Page 72 of Fragile

He sighs, waving his hand dismissively. “Like I said, it’s no big deal, so stop making it one.”

“Itisa big deal. I’m not about to share my favorite tape or glitter pens with you,” Hudson protests, holding his prized materials close.

“Relax, he’ll pick his own,” I soothe, then turn my head to Miles. “Think of colors that match and might complement each other and we’ll get you started.”

“Or you can go full on Barbie like Hudson and just use pink,” Seb muses, lacking his usual lap companion who had to miss today’s session in favor of practicing a new piece on her violin.

“There is nothing wrong with pink!” Hudson cries.

“I’m not great with color palettes,” Miles says, ignoring Hudson as he mutters to Seb about the shades of pink he uses. Seb rolls his eyes and bats the back of his head, mumbling something about being a princess.

“You don’t have to be. Here, let me show you.” I reach for the Sharpie pastel pens, and just as I do, I graze over his knee, and my body feels like it’s been electrocuted. Zap, zing, and bam, everything comes to life. Each nerve ending sings for his touch. Every single cell in my body wants him, and it feels impossible to hide. Suddenly, in my mind, I’m back on my knees for him again, doing exactly what we shouldn’t have done in the locker room. I’m also incredibly aware that we’re surrounded by our friends and my brother, which is why I’m too scared to glance at Miles. If he’s looking at me the way I think he might be looking at me, then I’ll combust on the spot.

Clearing my throat, I take a second before picking up the pens with shaky hands.

“Okay, so see how all these colors are lighter and most of them complement each other because of the shade they are?” I pick out two colors. “Like, how mint and lilac go well together.” Then I reach for the light yellow. “And when you add in another color, it just makes each one stand out more.”

He scratches the back of his neck, staring at the pens. “I, uh, you just said a bunch of stuff that doesn’t mean a lot to me.”

Thinking of a different approach, I set the pens down. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” he replies without missing a beat and holds my eye contact with a phenomenal amount of intensity.

“Light green or dark green?” I manage to force out, looking away, unable to maintain eye contact. I tell myself it’s not to arouse suspicion, but in reality, it’s because when he looks at me, I kinda wanna jump his bones. And whatever we’re doing isn’t public knowledge so I can’t do that.But if you just told people, you could. The thought doesn’t seem as intimidating as it has previously, but I still want to selfishly hold on to Miles for myself a little longer. I’ve spent my whole life sharing him and now he’s mine.

“Look at me again,” he says quietly as our friends busy themselves around us. I glance up, and he studies me, well my eyes, for a long time. “Hm, yeah, more of a light green.”

Air evaporates from the room rapidly because he’s looking at me. My eyes. His favorite color belongs to me.

I fumble, my fingers forgetting how to hold an object as I drop the pastel mint green sharpie. Miles leans over, plucking it from between my legs on the ground.

“Thanks.” He winks, and my tongue feels like it’s too big for my mouth. Can I even swallow at this point? Who knows?

I manage to nod, though it feels like my head is on a loose hinge, bobbing too much and not enough at the same time. Miles is still leaning close, his scent—a mix of clean laundry and something slightly woodsy—it’s familiar and completely enveloping me. It’s borderline suffocating, but in a way that makes me want to take a deeper breath, to pull more of him into my lungs.

He chuckles, low and easy, as if he can sense my nervousness and finds it amusing, maybe even endearing. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft with a hint of teasing

“I’m good,” I lie because, truthfully, I feel like I’m on fire and the main source of heat is coming from the apples of my cheeks. I’m probably lit up like a beacon. Glancing around, thankfully no one is paying attention to me.

“Liar,” he whispers. “Relax, you’re blushing.”

Yeah, I freaking know.

I pick up a few of my favorite stickers and place them loosely on the page I’m working on. It’s a new page, a blank one, and I need the distraction.

“So do we get to share what we’ve done at the end of each session here?” he asks, gesturing to my scrapbook.

Panic breaks out a light sweat on my brow. He absolutely, categorically, cannot see my scrapbook. It’s filled with pieces of him, us, our childhood and our friendship, but not in a platonic way at all. Anyone with eyes can see I’m in love with him if they saw my book. “We, uh, keep them personal, since secrets and all kinds of things can be in there,” I tell him, hoping my voice isn’t as shaky as I feel.

The panic subsides when he nods, frowning at his first page. “So, will you help me with my first page? Then I swear I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” The words slip out before I can rein them back in. “I mean, of course I can help you.”

I quickly busy my hands, ignoring the heat clawing its way around my body. Picking out stickers, tape, and some other colors that will complement the green, I gather them all and thrust the pile into his hands.

He takes it all from me, but I can’t meet his eyes, too scared that he’ll see the desperation I’ve spent so long hiding from him. I know we’re getting closer, a heck of a lot closer, but I’m still very much in love with him, and I’m not ready for him to see that yet.

“Have you ever seen Miles scrapbook before, Quinn?” Jay asks.

---