My voice rose of its own volition. This almost feels like it could devolve into an argument, but I am right, dammit. We’ve known each other a week. We’ve been together for half that. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. I enjoy what I’ve seen so far, no matter how crazy that sounds.

He stalked me. He coerced me. He basically offered me a deal that can be defined as prostitution. And despite all that, I like him. Who he is. How he’s treating me. God, I like him more than I should if I was entirely sane. But we don’t know if this isn’t a phase, if we’ll burn away our chemistry by Christmas.

The very thought causes anxiety because I am currently relying on him for everything, including the roof over my head.

“Let’s table this conversation for a while, all right?” Keller says. “You’re a freshman. You can change direction in a year, or two, or three. You can get your bachelor’s, and then start all over again with something else entirely. It’s unimportant. I just wanted to say, I believe you’re talented enough to succeed. I believe that you don’t need a safety net. I said you had one in me, and I meant it, but I get that you’re not there yet. It’s unimportant.”

He returns to his book, writing more Latin-ish words.

I stare at him for a full minute, confused without even knowing why, until it hits me.

We had an argument, of sorts. It’s not the first time we don’t agree, but I started practically shouting, and opposed him. And not only did he keep his cool, not getting angry or defensive, but he defused the conversation, peeling away at the issues until there were none.

And he praised me.

I believe that you don’t need a safety net. You’re talented enough to succeed.

I’m shaken because this is not how people behave. Not in my experience.

I put down the tablet I borrowed from him to draw, and cross the sofa until I’m right against him. When he drops his book again, I climb onto his lap, bringing my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

I don’t know how to say it. I’m not sure saying another word won’t end up making me cry. So I just put my head against his chest and breathe, taking in the regular heartbeats.

He lets me hug him forever. Or at least, until his phone rings.

He sighs, accepting the call. “What?”

I never really noticed the difference between how he speaks to me and other people before.

The single word is cold. He’s not snapping per se, but his voice feels like it’s covered in needles, like a cactus. He comes with a tread carefully warning label to the outside world.