The sun blasts through the window, straight into my eyes, and I groan. It's too bright, too early, and too personal. I hate when the sun thinks it's a better alarm clock than the one I didn't bother to set. Shielding my face with one arm, I blindly fumble for my phone on the nightstand.
The screen lights up. My lock screen makes me smile—it's a picture from last summer, before everything shifted. I swipe to unlock and read the full message.
From: MOM
Hey, sweetie, I hope you had a wonderful day today. Your father and I miss you so much.
My heart tightens just a little.
Mom, I appreciate it, and I miss you, too.
I send it. Before locking the screen, I glance at the picture again and smile to myself. Then I toss the blanket aside and drag myself to the bathroom. Teeth brushed, a quick rinse in the shower, and I'm wrapped in a towel when I step back into my room.
Jason's sitting on my bed.
I freeze.
"Jason," I say, clenching the towel tighter around my waist, "I do not have a word to tell you. Now, would you mind just leaving my room?" I gesture toward the door, unimpressed.
He says nothing, just sighs quietly and walks out.
Once he's gone, I roll my eyes and throw on some shorts and a plain white t-shirt. I pad into the kitchen and, of course, find Jason there too—eating cereal like nothing happened.
"Marie," he mumbles, mouth full.
I clear my throat, flick on the coffee maker, and head to the fridge for an apple. I don't respond.
"I apologize," he says, voice low, "for what happened last night and again this morning."
I exhale sharply. "Unforgiven."
He sighs louder this time, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. "Look, I didn't mean to walk into your room like that, okay?"
His phone buzzes on the counter. A girl's name flashes on the screen. He doesn't move. Doesn't even glance at it now.
And that… that bugs me more than it should.
"Are you seriously going to ignore that?" I growl, unable to help myself.
"I'm not," he answers quickly.
"You are so annoying," I mutter, rolling my eyes again and taking a bite of my apple like it's the only thing keeping me grounded.
Later, we're still arguing—this time about what movie to watch. Jason is painfully indecisive.
"Jason, can't we just watch Scream?" I frown, hoping to end this ridiculous back-and-forth.
He groans and finally puts it on. "Okay, okay, geez, Marie."
I head to the kitchen to make popcorn. When I come back, he's already sprawled out with his feet on the coffee table like he owns the place.
"Ew! Jason, remove your filthy feet from the table," I snap, nudging his legs off with enough force to make my point.
"Oh, come on, Marie," he protests. "My feet are not even dirty."
And, like clockwork, he props them right back up.
I sigh heavily and sink into the couch beside him. Of course, he's smiling. Like always.
As the movie plays, I can't stop screaming at every jump scare. Jason throws me the I-will-end-you glare every single time.
"What?" I whisper. "Why is it even called Scream if I'm not allowed to scream for an hour and forty-two minutes?"
Night falls, and I'm back in bed, tossing, turning. Sleep refuses to come. Jason's light is still on, glowing beneath the door like it's watching me.
Then—softly—he whispers my name.
"Marie."
I don't respond. I just listen.
"Are you awake?"
"Yes," I whisper. "What's wrong?"
"Can I come sleep with you?" His voice sounds unsure. Vulnerable. Different.
I blink in the darkness. "What makes you desire to share a bed with me, Jason?"
"I can't sleep," he admits. "It's just sleeping and nothing else." He lets out a low chuckle, trying to make it light.
My voice is barely audible. "My door is not locked."
The door creaks open almost immediately. I hear him stumble—idiotically dramatic, arms stretched like a zombie in a haunted house.
I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. Every time he does something stupid, it makes me smile.
Even if I won't tell him that. Not yet.
He finally reaches the bed, bumping his shin on the edge with a muffled curse. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
"You okay, graceful?" I whisper.
"I'm fine," he grumbles, crawling onto the bed like a wounded animal. He flops down beside me with a dramatic sigh. "You didn't see that."
"I saw everything," I murmur with a smirk, turning onto my side to face away from him.
The bed shifts as he gets settled. For a few moments, there's only silence. Then I feel the mattress dip closer.
His voice is barely above a breath. "You always smell like oranges."
I blink.
"You're weird," I whisper, heart doing this... thing I didn't ask it to do.
"Maybe." He chuckles softly. "But it's better than smelling like milk and despair."
I don't respond to that.
I just lie there, staring into the shadows dancing on my wall, wondering why the air between us feels warmer now. He's not even touching me, but I can feel the heat of him. It's… unnerving. And strangely comforting.
"I couldn't stop thinking last night," he murmurs suddenly. "After that dumb movie. About... stuff."
I shift, just enough to glance at him. He's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.
"What kind of stuff?" I ask, voice soft.
He hesitates. "Just… how weird it is, living with you. In a good way. It's like, you annoy the hell out of me, but if you weren't here, this place would feel... wrong."
My breath catches, and I hate that it does.
"Wow," I say instead, trying to keep my tone neutral. "That was almost a compliment."
"It was a compliment," he grins, eyes finally flicking toward me. "Don't get used to it."
I roll my eyes and tug the blanket up to my chin, turning back away from him.
"Goodnight, Jason."
"Goodnight, Orange Girl."
I can't help it—I smile. In the darkness, where he can't see.
And for the first time tonight, sleep actually feels possible.