"I need space." Those were the words Jacky said to Ryan the night before they both left for separate colleges. Now, each of them will try to learn who they are without the other. Will their paths lead them back together?
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Ryan
Ryan startled awake when he heard and felt a familiar low vibration against his leg. He patted his pocket, wincing at the groove in the back of his head from the edge of the cabinet under the bathroom sink.
But his pocket was empty. He sat up, the feeling rushing back into his ass, which had fallen asleep from the hard tile floor. The warmth pressed against his leg was Pete, and the vibration was coming from Pete's phone, which was hanging precariously from his back pocket.
After poking Pete, and getting a moan in response, Ryan was satisfied that Pete was still alive. He shifted position and was thinking about how he might carry Pete back to their room when Pete suddenly heaved and a heavy plop of vomit hit the toilet. "M'never drungghh agahhh...." Pete mumbled.
"I hope not," Ryan said drily. He waited a moment, then added, "Someone's texting you."
Pete didn't respond.
Ryan stepped out of the bathroom. It was dark and quiet in the rest of the apartment. From his bedroom Ryan retrieved one of his textbooks and returned to the cold tile floor. Resting his back against the bathtub, he tried to read.
It was surprisingly easy to concentrate without the distraction of his phone and his roommates. It wasn't until he finished reading the whole chapter that he realized he'd never even put on music or anything. The silence had been so complete and rare.
He poked Pete again, then shook his shoulder. "Hey, Pete. Hey, let's get you to bed."
Pete didn't wake up. Ryan put his hand on Pete's back to feel for his breathing. Yes, Pete was still alive. What about alcohol poisoning, though? He wished he had his phone so he could just look it up. His laptop was in his room, not that far away, but it felt far when Pete's phone was right there. He eased the phone out of Pete's pocket.
The phone was like an addiction. Ryan had missed the feel of it in his hand, even though this wasn't even his own phone. He tried to open it, then realized he didn't know Pete's passcode. He stared at the lock screen, filled with notifications. He knew his own phone was going to be worse, but Pete had a whole mess of texts. One name caught Ryan's eye, a familiar name.
Monica.
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