Page 73 of About to Fall

We had been apart for approximately thirty minutes and I was already expecting… what?

My phone buzzed. The relief of seeing his name flash on the screen was embarrassing.

Adrian: You want to finish that episode?

I bit back a smile.

Your room or mine?

Adrian: Mine. I have it downloaded.

Adrian: Also got a box of croissants. And macarons.

We had a competition in two days. I should rest. Hydrate. Visualize my programs. Do literally anything other than go next door to watch cartoons with the man I’d been trying not to think about.

I was knocking on his door a minute later.

“That was fast,” Adrian said when he opened it, grinning. “Almost like you were waiting by your phone.”

“Almost like I was bored.”

“Uh huh.”

He stepped aside to let me in. His room was already a disaster—suitcase open across the armchair, clothes spilling out, toiletries scattered over the desk. A small mint coloured macaron box sat on top of a giant pastry box on the nightstand.

Priorities, apparently.

He’d changed out of his airplane clothes into a tight black tank top and loose grey sweatpants that sat dangerously low on his hips.

I tried not to stare. Failed.

“Eyes up here, Nicky.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He flopped onto the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come on. We left off right before the Day of Black Sun.”

I kicked off my shoes and settled beside him, backs against the headboard, his iPad propped on a pillow between us. Our bodies touched from shoulder to hip. Neither of us moved away.

The episode started. I watched approximately four minutes of it.

The rest of my attention was consumed by the heat of him beside me. The way his skin pressed against mine. The ink visible on his arms and collarbone. His tank top had hiked up, exposing the edge of the serpent tattoo disappearing beneath his waistband. The sweet herbal scent from his vape that he probably hit the second we landed and something underneath that was just him.

On screen, the invasion was failing. The Fire Nation had been prepared. Everything was falling apart.

Adrian’s hand landed on my thigh.

I stopped breathing.

“You’re not watching,” he said quietly.

“Neither are you.”

“No.” His thumb traced a slow circle against my leg. “You’re much more interesting to watch.”

I turned my head. He was already looking at me—those dark eyes steady, waiting. Not pushing. Not provoking. Letting me lead. Letting me choose.

The last few weeks had been the scariest of my life.