Conner keeps me company in the sewing room, silent, as I use the denim fabric to work on the pant legs. I am focused, intent, single-minded, as Conner reads in the corner. Sometimes I feel his eyes fall on me. At some point, he gets up and puts on a record. It fades into the background, helps keep me calm. 

The day grows darker, the snow falls harder, and still I work away. At some point, my mom brings me a bowl of noodle soup. Conner leaves for an hour to eat dinner and help with the dishes. My eyes are blurry, begging for release, but it won’t come. I have to finish.

And then, a little after eleven o’clock, I do.

It’s not perfect. I’m no longer even sure if it’s good. But it’s finished, and it’s more or less what I imagined it to be.

Everyone else in the house wants to go to bed, but I need to shoot some pictures for the application. Detail shots, views of the whole garment. Conner relays the information to the parents, telling them to stay clear for another half hour as I finish with my shooting.

When that’s done, I upload the photos to my laptop and head to the online portal for the application. Everything else is done, every essay has been written—this is the last piece.

I upload the pictures, take a breath, and then press ‘submit.’

The release, the clarity I feel is unprecedented. I almost feel too relaxed, too at peace. I wonder if this is what Conner feels like when he sets down the weight bar at the gym.

“It’s done,” I tell Conner. He beams at me, proudly. It makes me feel proud, too.

“You’re amazing,” he says.

Downstairs, my mom, exhausted, pulls out a spare set of sheets for Conner. He’ll be sleeping in the living room, on the couch. Of course, it’s better that way, but even having him in the same house is making me face some strange feelings. I’m not ready to confront them, not after this whole emotional trial.

“Here you are, sweetie,” my mom says, smoothing out a big wool blanket. “If you need anything else, let me know. We’re off to bed.”

“Goodnight, Conner,” Ben says. “Goodnight, Dean. I’m taking the Jeep keys, by the way. No midnight breakouts."

Both our parents head upstairs. Conner and I look at each other, not sure what to say.

“I guess I’ll head up too,” I say. “I’m beat. Thanks again for everything.”

“My honor,” Conner says. “Goodnight, Dean.”

#

I wake up in my room later, my legs jumpy. It’s 2 AM. Strange, stormy shadows flit about the floor of my room. I look out my window and see the huge mass of snow covering the neighborhood. It’s still falling, but much lighter now. Prettily.

The night-light in the corner of my room has flicked off. Sometime in the last hours, the power must have gone out.

I think about Conner downstairs, sleeping, and suddenly decide that I’m thirsty. I should get some water from the kitchen.

I yawn and stumble out of bed, down the stairs, past the living room. On the sofa, Conner is wrapped tight in the wool blanket. I shiver—it’s much colder down here. 

As I’m filling a water glass, a small voice calls out to me: “What are you doing?”

Conner is awake, sitting up. I come over to him with my glass of water.

“Thirsty,” I say. “Can’t sleep?’

“Kinda weird being in a new place,” Conner says.

“True.”

“And—” He stops, hesitating.

“What?” I say. I can tell he’s holding something back.

“I know I’m grown-up, I know I’m an athlete and big and strong, but…I’m a little afraid of the dark.”

I contain a small laugh. I’m ready to make some joke about this, insult him for his immaturity…but then I realize what a shitty way that would be to repay his kindness. 

“It’s scary,” I say. “Especially with the power out. Do you...want to come up to my room?”

Immediately, I think I made a mistake. So stupid to ask Conner this!

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. If that’s alright with you.”

Hardly believing what’s happening, I lead Conner up to my room. I close the door quietly, very aware of my mom’s room, where both she and Coach Ben are sleeping. 

“I guess we can’t really watch a movie or anything,” I say.

“Let’s watch the snow,” Conner says.

We both climb onto my bed. The room is warmer with his heat. On our knees, we watch the gentle flakes fall, everything quiet and feathery and soft.

“Like a snow globe,” Conner says.

He lets out a yawn and slinks down, lying his head against one of my pillows. My heart thumps. I slowly slide down too. Our bodies are so close to each other, side-by-side, not touching. If I hiccuped I would feel him against me.

“Do you think your mom is mad at my dad’s snoring?” Conner whispers.

“Probably. Do you think your dad is mad that my mom hogs the blankets ?”

“Definitely. He hates that.”

“I can’t imagine how much they’re annoying each other,” I say. “My mom and her endless stories that she keeps getting too distracted to finish.”

“Not nearly as bad as my dad’s weird obsession with fly-fishing. She must be so bored.”

We fall silent. Outside, I imagine I can hear the snow landing.

Conner shifts his body, turns to his side. I can feel his warm, sleepy breath against my cheek.

“I wish things weren’t so complicated,” he says.

My eyes stare up the ceiling, wide. I’m afraid if I look over at Conner he’ll disappear, like this is all just a 3 AM dream.

“Why?” I ask.

I wait for his answer, but there’s only silence.

Then his face is above mine. His perfect face. His eyes shining with the light of the snow outside. His lips descending toward mine.

He kisses me, very softly, snow falling on snow. I am an icicle, melting completely away. I lean forward, deeper, my hand moving for his back.

But then his lips are gone from mine.

I open my eyes and see Conner moving to the edge of the bed.

“Conner?” I say.

He looks nervous as he stands up, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t do this.”

He goes to my door, walks out, and it’s like everything I’ve ever cared about, every feeling I ever had, goes out with him.