Inferno

nineteen | the decision

Another morning, another instance of my head pounding while I take in the blur in front of me, rubbing my eyes furiously. The first I see, clear as crystal, is the sight of a snoring Chase, bunched up on the sofa across my bed. One of his legs is flinging down, his hair looking as though raked by a raccoon, and his baby pink shirt slightly lifted to reveal the depressions on his torso. Not a bad view to wake up to.

It's as though he can read my mind in deep slumber and stirs the very next instant, casting a lazy glance over to me. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

For a short second I'm dumbstruck until my little accident comes back to me, slapping me in my face with the dust of the glitter bits scattered on my nose and some on my arms. Although I find my leg comfortably folded and nearly as good as prior to my stint, under the heavy quilt. "Better than last night," I say, my voice groggy yet not even inching to the embarrassment I happily volunteered for yesterday. He isn't even mentioning it. "You stayed?"

He nods, a semblance of a smile on his face while he tries fixing his awry curls, now overgrown. "You kept rolling off the bed, no matter how many cushions I put. I had to then make a fort around with blankets, but I was still worried you'd somehow get past it."

Looking around, I find enough cushions to fill a display rack at an IKEA store, him chuckling while I colour a shade of red deeper than the smudged lipstick I had on. "Oh... well, I don't remember much, but thanks. For cleaning up my mess once again."

"Mess? You're more put together than I'll ever be, and I don't think it's so bad to let loose every once in a while," I'm hesitant to agree, my sighs low yet somehow loud enough for Chase to pick on. "Maybe try to stay from gymnastics and poles, though, that's dangerous territory."

The cackles come along inevitably, a shameful morning turned around just like that, and it not being the first time he's made me laugh and forget it all. So I believe until looking down at my tee to find brown spots smattered over the white base, the reason why out of my faint memory. "Do you happen to know anything about these stains on my shirt?"

He nods, lifting himself off the couch and slugging off it a black blazer I never thought I'd find with him, amongst all the hoodies and fitted sweats. "Those stains are actually marinara, and the story is so good I think I should tell it over a cup of coffee. Would you join me?"

I'm silent for beats, a refusal sitting in the pit of my stomach, but a "yes" popping out so swiftly, there's no space for regret. It's only because I'm shabby, feeling in need of a Crocin and a coffee would at least make me appear functional. That's what I tell myself when I take his hand, when our fingers intertwine and when everything feels right with the world once he's on my side.

Down in Nina's bakery turned cafe, we drop into the chairs facing her home garden, where the early sun glosses over our espressos adorned with foamy smiley faces. "I see why you picked this place. This scone deserves a place in heaven," he wipes the remnants of blueberry sauce off his fingers, while I unmitigatedly stare, my face resting in my palms.

"I am usually good with choices, so I'll take that compliment," I rip open another sachet of icing sugar to dissolve in my drink; the bitterness of arabica beans suddenly jarring instead of soothing.

"I would second that if I were one of your choices," he says, light and airy, but it doesn't take the weight off his words. "If we're to run into each other every time we part ways, which the universe has shown to be true, I guess we need to talk about this. About us."

I shift in my seat. "Is it really that simple? We both have got baggage of our own, just that yours is the sweetest ex of the world and mine is someone I don't like talking about. And believe me, that's just the tip of it."