Mikey holds my hand all the way back from the subway, and I feel like more of a liar with each passing step. I don’t have a clue where to start. How does this even work when we’re not fighting? How do you break up with a guy who hasn’t done anything wrong?
“I can’t believe you found a song called ‘Arthur’s Theme,’” I blurt.
Mikey laughs a little. “I already knew it. I’ve been sitting on that one for a minute.”
Cool, cool. Good to know Mikey’s been plotting gorgeous surprises while I’ve been wrecked over Ben. Good to know I’m an actual fucking monster.
“Well, thanks,” I manage. “It was really sweet.”
“You deserve to be serenaded.”
My throat thickens. “So do you.”
“Hey. You okay?” Mikey asks.
“What? Of course! Why?”
“I don’t know. You’re so quiet. You seem lost in thought.”
“I’m—yeah, I’m fine.” I pause in front of my building, releasing Mikey’s hand to root around for my key. “Sorry. It’s just been a weird week.”
The entryway lights are off when we reach the apartment, just like we left it.
“No one’s home,” Mikey says. “I guess Jessie’s date’s going well.”
“Ha. Yeah,” I say without looking at him.
“Maybe we should—”
“Want to watch a movie?” I interject, practically dive-bombing the couch. I feel so jumpy and strange, a human hiccup. I grab the remote and start scrolling, but all the thumbnails blur together. Which is when I realize my eyes are wet.
“Arthur?”
I set the remote down and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. Not tonight. “I’m fine,” I say.
“You don’t seem fine.” His voice is so tender, I lose my breath for a moment. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he adds quickly. “But if you want to, I’m here.”
My throat tightens—for a moment, my words can’t break through. “You’re such a good person,” I say. It comes out husky and strained.
“No I’m not. I’m just in love with you.”
I try to smile, but it falters. I press my hands to my face.
“Hey.” Mikey pulls me closer. “You don’t have to say it back. You know that, right?”
Tomorrow, I think, and I hate myself for it.
He kisses the top of my head, and my eyes flutter shut.
Last time climbing into bed beside Mikey. Last time he’ll set his glasses on my nightstand. Last time I’ll catalog his features in the semidarkness: his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, his snowy-blond eyelashes.
I’m the only guy he’s ever shared a bed with. I’m the only one who knows he hugs a pillow when he sleeps. What am I supposed to do with that information? Where do I put it?
When he breathes, the pillow rises and falls with his chest—but then he opens his eyes, tilts his head toward me. For a moment, we just stare at each other.
“Can’t sleep?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Me either.” He rolls onto his side, leaving barely an inch between our faces. I try to smile, but somehow it’s already skidding toward tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” He wraps his arm around me, pulling me in closer. “Hey.”
“For being an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole.”
“Mikey.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t even know how to say this. I was going to wait until tomorrow.”
His chest stiffens against mine. “Okay.”
“Mikey.”
“Please just tell me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “I think—when you told me you loved me.” I pause, wiping a tear. “I was just—I didn’t expect it. In that moment. So I kind of shut down. I don’t know.”
“Arthur, I know. I get it.”
“And I love you. Obviously. I knew that. But I couldn’t tell if it was the same kind of love, and I didn’t want to say it unless I was sure—”
“And that’s okay! There’s no rush.”
“I know, I know. You’ve been”—I swallow—“so wonderful and patient. I don’t deserve it.”
“But you do.”
“I don’t.”
I meet his eyes, and it feels like I’m free-falling. His expression is like wood.