hømetøwn

• : / twenty one / : •

After a few more minutes of sulking under the table, Ryan sighed.

"I'm going out."

He rolled out from under the table and stood up.

Brendon didn't move, his hand still clasped around mine. His fingers drew slow circles across the edge of my thumb. He said, "Shouldn't you put a shirt on for that?"

"Brendon. Do not be a fucking idiot. Of course I shouldn't."

"It's like fifty degrees out there."

"Lake," said Ryan, "kindly tell Brendon that he is an idiot."

"I'm going to have to side with Brendon on this one," I said. "Not that I have an objection with you walking around shirtless, but --"

"Um--" started Brendon.

I shot him an uncomfortable glance. "Uh -- but uh -- it's cold out. Your nipples will be like needles." The phrase pulled at a place in the back of my mind. When I realized they were Angie's words, a rush of pain shot up my chest. I wanted to take the words back and hide them under my tongue.

"Fine," said Ryan. He snatched a shirt off the kitchen table and pulled it over his head. "Bye."

We watched his feet shuffle past the table. Footsteps cracked across the room, then the door creaked and slammed shut, and it was silent again.

Brendon's eyes slid onto me. I was suddenly struck by just how close we were lying together, and just how alone we were in his apartment right now. A light thrill raced up my ribcage. And something else, too -- a dark undertone that tasted almost like fear. I tensed.

Brendon's breath tickled my nose.

"So," he said. "I've realized we know each other. But we also really don't."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know you've got a crazy stalker guy at home and that you like chicken nuggets and Fall Out Boy. But I don't know your spirit animal."

A smile tugged at my lips. "My spirit animal."

"Yeah, your spirit animal. If you were an animal, what would it be?"

"A starfish, probably."

"That was quick."

"What can I say? I know myself." I let go of his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "What would you be?"

"Well, like, I want to say I'd be something freaking awesome. Something super majestic and killer. Like a duck. But --"

Laughter erupted through me. "A duck?"

"--But," he continued, shooting me a look, "I feel like, in reality, I'd be something totally lame. Like, I want to say I'd be a duck but I'm probably actually one of those hairless cat things."

"Oh, God. No, definitely not one of the hairless cat things. Those aren't even cats. They are Satan."

"Exactly."

I punched him in the arm. "You aren't Satan. You're a goofball."

"No. I am Satan. I am a satanic goofball."

"Whatever you say, big shot."

He smiled. "Okay, so your spirit animal is a starfish. What's your...uh..."

"Best childhood memory," I said. "Go. You first."

"Uh -- oh -- okay. Okay, right. Let me think." He stared at the underside of the table. His eyebrows arched downwards in concentration. Nose scrunched up. Fingers tapping the floor. His tongue glided thoughtfully across his bottom lip. I looked away, my chest squeezing.