Why is it so quiet? I thought it’d be louder in the city, but it’s even worse than back home. I flop over onto my stomach and reach around on the desk for my glasses. I used to live in the middle of fucking nowhere, but this place feels like... I dunno, the moon. The moon is quiet, I think. Fuck it, I’m tired.

Glasses on, I see that it’s 3:23 in the morning, and that’s way too early to be up on a Saturday. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, and then instantly regret it because it’s friggin’ cold. I pull my feet back up and sit there in the dark, wide awake now.

I wonder if Author is awake. He probably isn’t, he sleeps like a log and could probably fall asleep anywhere. I kind of want to go see, but things have been a little... awkward, lately. I fall back onto the bed and groan. He knows I like him, that’s obvious enough now, after I practically jumped him and made out with him a couple days back. But I can barely look at him anymore, I’m so embarrassed. He always just smiles at me, and then that makes me want to smile, and then I realized that fuck, that’s wrong, and then I just want to puke.

My face heats up because I’m blushing stupidly hard now that I’m thinking about kissing him. I’m grinning like a fucking moron because goddamn, no matter how messed up this is... that was probably one of the better things I’ve ever done. I’ve never kissed anyone I like before. I don’t think I’ve even liked anyone before, not like this. I take a deep breath and stare up at the ceiling. Everything is all speckled and dark because my glasses are dirty.

Maybe I should go. It’s my fault we haven’t been talking, and it’s not like he did this. Definitely all my fault. It’s the least I could do to go say sorry, or something. He’s my friend, at least, right? It’s kind of shit to not have anyone to talk to, and I want things back to normal, I guess.

But what if Phoebe is up? What if she sees me? Does she even know what’s going on? I don’t know if Author told her, but they’re close, he probably did. She spends half her time with him, I don’t know what the hell they talk about. I’ve never done anything to her, but she seriously hates me.

Sitting up, I take off my glasses and rub them on the hem of my shirt. Everything is blurry and colourless, but I’m used to this room now. I know where everything is, even in the dark. It used to feel like living in someone else’s house – I guess I was – but now it’s a little more homey. My meagre amount of stuff is put away in my dresser, I have a job here, I don’t think about home all that often. That’s bad though. I can’t let this city, this guy I hardly know change me... but I sort of am.

Glasses back on, I stand and make my way over to the door. I’m gonna go, and then I’ll just say sorry, and I’ll come right back in here and go to sleep, because then I’ll feel better. That’s the plan, that’ll work. My stomach is flip-flopping a bit too much, but that is the plan. I peek out the door and see that all the lights throughout the floor are off – I’m probably the only one awake. I don’t know where 14 sleeps at night, if she sleeps at all, but she’s not around either.

I make my way down the hall, just one door over to Author’s room. I’ll probably wake him up, but if I don’t do this now, I’m never gonna do it. Sleep-deprivation makes me brave, I don’t friggin’ know. A deep breath and I open his door. The smell of smoke instantly wafts out and I try to stifle a cough. For fuck’s sake, does he ever stop smoking? One step, two steps, I’m in, and I close the door behind me. The smoke smell is heavy, but not entirely bad. There’s something sweet about it, kind of comforting.

Author is sound asleep, just like I thought. His room is strange – almost every surface is covered in paper, and the papers are covered in clothes and pens and ashtrays and... him. He’s on the bed, half covered by a blanket, face pressed into a sheet of lined paper. I step carefully, not wanting to mess up any papers or impale my feet with a fucking pen or anything, and he just sleeps, one arm hanging off the bed, mouth slightly open. He’s at the wrong end of the bed, feet where his head should be.

What would my parents say about this? Growing up, it was pretty much drilled into my brain that this is wrong, that we would be wrong, if... you know, we were... together. Which I’m not even sure we actually are. My heart is beating too fast. I walk a little closer and I’m right by the bed, close enough that he could touch me if he woke up. Nobody here would even blink an eye, I bet, but back home it’s a man with a woman, and a woman with a man. But I don’t think anyone back home ever met The Author.

“H-hey,” I say, and my voice cracks, which really helps this whole awkward thing I’ve got going on right now. I clear my throat. “Um, hey, Author? Hey...” I reach out and tap his shoulder lightly. If he doesn’t wake up I still have a chance to get the fuck out of here, like I should. I really, really should, but then he sighs a little and opens one eye and he looks at me and fuck, what was the plan? I don’t remember what I was going to say because he looks so sleepy and when he lifts his head up the paper sticks to his cheek, but he still smiles when he realizes who this crazy person in his room is.

“You got... um, uh, yeah,” I inform him, and just reach out to pull the paper away instead of saying anything stupider. He sniffs and watches it fall to the floor, then blinks at me, eyes barely open. Whatever’s going through his brain must not be good, because he’s not smiling anymore. Was that important? Did I just toss part of War and fucking Peace on the floor?

“Wh’time issit then? Whsh’matter?” He mumbles. Okay, maybe not that important. His accent is so thick I can barely understand what he’s saying. It must get like that when he just wakes up. Just like every other thing he does, that makes me turn red. Sometimes I forget that he’s even got an accent, because Phoebe talks like him too, except more... I dunno, smart. Half the building does.

They told me once that this whole building used to be over in Sodan, but something made them move over here. People are from friggin’ everywhere around here, because it’s a new city and everyone just... moved right on in. Where I come from, there are humans. There are humans, and occasionally something else will come through town and we’ll all gawk at it. Here, it’s like a fucking circus. I live with... whatever it is Author is, and a friggin’ robot preteen, and Phoebe is a rocket scientist or something, it’s fucking insane.

“Sanny?” He says it a little clearer and I realize I was just staring off into space. “Are you alright?” He almost never calls me by my actual name, because he can’t say it right – or so he says. I don’t really like nicknames that much. I don’t even like calling him The Author, but I don’t think I’m allowed to use his name, even though I know it. Anyway, my name is Sanford. I wouldn’t mind if he said it funny.

“Sanford,” I mumble. “And yeah, I’m fine... sorry.” He stares at me for a moment longer, then flops face down on the bed and shuffles over towards the wall. He pulls his arm towards him and sighs quietly. He’s not mad, right? He doesn’t go anywhere all day, it’s not like he has to be up early, and today is a Saturday! If he’s mad, then I’m just friggin’ leaving, screw him, I don’t need to –

“C’mon, lie down,” he says into the sheets. What? No - what? That’s not what I’m here for, I have my own bed. He turns his head a tiny bit and squints at me. I hope he can’t see me in the dark, because I probably look like a tomato. I don’t want to be rude though, I guess, so I sit on the edge of the bed carefully. Author pushes the rest of the papers off onto the floor. His arms are so skinny, I don’t know how he’s not just collapsed in on himself.

I look down at my feet. I’m far from thin. I’m just wearing shorts and a shirt and my legs and arms are so pale they’re practically glowing. Even if I do sort of like him, why would he like me? If he can mess me up like this, heaven knows he could get anyone. I’m nothing special. I’m just some loser from a farm in the middle of fucking nowhere. ...I can’t fuck this up.

“Are you mad at me?” I turn and look at him over my shoulder. “You haven’t been around lately. You’re not here to kill me in my sleep, are you?” He chuckles, deeper than usual because he’s still sleepy, and I laugh nervously. He thinks I’m mad, so he hasn’t been talking to me, and I’m embarrassed, so I haven’t been talking to him, and we’re both pretty stupid. It’s my fault though. My parents never talked to me about these things, how would they feel about this? It’s probably stupid to worry about what my parents – my dead parents – think, but... they were good people. I think it’ll be okay.

I move down the bed a bit and swing my legs up, then flop down on my back. There. I’m lying down. I’m lying down, and he’s lying down, and he’s so warm I feel heat radiating off of him just there beside me. I know he’s looking at me, and I’m blushing so hard my face actually hurts. I just keep staring up at the ceiling but I carefully, carefully reach over and take his hand.

“I just wanted to say sorry,” I say quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’ve been a dick, and it has nothing to do with you, so you shouldn’t think it does, and... yeah. Sorry.” The silence is deafening. I’m about to get up and run the hell away when he squeezes my hand. His hands are soft, and warm, and big, practically wrapping all the way around mine.

“What is it, then?” He’s practically talking right in my ear. I can almost feel his lips on the side of my face. I shiver. He’s not demanding that I tell him, he just wants to know. He actually cares. I turn to lie on my side, face to face with him, but I avoid his eyes. I avoid looking at his lips, or anywhere else, so I just focus on the tip of his nose. He moves our hands up closer so they’re between us in the little warm valley between him and me.

“Sort of... overwhelmed, I guess? I’m kind of new to this.” It’s surprisingly cold in here. Apart from Author, it’s cold. The smell of smoke makes it seem like it should be warm, even if that doesn’t really make sense. I pull my hand away from his and grab the blankets down by his waist, awkwardly pulling them out from under me and up to my shoulder.

“What’s ‘this’?” Shifting around, he pulls his other hand out from under him and puts it on my head, ruffling my hair. “Sleeping in someone else’s bed, having a boyfriend? Being in love?” In love. I look him in the eye without even thinking about it and he’s smiling. Heart in my throat, I think about that for a second. This bed is more comfortable than mine. It smells a bit like smoke, just like everything else in here, but it smells like him, too.

“Pick one,” I mumble. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” I move closer and press my forehead against his collarbone. He’s breathing normally, not even phased. I do love him. He’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. Warm and happy, that’s what he makes me feel like. Warm, happy, and comfortable and cared about and important and a bunch of other things I can’t describe.

“I think you think too much,” he tells me, just a matter of fact. “Just stop thinking and do whatever you want.” That doesn’t really help all that much, Author. There’s too much to not not think about, there’s too much I want to do but I can’t work up the courage. I want to kiss him, right now, or touch his face and brush the hair out of his eyes, or even just smile at him. This whole time I’ve probably been making some kind of weird face.

So what do I want to do? How long do I get to think about this, is it some kind of test? What time is it, even? The curtains are closed, but I can see a bit of light coming in through the cracks, the yellow fabric glows. It’s the dark that’s light enough to seem like daytime, like when you wake up at noon and you just know you slept in too late. He’ll probably want to get up soon, he’s not going to wait too long. Last time we kissed, I started it, but that just made it awkward and weird and not that good because I don’t know what I’m doing. I bite my lip and look up at him.

“Will you kiss me?” I ask, but I’m so quiet I don’t know if he even hears. He looks a little surprised. I can actually see him blush a tiny, tiny bit, and that sets me off, and then he smiles. He sits up a bit and leans over me, and gently pulls my glasses off.

“You have very nice eyes,” he says, and I just plain stop breathing. He kisses me, and it’s fucking scary, but it’s good scary, and his lips are soft and careful but they know what they’re doing. I still don’t, and I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I just kind of hold onto his arms, too skinny to be holding him up. He pulls back but that’s not long enough for my liking, so I sit up and follow him and he gets the hint pretty quickly.

Hands around my waist, he kisses more firmly, not being as careful, like he was afraid of scaring me off before. I briefly hope he doesn’t expect me to ask every time he wants to do this, and then I take his advice and just stop thinking. I move my hands off his arms and onto his back where I can feel his muscles and shoulder blades and he feels so... solid.

We pull apart eventually, practically out of breath. He’s smiling, hair all dishevelled, so I push it back off his blurry face. Silently, we both lie back down – he pulls the blankets up and puts an arm around me, I move as close to him as I possibly can – and we fall asleep together. Not because it’s what I’m supposed to do, but because it’s what I want.