Later, I’m lying on the bed checking my phone and hoping he texts before he leaves campus when the bedroom door opens and he’s already home. “Hey,” I say, setting the phone aside. “How’d the test go?”
He shrugs, dropping his book bag to the floor with the movement. Instead of answering, he sits on the bed and kicks off his shoes. I’m worried maybe he’s mad at something, mad at me, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize but I don’t really know what for. I just know I don’t want to sleep on the couch again if I can help it. So I reach out and strum a hand down the knobs of his spine. “You okay?”
He turns and stretches out on the bed. Both of his hands catch mine, and he kisses my palm before folding my fingers down over the damp imprint of his lips, as if to keep it safe. “What are
