“I’m not going to stop, Tom. If you want me to, really want me to, then just let go. Otherwise…”

“What?”

“Get used to it.”

He went silent after that. His hand kept running a circle on my back, his breathing remained steady-even his heartbeat maintained itself at a regular, strong pace. Slowly, I started warming up. I was still shaking, but as I felt his hand on my back I gradually began to loosen up, allowing for my body to find his. I didn’t dare look up; I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to let go either. So, I didn’t. Instead, I stretched my arm out again and adjusted myself on his chest, and as I did, his heart started beating faster.

Just like that, whatever line I’d been afraid of crossing was now behind me. Eventually, Ethan took his laptop and opened it so we could watch Only Lovers Left Alive.

“Are you really a Marlovian?” I asked during a scene in which Marlowe told Eve he wished he could’ve based Hamlet on Adam.

“I dunno,” he said. “It’s an interesting theory. Though I don’t think—”

He fell quiet as Eve started reading on the plane.

“Love alters not,

with his brief hours and weeks

But bears it out even to the edge of doom

If this be error and upon me proved

I never writ, nor no man ever loved”

“Marlowe, Shakespeare, I don’t care. It’s beautiful.” I pointed out.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Hey, we should go as them.”

“What?”

“To the party.”

“Shit, I forgot about the party.”

“Come on; costume parties are fun.”

“Are they?”

“Yours will be. Who are you going to invite?”

“Everyone,” I said, figuring more people would probably equal less time for awkward encounters. “So are you.”

“Don’t worry. We just need to tell two or three people, and the rest will take care of itself.”

“Hopefully,” I said, still not too keen on the idea.

Ethan tried to scoot down a bit, clumsily balancing the laptop on his knees as he attempted to realign his pillow with his one free hand.

“Do you want to change positions?” I asked him, raising my head somewhat.

“No. Don’t move. I just have to…there.” He’d almost let his laptop slide over to the side and fall off the bed because he refused to let go.

I turned back to the screen, resting my head on his bare chest and mindlessly drawing shapes on his skin as we watched the film in silence.

“Imagine,” I said, “loving life that much.”

“Wouldn’t you want to be immortal?” he asked, ignoring, purposefully or not, my recent history.

I thought it sweet, to be quite honest. I would’ve hated for him to tiptoe around the subject, for whatever reason. “I would, if I had what they have.”

“Eve and Adam or Marlowe and Eve?”