It's almost one when I finally give up and call Mom again. I stumble away from the living room and call her, pressing my back against the hallway wall. It's hard to keep my eyes open now, and when she doesn't pick up, I accidentally call Aunt Missy. I call Mom again, and this time, when it gets to her voicemail, I breathe and listen to the silence on the other line.

It hurts. It hurts worse than when I broke my leg falling into Pequot Creek on a camping trip. Worse than getting lost in Legoland. Worse than every single ailment and broken something I've experienced rolled into my chest and crushed around my heart. I don't know the name of the feeling, but it suffocates. It leaves me dizzy and angry and aching with sadness in every joint of my body.

The line disconnects.

“You...fucking,” I hiss through my teeth, wiping my eyes of gathering tears. I feel useless crying, mad that I'm even getting so emotional over something as stupid as my own mother not picking me up.

I want to throw my phone. I want to leave and let Mom get worried about where I am. I want to destroy her stupid fucking plan for me and watch it burn in the fiery pits of hell until there's nothing left except charred hopes and dreams. I want to watch Mom cry at the ruins of her plan, squirm to piece everything back together, and then I scream as loud as possible.

“Hey.” I blink, and Aiden's either materialized beside me or drifted in from the living room to check on me. His hand reaches for my arm, but he restrains himself. His jaw is clenched. “You okay?”

I cover my eyes, only realizing how wet my face is. “God, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Here I am, taking up your time, keeping you up, inconveniencing you, – ”

“You could never.”

“I'm so sorry,” I sigh. “If...if I knew my mom would be this...this shitty – ”

“Stay the night,” Aiden whispers. “It's late. I have the space.”

“I can't do that,” I offer weakly.

“Tom.”

More tears gather in my eyes. I sigh, and my breath shakes. “L-let me make you breakfast. As penance.”

Aiden smiles. It's broad and toothy, and my heart stops when I see it. A thousand leagues brighter than his easy smile. He touches my shoulder. “Raid the kitchen all you want. I'll eat and love whatever you make.” No sense of backtracking to rephrase it as platonic. He's getting sloppier.

A snort escapes. “What will happen if I heat up the Hawaiian pizza?”

“I'll eat it,” he says warmly. “I said. I'll eat and love whatever you make.”

I almost tell him he shouldn't say shit like that, echoing his own words back at him, but it feels so underhanded and wrong, especially this late at night, that I let it slide. “Which room do you want me to take?”

He stares at me for a long second before shaking his head. I can almost hear him quip, I don’t want you anywhere. I need you in my bed. Trying to make whatever this whole night was lighter to deal with. “You can take the guest room. Right next to the study, and the bathroom's next door. Do you need any...spare clothes? Toothbrush?”

“I'll survive one night.” My heart still sinks. “I'm still sorry.”

“It's fine,” he says. “I should be the one apologizing to you. I unloaded a lot. You shouldn't have to deal with my messiness.”

“I could say the same to you,” I whisper.

Aiden shakes his head. “You're the only one I'd want to share my messiness with.” His eyelids widen slightly in realization, and he starts to backtrack: “I – it's not that I'm deranged batshit crazy or anything,” he laughs off, the sound too hazy and uncertain-sounding. “I – okay, maybe I'm a little crazy with the intensity of where I want to go, but sometimes, I just have a lot on my mind.”

I fold my hands in front of me. “Doesn't everyone?”

He considers the question carefully. “Of course,” he finally answers, “but...some things I can't tell anyone.” His stare lingers on me, and they dart down to where my hands rest by my hips. He means me, and the sadness of knowing that runs through my body in a shudder.

“Not even me?” I ask, kind of out of obligation and kind of out of curiosity to see what he says. My fingers are cold as I start wringing them.

He stares, and his easy smile returns, as if it needed a moment to reset. Aiden shakes his head, saying nothing.

I sigh, covering my eyes. “God,” I whisper, amazed that I'm still upright. I drop my hand and look at him. “I won't say anything about what you've told me. I promise.”

That easy smile grows. Now I feel cheated because I've seen the real thing. “Same to you.”

“It doesn't matter if you do or don't. Frankly, I don't really care.” I touch his arm. “I don't care about what happens to me. But I do care about you. I care that we...” I trail off, at a loss for words.

“I do. I want to,” Aiden says. He covers my hand with his. “Not just because it's fair, but because it's you.”

My chest tightens. He holds my hand with a delicate touch, enough to make sure I can pull away if I want to. I don't. “You don't have to.”

“Yes. I do.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He inhales. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Night, Aiden.”

He doesn't let go of my hand.

I don't know if I have the strength to take it back. His gray eyes are kind of beautiful under the white lights, tinted a cool blue, and his posture is open to me again. His eyes are wide and waiting, holding his breath like he's waiting for me to make the decision that'll change his life forever.

A shiver crawls upward from my toes, and my fingers tighten around his arm. He's always like this. He never asks me out for anything, even platonically; Aiden Martin is always, just nice. Conversations are nice. Interactions are nice. Everything that he does for me are nice. Pleasantly, excruciatingly, wonderfully nice. He doesn't even have my number.

And the longer he stares at me, I'm realizing how horribly, horrible screwed I am. How much Aiden Martin is going to ruin me with his easy smile.

Because I want this. Maybe I need this. I don’t know, but I want him to look at me like this. I want him be his wonderful, kind, gentle self with me, and I want him to be so ungodly selfish and look into my soul as he kisses me and then asks me if that was okay. I want to watch him work so hard and get the praise he rightfully deserves, and then across the room he looks at me and smiles and makes us feel like the only ones there. I want to see his broad and toothy smile over and over and over. I want him to be gently petty and jealous and show every single messy side of himself to me and respond in kind when I'm equally petty and jealous. I want his hands in the morning and his shoulders relaxed at night. I want his hands on my face. I want his laugh, to hear what it is when it’s unrestrained. I want to know Aiden from the ground up, without his facade, without everything he feels the need to do. I want everything. I want every single moment of him for as long as he wants me.

Aiden steps back.

It's groundbreaking, and rocks me out of my daydream and down to my core. The hallway's lack of color adds to the isolation felt, and the lighting accentuates the shadows glaring down.

I can't have this.

“Sorry,” he whispers, tone solemn and low.

How selfish can I be?

“Night.”

Come back. Please.

“...goodnight, Aiden.”

He treks back into the living room and turns off the lights.

I drift into the guest room and don't sleep.

No doubt he doesn't, either.