headlines had changed his mind about us.

Then I remembered who I was.

I don’t lose sleep over other people’s opinions, especially not those of strangers who have zero idea of who we both truly are.

Besides, Mrs. Han, who has been trying and spectacularly failing to conceal her knowledge of the leaked photographs, informed me that Stephen has been in his studio all day, working on his album and some mysterious surprise.

He’s done this before. Since I arrived, I’ve learned that when Stephen disappears into his craft, the rest of the world becomes little more than background noise.

I understand that about him.

I even admire it.

I simply reserve the right to find it inconvenient.

Mika, meanwhile, has wisely kept her teasing to a minimum today. Either she’s developed a sudden sense of self-preservation or she’s decided I had enough of dealing with stupid people for today.

So, I’m in the library counting Stephen’s books.

There are exactly eight hundred and forty-three books in it.

I counted twice to make sure.

I stand on the rolling glass ladder, shifting a dark romance book titled ‘Fuck, Me Daddy’ three centimeters to the left.

Perfect.

I step back.

Two millimeters.

Better.

Mika once told me my need to organize everything was exhausting. I disagree. It’s one of my finest qualities, right after my ability to irritate people with an insult they’re to stupid to understand.

I reach for another book and shove it onto the shelf a little too hard.

Five fall.

Ugh.

I crouch to collect them, arranging them alphabetically, then by height, then by color. Because if my thoughts insist on being disorganized, the books needn’t suffer the same fate.

A knock sounds. Three soft taps.

“Why are you knocking? Come in.”

Instead, a small note slips beneath the door.

I stare at it and I smile when I see that tiny snowflake decorates the front.

Adorable.

He drew it himself.

I pick it up and unfold it.

Winter doesn’t apologize for being cold. It simply waits for the right person to understand its language.