I’m so sick of thinking. I don’t want to think anymore. About death or magic or Finn or what a massive mess I’ve managed to make of everything.

Just for tonight, I give myself this.

The curtain rises and the theater lights flick on.

“Will the DuPres miss you if I don’t have you home straightaway?”

Whatever boldness has taken Oliver tonight, I like it. “I doubt so, what do you have in mind?”

“I never did get to show you my room at the Sorbonne properly. Would you like to see it?” He can’t hide that he’s blushing too.

I want to say something clever. Instead, I give a simple “yes.”

I let him lead me by the hand down the stairs, out the door, and into his awaiting vehicle.

It’s silent on the drive. I don’t think either of us knows quite what to say. But his hand is still on mine, a warm pinkie trailing over the back of my hand, and that is enough.

Next to me, his body is warm, stifling, solid, and real. His fingers trail up my hand to play with the golden bracelet around my wrist, and such a simple gesture has me aching.

It’s not raining like it was the first night I came here, but the night still feels thick and heavy. Stars blot out the moon, and the campus is so quiet it is easy to pretend that in this moment, we are the only two people on earth. A planet of only two, how simple would that be?

Our footsteps echo through the empty courtyard. No part of me wants to turn and run.

Oliver’s hand trembles as he puts his key in the lock and turns.

His lips find mine the moment the door shuts. He doesn’t bother to click on the lights. We both knew this was coming. We’ve known since his hand found my leg in the opera house, or perhaps long before that, when his eyes met mine in the woods outside of Haxahaven or the first time they lingered too long on Delancey Street.

His mouth moves against mine and heat rises in my chest, and I just want. That’s how it’s always been with Oliver. He makes me want.

“Please,” I gasp. I don’t know what I’m asking for.

“Do you want me to slow down?” he asks.

“No.” No, no, no.

I went to church with Finn, but this feels more holy, hands pressed together, every place he touches like a prayer.

His breathing turns desperate as we trip to his narrow bed. Or maybe it’s me, it’s hard to tell with the blood rushing in my ears. But there’s something trapped in my chest and I need him to keep touching me.