𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XI

I awoke to the click of a lighter, loud and sharp, as if it was right beside my ear. I stirred from where I lied, my eyes fluttering open, taking in my surroundings. I'd always wake confused if I fell asleep anywhere but my own bed. This time, it took me all of four seconds to figure out where I was.

I was stretched out on Roger's sofa, my limbs slightly sore from the position I'd been sleeping in. A rough, knitted blanket was spread across me. The living room was dim; the pale moonlight that filled the space was the only source of illumination. It must've been very late, I assumed.

"I can't get anything past you, can I?" I heard Roger say cheekily. I turned onto my other side so I could meet his eyes. He was curled in one of the matching love seats, a cigarette poking out of his mouth, a journal and pen in his lap. He wore comfortable sweatpants and an old shirt, blonde hair tousled around his shoulders.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "It's your apartment. I can't tell you what to do."

"So you don't care if I smoke, then?"

"You've already begun," I retorted. "I don't have a say in this, anyways." I raised myself to a sitting position, tucking my knees to my chest.

I studied him for a few moments. I hated to admit it, but watching him smoke was soothing to me. Watching him in general brought ease to my veins, when he shut his mouth, of course. He was interesting. The way he moved, the way his face would crinkle in thought, the way his lips formed around the cigarette just before he breathed in.

"You're staring again," he said, without looking up from his journal.

I scowled, blood rushing to my cheeks. "Are we gonna talk about you watching me sleep not long ago?"

"I wasn't watching you," he argued, but he wouldn't meet my eyes, which had me convinced he was lying. Pride rushed briefly through me. "I'm trying to write. I write best when it's night."

"And when you've been drinking."

"And when I've been drinking," he agreed, a smile flying across his lips.

We shared a quick moment of silence. The silence between us was comfortable, though. I had always felt the need to fill silences with my chatter, but with Roger, it wasn't awkward. Together, everything felt natural. I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way with me.

"I don't want to make you sleep on that couch," Roger said quietly, more to himself than to me directly. He bit his lip in thought. "It can't be comfortable."

It wasn't. I could already feel the strain in my body from just a few hours of sleep, but of course, it was better than having no place to stay at all. "I don't mind, really."

"You can have the bed, if you like," he offered. I hated how kind he was to me.

I winced. "I wouldn't want to kick you out of your bedroom."

The corners of his lips turned up into a teasing smile. "I was thinking we'd share, love."

I threw a scoff at him, knowing he couldn't be serious, rolling my eyes for good measure. "The couch is perfect, thanks."

"Really, though. It's big enough. We could put up a wall of pillows and we wouldn't even have to see each other," Roger said sarcastically, taking another long drag from his cigarette. "If you want to cuddle up, though, that's fine with me."

I didn't laugh at his joke this time. I looked away. "I'll hopefully find a place soon," I mumbled. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Roger gave a light sigh, shutting his journal and placing it on the coffee table. "You know you're welcome here, Thea. As long as you want. Honestly."