What are you going to do for school?""Go to FSU with Tash.""What if there was no Tash? What would you do then?""I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe go wherever Gabe goes. Or come to New York with you."It fills me with warmth, running liquid through me, but it won't thaw my mind. "Why does it have to be, like, based off someone else? Why can't you just do what you want?""What I want is to be around people I care about.""Oh." I blink at the ceiling once, twice, eyelids getting heavy, eyes getting fuzzy. It makes sense when she says it like that.

I had also never realized before that I loved him, but I did. And his pain was my pain, and it hurt, but it also felt good in a strange way, knowing that we could share in it together.

It could have been avoided. This couch misery spiral, this … loss … I could’ve avoided the bulk of it simply by doing more. I could’ve given a shit...

You said no, though,” he says, slightly muffled. “When I asked you out. That one time.”“Wait, what?”“That time at work? I asked you to the movies, and you said you would invite Vera?”I pull back a bit. “That wasn’t—you weren’t asking me out. You said I could come, too, if I wanted. That’s not asking someone out.”“It was to me,” he says, sheepish, and I want to poke him, but I also kind of want to hug him forever.“Next time you want to ask someone out, maybe be less subtle. Maybe try to use the word date or together. Maybe phrase it as an actual question, you know, get some upward inflection going at the end of the sentence?”He just looks at me, a little bit like he wants to poke me, but maybe also hug me forever. Instead he just kisses me, and it’s a long time before we break apart again.

Close your eyes, real tight, and then count to three hundred. That’s all you have to do. You just count to three hundred, and when you open your eyes, five minutes will have passed. And even if it hurts or things are shitty or you don’t know what to do, you just made it through five whole minutes. And when it feels like you can’t go on, you just close your eyes and do it again. That’s all you need. Just five minutes at a time.

I pulled out my phone and thought about calling someone, but who was there to call? And what would I even say? It was just the kind of unpleasant surprise you had to share with someone, but I didn’t have anybody to share it with.

Wait,” he said, and he had his hand outstretched toward me, fingertips just brushing the sleeve of my sweatshirt, gently rooting me to the spot. I wanted to shrug him off, but at the same time, I wanted to fall against him and bury my face in his shoulder. I wanted to commiserate about what had just happened, and make sure he was okay, and discuss how Stanton really is psychotic. I did none of the above.

But there was something in his eyes at times that I would almost swear said something more. Some deeper sort of regard.