This was absurd. This was domesticity. I was washing my boyfriend's hair in his shower in Las Vegas while the sun came up outside, and somewhere out there, the world was spinningon without us. Wonton would be judging me from Colorado, probably shredding my couch in protest.
"I didn't think we'd make it here," Red said quietly.
My hands stilled in his hair. "Neither did I."
"There were so many times I almost—" He stopped. "When you left. When I didn't come after you. When your dad showed up and I just let you walk out."
"I walked out," I said. "That was my choice. You don't get to take that one."
He turned to face me, water streaming down his back. "We almost didn't make it."
"I know." I cupped his face in my hands. "But we did."
"What do you want to do today?" I asked.
"I don't know. I didn't plan past you getting here."
"Breakfast?"
"There's a diner down the street. Good pancakes."
We dried off and got dressed in whatever was closest. Red in sweatpants and a t-shirt, me in my jeans from earlier.
"Hang on," Red said. He disappeared into the closet and came back with an old practice jersey, faded from washing, PIPER across the back. "Try this one on."
I pulled it over my head. It was snug in the shoulders but wearable, the hem riding up higher than it was meant to, and when I turned to check the mirror, I could see his name stretched across my back.
"Are you sure you're okay with me wearing your name in public?"
Red crossed the room and put his hands on my chest, smoothing the fabric over my ribs. His expression was soft in a way I was still getting used to seeing.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure."
The diner was a ten-minute walk. Red reached for my hand as we stepped outside, then hesitated.
"Is this okay?"
I laced my fingers through his. "It's okay."
We walked down the street holding hands in the morning light. A few cars passed. A woman jogged by with a dog. Nobody stared.
The diner was mostly empty at this hour. We slid into a booth by the window, and a waitress brought us coffee without being asked. Red ordered pancakes. I ordered an egg white omelet and dry toast.
"Qualifying season," I said at his raised eyebrow. "Nationals are in January."
"Right." He poured syrup on his pancakes. "And then?"
"Four Continents. Worlds." I shrugged. "Olympics if I make the team."
Red paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "You're going for the Olympics?"
"That's the plan." I stole a bite of his pancake because I wasn't a saint. "You should come. Be my plus one."
He stared at me. "To the Olympics."
"If I make it. Which I will." I took another bite of his pancakes. "What do you say?"
"I—" He set his fork down. "Yeah. Yes. Of course I'll come."