Page 6 of Crawl for Me

“Swear to God.” He nods, resting his elbow on the armrest. “I freaked out like crazy when I went to grab a bottle of water and found a snake. He told me the cold put them in stasis. I didn’t stick around long enough to fact-check.” He grimaces slightly, shaking his head like the memory of an ice-cold reptile by the leftovers still haunts him.

Another laugh bubbles out of me as I sip, and when I glance back up at him, he’s smiling again. The silence settles between us for a minute before his voice cuts through, tentative but braver than before. “So… if you live alone, does that mean you uh—” he falters, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Does that mean you don’t have anyone else around?”

My brow raises as I glance down at his glass. I’ve barely had half of mine, but he’s draining his at breakneck speed, no wonder he’s loosening. “No,” I say, taking a heavy gulp to catch up. “Just got out of something. Very, very recently.”

His face falls quickly. “Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off with a shake of my head. “It was six weeks of god-awful nothingness. If you’re going to feel bad for anyone, feel bad for him.”

I wince inwardly. Fantastic. We’re going for confessional hour with the new neighbour. The words hang there longer than I’d like. He toys with his glass, shoulders shifting slightly like he’s trying to figure out how to handle whatever I’ve just dumped in his lap.

I pour another glass to the brim and take a gulp big enough to drown the taste of my own words. “Anyway. Enough about my tragic love life,” I say, trying to steer us back toward reptiles in the fridge and his monk-level interior design.

But he lingers, eyes flicking from me to the wall before he speaks quietly. “Was it… bad?”

“Not necessarily,” I say. “It just wasn’t good, you know?”

“So it was bad?” he says, leaning forward slightly.

I blink at him, caught off guard. Maybe it’s the alcohol bringing out this sly side of persistence. But I guess we’re in it now.

My gaze tips to the ceiling, a dry laugh working its way out of my throat. “Define bad. Six weeks of mediocre dinners and worse sex? You tell me.”

Pink flushes the tips of his ears, and his mouth opens and snaps shut, like he isn’t sure if he should laugh or apologise for even asking in the first place. He downs the rest of his wine instead, then fumbles for his bottle to refill it.

“You pry, you get answers,” I murmur through the smirk on my lips. “Don’t look so horrified.”

“Sorry, I—uh—” He stumbles over the words, cheeks reddening. “If it makes it any better. I’ve had some rough ones too. Relationships, I mean. Not the—uh—the bad sex part, I didn’t—I mean, not that I’m⁠—”

I think he might actually pass out.

I lean forward before he can unravel himself into a full-blown train wreck. The second my foot nudges against his calf, he freezes like I’ve pulled a gun on him. “So basically,” I say slowly, “what I’m hearing, is that you’re just as tragic as me.”

For a few seconds, there’s only silence, and then by some kind of miracle, he laughs. A real one this time, not the nervous kind, but straight from his chair. “Yeah,” he says, catching his breath around the word. “Yeah, I think I am.”

I laugh through my nose, a genuine smile tugging at my lips too. Crisis averted. Noah hasn’t physically imploded on his couch. Gold star for me.

But then his eyes widen, panic clawing back into place. “Not that I think you’re actually tragic or anything,” he blurts, “it’s just⁠—“

Oh, here we go again…

But I don’t say anything this time, just arch a brow—and he stops.

His jaw snaps shut, spine locking straight, the emergency brakes slamming onto whatever babble he was about to tumble into.

Huh. That’s interesting.

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing heavy in his throat as he squirms uncomfortably. The sight sends heat crawling under my skin, pooling right under my stomach—and it has nothing to do with the alcohol flowing through my veins.

Huh. That’s interesting, too.

I drain the rest of my wine and set the glass down with a thud that makes him flinch slightly. “Relax,” I murmur as I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb. “I’m not going to bite you. You can breathe.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” His voice cracks right down the middle, and he tries to cover it with a throat-clear that does absolutely nothing to help.

I let my gaze linger, watching the way his knee’s started bouncing. He’s really fighting for composure here, and very clearly losing. The heat in my stomach twists deeper.

Oh, I could have some serious fun with this.