All of Me

twenty seven • double take

• • •

I wake up tangled in Liam's arms and my comforter is kicked off on the floor. He's in his boxers, his body lean and tanned against my white sheets, his hair a buttery halo on the pillow. When I sit up, he rolls onto his front with a quiet snore, one leg pulled up. The muscles in his back shift when he stretches out his arm, reaching for me and finding my pillow.

I told him last night. I can't believe I told him. And he didn't make it weird. He didn't try too hard to act normal. He didn't pause so long it hurt. It was just ... no big deal. Like it should be. It isn't a big deal. It's just me. But I live in an exhausting world that doesn't like a lot of things about me. My name; my skin; my size; my brain.

I'm in the middle of changing after the world's quickest shower, standing half naked in front of my dresser, when Liam wakes up and stretches across the bed, resting his chin in his hand.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, his voice croaky with sleep. I'm aware that the sun is streaming through my window, highlighting my body as I do up my bra, but I force myself not to cower. I do, however, turn my back on Liam to arrange my breasts before I pull on a woolen dress. It's supposed to be cold today.

"Morning," I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek when I sit on the edge of the bed to pull on my tights. There's no way to do it elegantly, tugging and wriggling once I get them past my knees. Liam laughs, a deep, tired laugh.

"So sexy," he says, rolling off the bed and lazily looping his arms around me. He's slow in the morning, everything turned down a few notches for the first hour or so. "How'd you sleep, cutie?"

I turn so we're facing, his arms still around me. "Pretty well," I say. "Really well, actually." I hug him and breathe in his familiar smell. Wrapped up in him, my nose pressed into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, I feel right at home. He smells like the hint of his intoxicating aftershave and the detergent Mom uses, and sleepy skin.

"You smell like a hug," I murmur. Liam laughs and kisses my forehead.

"You smell like someone I adore," he says. "By the way, about what you said last night..."

Oh, God. I forgot I told him. I dropped the A-bomb. Now he's had all night to figure out how he feels in his dreams. My mind tries to tie itself in knots but I don't let it. He's holding me. He's kissing me. There's no point worrying.

"What about it?" I ask, and I can hear the nerves in my voice.

"I just wanted to reassure you," he says. "I know you think a lot." He taps my head and then runs his hand through my hair. "Everything and nothing, right?"

I smile. "Right."

"I meant it when I said that it makes no difference to me." He leans back a bit, so he can see my eyes. "I love you, and I love all the pieces of the puzzle that makes you you, so I don't want you to overthink it. Or us. And I love that you told me."

"I love you so much," I say, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. "It really doesn't bother you?"

"No. Why would it bother me?" He shrugs and twists his hair into a bun, securing it with the hair tie I pass him. "If anything, it helps me understand you more. And that's always a good thing, right?"

"I've only ever told you and Gray," I murmur.

"How come?"

I shrug. "It's hard. People judge. They have preconceptions."

"Yeah," Liam says. He sounds thoughtful. "When I was in elementary school, a kid in my class was autistic. Like, severely. But it's a spectrum, right? Like one of Gray's scales?"