“Same,” she replied. She made little circles with her fingertips on my back, and I closed my eyes, skin tingling everywhere, drinking it in. Until finally, regretfully, I had to pull out, and creakily make my way to the bathroom. When I got back, Lily was already half asleep.

“I should go pee,” she mumbled as I wrapped my comforter around us. “But. Mmm. Tired.”

I kissed her temple. “You do you, Lily.” Even though she was right. She should definitely pee. But she only smiled, eyes closed, and blindly threw an arm around me.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

7

Lily & Sam

Hours later, I woke to weak light filtering through the sole window in Sam’s bedroom. It was still early, far too early to be awake on a day after karaoke. My head ached; my throat was a desert. Maybe it was the unease of being in a different bed that awoke me; maybe Sam had shifted in their sleep and surprised my system.

I looked over at them, resting next to me, and they looked so peaceful. Their hair was delightfully tousled, the whiskers on their chin that had scratched my skin last night more defined. We had drifted in the night, but one of their ankles was still hooked around mine. It was hard to look at them, their loveliness yanking on my gut like an anchor, making me doubt everything: what we had done last night, what I was going to do next. Making me want to stay.

So I looked at the walls instead. I had barely comprehended anything about Sam’s apartment last night, other than it was small and neat and had lots of nicely framed things on the walls. But now, in the dim light, the lust drained from my system—not completely, with the heat of their body still so close to mine, the preciousness of their sleeping face, but enough that I could think more clearly—I realized I was completely surrounded by maps.

Straight ahead, the wall opposite the bed seemed dedicated to maps of subway systems: mazes of angular, brightly colored lines and interlocking zig zags. London. Tokyo. Boston. Paris. New York. Seoul.

To my left, next to the window, there was a large map of National Parks of the United States.

I craned my head, tried to see what was above Sam’s headboard. Something sepia toned and historical looking, a spider’s web of patterns and boundaries and landmarks.

Finally, I took a deep breath and looked at Sam again. They were so quiet, the in and out of their breathing the most soothing, gentle thing. I wanted to meditate to it, let it work itself into all of my sore spots.

Instead, I leaned over and pushed their shoulder.

Later, I would wonder why I did it. Why I didn’t just get up, quietly gather my things, and leave.