Page 168 of Runaways

"You came all over my pants against your will this morning," he replies.

I shake my head. "Whatever, Tate."

"We'll see you at home," Silas says, taking Tate's hand and leading him toward the front door.

I sigh and get back to the dishes, finishing and arriving home about an hour after them. They're awake, but in the other bedroom; I can hear them talking. I'm quieter than usual while I make my tea and sneak into my own room.

Thirty pages later, there's a knock on my door.

"Come in," I say, assuming it's Silas coming to say good night. Instead, Tate steps into the room.

"Can't take it back now," he says as my face falls in disappointment. "I'm like a vampire. Once you invite me in, that's it. It's a forever pass."

"You're not funny," I say as he sits beside me on the bed.

"Yes, I am. Let me see your hand."

"Why?" I ask.

"Just give me your hand," he says again. "Please?"

I close my book, set it aside, and hold out my hand. Tate takes a bottle of nail polish from his pocket, unscrews the top, and starts painting my nails.

It's OPI'sNo Chips on my Shoulderblue.

"Where did you get that?" I ask, noticing his own nails are blue now, too.

"Silas got it for me," he says.

Of course he did.

"I only have nine nails."

"I remember; that's okay. You know," he says, looking at me through dark lashes as he works, "Iwassorry. As soon as I said what I said to you in that motel, I was sorry. I was happy that day, too. I'm bad at apologies—you know that. And I don't like to change my mind because it feels like some kind of weird betrayal. Other hand, please."

I extend my other hand, and he takes it before continuing.

"I hurt you; I know that, and I'm so fucking sorry, Noah. I don't know how to be any sorrier, so if you want me to just leave you alone, then I guess I'll do it. I won't be happy about it, and, I mean, it'll be weird for obvious reasons, but I'll make it work, because I want you to be happy. I can't be the thing that makes you sad anymore—not when you used to look at me like…"

"Like what?" I ask.

"I don't know," he says. "It's stupid; it doesn't matter. Switch hands again, please. What are you reading about? I haven't seen that one before."

"It's stupid; it doesn't matter."

Tate narrows his eyes at me, and I let myself smile at him…just a little bit.

"I see what you did there."

I end up telling him about the book, anyway, which is about making medicines and antibacterial compounds, while my nails dry. It's only slightly frustrating, because I'm pretty sure he's not listening to a word I'm saying.

He's just watching my mouth move, relieved that I'm actually talking to him.

But I kind of like that, too.

"Anyway, it doesn't really matter right now because everything's dead, but I'm taking notes for when the ground thaws."

"Cool," he says.

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