Page 55 of Sleep

“You’re wearing sports gear,” I observed, trying not to snivel too obviously.

“Sort of,” they confirmed. “I mean, you wouldn’t catch me dead in a gym, but my parents live in an old terrace, and the draughts are insane, not to mention it’s almost winter, Jonny. I tend to sleep in things like this in winter, to keep me warm.”

“I see.”

“This is where you say something suggestive like, ‘No need to worry about the draughts here, Pickle. I’ll keep you warm.’”

Their arms were around me, their chin resting on my head, fingers combing my hair, and I could smell their perfume, soft and clean, comforting. I said nothing, so they kept talking.

“I couldn’t go to bed, knowing you’d be back on this sofa doing all this again, getting up to no good and then not sleeping. Those panicky moments you have—I don’t want you to do this alone.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I didn’t dare move. I could probably sleep right here, bent awkwardly with my legs sticking out at angles, as long as I was next to Mabel.

“Did you eat this evening?” they asked.

“Not much,” I admitted. “I need to find a new place to eat since my favourite headwaiter isn’t around anymore.”

“I’m sure they’d still feed you down there.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Then it’s as well that I brought you some dinner. Just leftovers, but I went to the supermarket with my dad today and picked up a few other things—breakfast stuff, fruit—you know, basic nutrition.”

“Is that another small stab at my lack of hospitality?”

“Absolutely. Now sit yourself up and let me look after you. A little bit of food, then we’re going to bed. In a bed. Properly.”

“Will you stay?”

“Of course.” They did it again, tipped my chin up, but this time, I knew what to do. It hadn’t been as intimidating as I’d anticipated, that first little kiss, and I was more than ready for seconds as I looked up at them. Really looked. They smiled back at me.

“I have no idea what we’re doing here,” they admitted. “I’m not like this. I’m not impulsive or crazy, and I certainly don’t just move in with people on a whim.”

“Noted.”

“But I like you, even though the first time I saw you, you were just this scruffy guy in a tracksuit, and you looked tired and pissed off. But then I got to know you, and it’s like there was always something there?”

“A connection.” I nodded. “I’ve never felt anything like it. That sounds a bit flaky, but it’s the truth, Mabel. I felt it. I know you did too, and here we are.”

“And you kissed me this morning.”

“I did.” I smiled, very proud of myself, as they blushed.

“Kissing is nice. And…well. I usually don’t kiss on the first date.”

“I think we’ve gone way beyond first dates here, Pickle. We’ve even slept together.” I winked. They laughed. Good.

“What is this then? Date three?”

“Are we counting?”

“Nah.”

My face was edged closer to theirs. Soft lips. Fingers on my cheek. And then we were kissing. Goodness, I’d forgotten how incredible this could be. No drunken snogs in student halls or silly juvenile mouth-to-mouths with strangers came close to what it felt like to kiss someone you wanted to kiss. Someone who felt right. Small, soft nibbles of my lips, their nose nudging mine, a hand behind my neck as mine slipped behind theirs. They changed their posture and I matched it, like we were dancing, right there on the sofa.

“Jonny,” they whispered. “I need to feed you. Then…I’m going to take you to bed.”

“Yes.” I meant to all of that, but I was a little flustered.

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