I sniffed quietly, my tears finally starting to dry up, the gentle sounds of glass clicking coming from the kitchen. I took in a shuddering breath, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve.

I thumped my head onto my knees, ignoring the sounds around me while instead focusing on taking deep breaths.

Everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is fine, he’s not here anymore-

“Here.”

I yanked my head up again, sharply inhaling through my nose. I stared at Melve, who was holding out a fresh mug, the string of a tea bag hanging out of the side. He was waiting patiently, politely ignoring the mental breakdown I seemed to be going through.

Why is he being so nice to me?

I slowly outstretched my hands, accepting the cup slowly, as if it might be a trick. But he only sat down on the opposite end of the couch, taking care to sit as far away from me as possible, I noticed.

I took a tentative sip of tea, then found myself automatically relaxing when I realized it was made just the way I liked it. I took a shaky breath, and raised my eyes to Melve’s face, my thoughts skittering around my brain.

I don’t understand what’s going on.

I took a brief second to actually take a look at Melve as I contemplated his kindness. His hair seemed as smooth as ever, unlike mine, which I’m sure was sticking up in several directions. It fell gracefully over both shoulders, reaching down to just above his hips. He was sitting facing me, one leg on the floor and the other crossed over at the knee on top of it. He had a tattoo that curled around his right arm, a Japanese dragon that was coated in shades of blue and green, with bright red eyes.

I had noticed the tattoo several times, but I’d never let myself stare at it until now, maybe because my brain was still half-asleep and didn’t have any sense of self-preservation. It was extremely detailed, and although at the time I had a very slim bank of knowledge on Japanese mythological creatures, I could tell the dragon was exceedingly well done. I found myself staring at it, losing myself in the patterned scales until a cough dragged me back into reality.

“Are you okay?”

I snapped my eyes back up to Melve’s, fear quickly replacing fascination.

“Y-yeah. Yes.” I took another sip of tea, trying to busy my hands with something.

Why are you treating me this nicely?

Melve raised an eyebrow at me, and I fiddled with the mug, drawing my legs up closer to my chest, uneasiness clawing it’s way up my throat.

Don’t, don’t call me out on it, I know you know I’m lying, but just accept my answer, please. I don’t wanna talk about it, I can’t talk about it.

The color of Melve’s eyes had never bothered me like they bothered me then, the blue unnaturally bright in the darkness of the early morning, him staring me down, like he could read all my secrets as if they were written on my skin.

Melve’s mouth twitched, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to push, going to ask questions that I couldn’t answer, but instead he murmured a quiet, “Okay.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. I was exhausted, and it felt like all of the energy had been drained out of my body. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, and it was taking its toll on me. But the last thing I wanted to do was go back to my dark, empty room, where it was quiet enough for memories to sneak back in.

So I stayed on the couch despite how tired I was, because I didn’t want to be alone and there was only one person available to prevent that. Even if that one person was a serial killer.

My legs were starting to hurt, and my eyelids were starting to droop. I let my head fall onto the back of the couch, still sniffling occasionally. I stretched out my legs a little, taking in deep, even breaths. I stared into my cup of tea, sleepily blinking at the teabag floating.

“What’s your favorite book?”

“Huh?” I jerked my head up, albeit a little slowly, my reactions delayed.

Melve blinked at me, his face unreadable. “What’s your favorite book?”

“Um, my favorite book?” I asked, drawing my legs back up to my chest. “Well, I don’t know if I could choose just one, there’s so many I love.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but I had, and it was too late to take it back. It seemed incredibly absurd that I was responding to a conversation about books of all things, especially considering I just cried in front of him, and less than twenty-four hours ago I’d said, “Fuck you,” to his face.

Well, I mean. At this point. This might as well happen. It’s not like I could make things any worse right now.

While I was deciding on whether or not to answer him, my mouth decided it didn’t need my brain’s approval, and before I could stop myself, out loud I was saying, “I like historical fiction and satire the most, although there’s a handful of romance stories that I could easily say are in my top ten.”

Okay cool, I guess this is what we’re doing now.

“Now, of course, historical romances are a great subcategory themselves, and really I’m not sure if I could even just pick one from that genre, although I suppose if I had to, The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller was one the best books I’ve ever read, and I full-heartedly recommend it. I mean, I sobbed like a baby, but that’s to be expected.”

I’d hardly even noticed that I’d started thinking out loud, and I thumped my head back on the sofa, lolling it around as I spilled out my thoughts for a stranger to hear and judge.

“Another romance kind-of-satire is Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, and I’ve read it so many times over. It makes me laugh, and I love how they weave around the English language, it’s so admirable.

If we’re talking just satire, however, I’ve gotta say Naked by David Sedaris, which was one of the first satirical books I ever read, and it remains one of my favorites to this day.”

I hadn’t noticed myself starting to speak faster and faster, and I only had one hand on my mug, the other one waving around in the air as I gave an unasked-for essay on the books I’d enjoyed.

“And well I mean, of course, I can’t forget about The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, which, gosh, I don’t even know if I could put it into a category, although I guess it’d be romance a bit and a healthy dose of fantasy, but man I can’t even describe to you how that book made me feel, I didn’t come off that high for days.

Oh god, not to mention-” I cut myself off suddenly, for the first time in my entire monologue catching a glimpse at Melve’s face. I snapped my mouth shut, a blush blooming violently across my face.

Melve’s face was just as unreadable as before, and a gaping pit opened in my stomach, my insides churning.

So turns out, I can make it worse.