IGNITE

twenty-eight.

‹ 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ›

The morning after my Thanksgiving dinner for Piper, I laid in bed, a lazy smile resting on my face as Mellie snuggled into my neck.

Cheeto—as I liked to call her, and often got smacked for doing so, had been following me around the house as if I were her mother for the past few days, trailing me out of Piper's room in the middle of the night and climbing into my bed with me.

If she didn't smell so much like Piper, I would have kicked her out days ago.

Guilt ate at me for leaving Piper's room every night, for the sad look I pretended not to notice in her eyes when we met in the mornings—I felt like a complete dick, and I deserved to.

But, something about sharing a bed with Piper, about sleeping beside the human embodiment of perfection wracked me with nerves, my entire body on alert, my chest tight and throat dry.

It was as if the nighttime had some sort of spell on me. I could be around Piper all day, fuck, I wanted to be around Piper all day. She was beautiful, and funny, and her laugh had me weak in the knees.

But at night?

When she curled into me, her head resting on my chest, and the weight of her pressed against me, it was like there was a tiny voice in my head reminding me of what I'd done, of who I was.

Of what would happen to her if I stayed.

Cheeto stirred, jumping off the bed with a soft meow before trotting into Piper's bedroom and I let my eyes trailed her until she was out of sight, another meow sounding as if inviting me to follow.

I pushed myself out of my bed, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and making my way through the bathroom and into Piper's room. She sprawled across the bed, her long red hair splayed across her pillow as her chest rose and fell with even breaths.

She looked peaceful, content, and I couldn't bring myself to wake her. So, I carried on into the hallway, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen running through the list of breakfast foods I knew Piper liked.

Eggs and bacon seemed like a safe choice.

Just as I began to rifle through the fridge for ingredients, a crabby looking Cyrus strode into the kitchen, grumbling to himself incoherently as he poured himself a mug of coffee and settled into one of the stools by the island.

"What's up with you, Cyrus?" I asked, glancing over at him. "Rough night?"

He let out a groan as he rubbed at his face. "The walls are thin," a long, blank stare met me as I locked eyes with him. "Got to hear Max and Ryan—all night."

The muscles in my jaw ticked as I shook my head. "Shit man, I'm sorry that's fucking brutal." I abandoned my hunt for ingredients, and shut the fridge door, turning to face the sleep deprived brunette. "What's going on with you two anyway?"

Cyrus shrugged, his fingers tapping the side of his mug. "It's nothing," he said, but the frown that tugged at his lips and the crease between his brows told a different story. "None of your fuckin' business anyway."

"Watch it," I warned, my eyes narrowing. "I don't want to talk about this anymore than you do, Cyrus."

His eyes met mine, something dark and angry swimming in the brown depths. "So why are we, then?"

Because, I want Piper to stop worrying.

I shrugged. "Because, Max is hot and Ryan gets on my nerves." The lie slipped off of my tongue effortlessly. "So, you're going to have to take one for the team and entertain me."