I think he’s going to keep speaking to me, but he’s silent, the two of us eating the soup until it’s gone.
And then, when we’re finally done, he peers up at me, and I jump slightly. Those blue eyes.
Those fucking eyes.
“Did you miss class or work these past three days?” he asks, and I shrug, grabbing the empty bowls and placing them in the sink. After I’ve rinsed them thoroughly, I place them in the dishwasher.
“It’s fine.”
His lips fall. “Shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“I emailed our professors and let them know what was going on. I don’t work right now, so that isn’t a concern.”
His shoulders slump slightly, and he lets out a relieved breath. “Thanks for doing that.”
The way he says it, almost reverently, has me quickly wiping down the counter. I can’t look at him when he speaks like that. I really fucking can’t.
“You’re welcome,” I manage to say.
He’s silent for a moment, my mind swirling with questions and concerns, when he suddenly asks, “Want to watch a movie?”
My hand falters, and I swallow roughly. “I actually have plans tonight.”
It’s a lie. A huge one, but not the biggest one I’ve ever told. And I’ll rectify it. I will have plans. Just after I make them.
“Oh,” he says, the despondency in his voice hitting me square in the chest.
I can’t stand it. I can’t fucking stand it. It’s almost hard to breathe.
“Yes, well, I’ll be back in a bit,” I blurt, tossing the rag into the sink and moving to grab my satchel. Yes, right, I have to work on some homework. No, even better, I have to do some research for the speech and debate club meeting later this week.
Not that it’s needed, but I can’t focus when he’s near me. On me. All over me.
“Okay,” Caleb says, that adorable pout on his mouth.
As I move past him, I can’t help but stop and stare down at him. Those long lashes, those flushed cheeks. The way my hand could curl into his hair and pull.
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
He leans back and shrugs, pretending not to care. But I can see past it. He’s so fucking easy to read.
“Yep.”
I hesitate a moment, my mind telling me to stay. That nothing bad will happen if I just fucking stay. But I can’t. That email looms like a bad rash. It only infects and ruins whatever it comes into contact with.
I will not ruin him.
“Okay, well, text me if you need me.”
“I won’t. Have fun, man,” he says, without looking at me. Losing that blue—losing his gaze—pushes me straight to my keys. I grab them and walk out without a backward glance.
And then I do as I said I would. I message the debate team to let them know where I’m headed to see if they’d like to join me.
Predictably, none of them can, so I go to the library alone, carefully avoiding the beanbags and situating myself at a table.
I pull open my laptop and begin my research, but my fingers falter, and I end up staring at the screen, my mind whirling. All I can see ishim, feel him, the weight of him on my lap, the way his hair brushes against the sensitive skin of my neck.
I can’t concentrate, but I can’t go back.