Page 2 of Until We Fall

He’s focused on reading.

Right?

I shift, trying to maneuver my knees in the cramped space, and then, ever so smoothly, settle my arm next to his on the armrest, my elbow barely brushing his, my eyes traveling toward his lap. I’m not really looking, but I’m notnot-looking. I’m just getting myself into a position where Icouldlook. If I wanted to. Mostly to see if he’s actually?—

He tilts his reader farther away.

Why is he doing that?

Does he not want me to see what he’s reading?

Why would he hide it?

“So…” I clear my throat, dry from the forced air in the plane. “Good book?”

His head darts up, eyes widening as they land on me. Freckles pinprick over his cheeks, a few larger ones trailingdown the side of his neck. One that I’ve always especially liked just to the right of his chin.

He blinks at me with iridescent gray eyes. “The book’s fine.”

“What’s it about?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

As far as I know, Rory mostly reads nonfiction. AKA, boring shit. I mean, it’s not boring when he tells me about it because he gets all excited, cheeks flushing and eyes lighting, and he always says something interesting. But it’s definitely not something I’d be able to sort through.

But why would he turn away his reader if it’s just that?

“Uh…” He presses his lips. “Nothing, really.”

He goes back to reading.

At least, he’spretendinglike he’s reading.

And now I’m curious. Like achingly curious. Honestly, I’m always curious about everything when it comes to Rory, though. He’s got so many thoughts and theories. He’s funny and inquisitive and unexpected and… Well, I could go on for days about him.

We’ve been friends since freshman year, and we spend pretty much all our free time together. We study together, eat together, live together. We even try to schedule our classes around the same time so we can commute together. Life is better with Rory.

And I don’t want to annoy him.

I stretch to fiddle with the vent, opening it to get a blast of cool air, and then lean back again. The sharp bones of his elbow, smaller than mine, press into my forearm. His skin is a creamy white under all those freckles, pale next to my darker brown.

And… what now?

A full minute passes. I stop my knee from bouncing. Twice. And I try not to look at him, but I’m not very good at that.

He finally glances over at me. “Do you need something, D?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

I’m good. Not curious at all. Not about to explode. Not scratching at my curly hair again. Nothing to see here.

His teeth scrape over his top lip. He studies me, and then he nods to the aisle. “Do you need out?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Okay.” A little pucker appears between his brows, right above the bridge of his glasses. “Um, Dorian?”

“Yep?”

“You’re being odd.”

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