bed chem | drew starkey

CHAPTER 38

EARLY - MID MAY 2024

the jet lag was the kind of subtle that crept up on aurora slowly, the kind you didn't really feel until you sat still for more than five minutes.

the car pulled up to her place just as the sun was beginning to dip, the LA sky painted in soft golds and streaks of coral. the city felt warmer than new york — not just the weather, but the air, the energy. more laid back. less eyes. less pressure. more them.

drew was half-asleep beside her, hoodie pulled up over his growing-out buzz cut, jaw slack in the faintest trace of a nap. he hadn't meant to fall asleep — they'd both insisted they were fine on the plane — but after a whirlwind weekend, sleep had a mind of its own. and aurora didn't blame him. she was tired, too. the good kind. the "i did something I'll remember forever" kind. but still, tired.

she nudged him gently. "we're home."

his eyes blinked open slowly, bleary and soft. he smiled the moment he focused on her. "hey."

"hey," she whispered back.

they didn't say much more — they didn't need to. the ride from the airport had been mostly quiet, filled with hand-holding and exchanging glances that said more than words could.

by the time they got inside, she let her suitcase drop in the hallway. she didn't care about unpacking. not yet. she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into the living room, pulling her hair free from its claw clip, the long strands falling messily over her shoulders.

drew followed behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. she leaned back into him, eyes fluttering closed.

"you hungry?" he murmured.

"not yet," she said. "maybe later."

"wanna nap?"

"maybe."

they stood there like that for a while — the LA light slipping through the blinds, casting long golden shadows across her floors, across their hands. her place smelled faintly like jasmine from the candle mia had gifted her weeks ago, still sitting untouched on the counter. home.

aurora finally turned to face him, brushing her fingers gently across his cheek. "thanks for coming with me. for waiting up. for..."

"for what?"

"for just being here."

his eyes softened. "always."

they collapsed on the couch soon after, a blanket tossed over them, a dumb sitcom playing in the background that neither of them really watched. her head rested on his chest, his arm curled around her shoulder, and she could feel his breathing slow until it matched hers.

she pulled her phone out only once — not to post, not yet — just to scroll through the photos from the weekend. the red carpet. the fittings. the blurry selfies in the car. the kiss before the afterparty. and then... the polaroid.

the one she accidentally posted.

she giggled softly, and drew hummed sleepily beneath her.

"what's funny?"

"nothing," she whispered. "just... we really are so bad at hiding this."

he didn't open his eyes. just smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "maybe that's the point."

and for the first time since she'd stepped on that met gala carpet, aurora let herself relax — no more posing, no more planning. just pajamas, tangled limbs, and the boy who didn't care whether he was in front of cameras or behind closed doors, as long as he was beside her.the jet lag was the kind of subtle that crept up on aurora slowly, the kind you didn't really feel until you sat still for more than five minutes.