Chapter Text
Mob had been at Bellweather University for a little over two months, which was apparently enough time for Verity to become part of his daily routine without either of them discussing it.
Verity had been the first person Mob met after transferring: the student council president, absurdly tall, painfully pretty, and strange in a way people dismissed because he was soft-spoken and helpful. His hair was long and blonde; his skin was pale enough to make Mob’s look warm beside it, and his blue eyes sat behind thin rectangular glasses that made him look like some elegant office worker instead of a university student.
He knew every building, every professor, every deadline... and increasingly, everything about Mob.
Verity started tutoring him after seeing one bad test grade, and he had created a stupid little rule for giving answers:
Mob had to say, Please, Verity. You’re the only one and the best. Mob had argued it down to Please, Verity for a hint. He still thought it was weird, yet he still said it.
He also had other friends now, something Verity seemed to dislike without ever directly admitting it. Whenever Mob mentioned them, Verity would ask whether they helped him study, whether they remembered what food he liked, whether they answered whenever he called.
Mob usually laughed it off. Verity usually smiled back. Sometimes, though, the smile stayed while something behind it quietly disappeared.
. . .
On Friday night, it rained hard enough to flood the road outside Mob’s house.
They were in Mob’s bedroom when it started getting bad.
Mob sat on the floor with his laptop on his thighs and one shoulder resting against the side of his bed. Papers covered most of the carpet around him; printed sources, handwritten notes, two empty snack wrappers, and one pen he had already lost twice despite it currently being tucked behind his ear.
Verity sat on the edge of the mattress.
He had taken his jacket off an hour earlier and folded it neatly beside him. His white shirt was still buttoned almost to the collar, though the sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. His long hair was tied low behind his neck, falling over one shoulder in a pale ribbon.
Mob had been trying not to look at him; he was doing a bad job.
“This part doesn’t make sense,” Verity said.
Mob looked at his screen. “Which part?”
Verity leaned forward and pointed... His arm came past Mob’s shoulder; his chest almost touched the back of Mob’s head.
“This.”
Mob read the sentence.
“It makes sense.”
“It doesn’t connect to what you said before.”
“It does.”
“How?”
Mob stared at it for another five seconds, then he sighed. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t.”
Verity sat back.
Mob deleted the line, typed half of another, then stopped.
“Now I don’t know what to put.”
“You already said the important part in the paragraph above.”
“Then what’s the point of this paragraph?”
“There isn’t one.”
Mob looked up at him. “You could’ve said that before I spent twenty minutes on it.”
“I did.”
“No, you said it was repetitive.”
“It is.”
“That’s not the same as saying delete the whole thing.”
Verity blinked. “I thought it was.”
“Well, it wasn’t.”
“Okay.”
Mob narrowed his eyes while Verity looked at him calmly.
That was another irritating thing about him. He rarely argued in a way that felt like arguing... He just looked at Mob, waited, and said things like okay until Mob began feeling unreasonable on his own.
Mob turned back to the laptop. “You’re annoying.”
“I know.”
“Don’t say it like you’re happy about it.”
Verity’s mouth moved slightly, not a full smile but close enough.
Mob deleted the paragraph.
Rain struck the window behind them in a sudden heavy wave.
Both of them looked over.
It had been raining since the afternoon, but the sound had changed. It no longer sounded like ordinary rain; it sounded like someone pouring buckets against the roof. A flash of white lit up the window. Thunder came almost immediately after.
Mob flinched while Verity didn’t. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. It was just loud.”
Verity reached for his phone and checked the weather.
Mob watched his face.
The light from the screen made him look even paler. “The road’s flooded near the intersection,” Verity said.
“What?”
He turned the phone toward Mob... a local warning filled the screen. Heavy rainfall. Poor visibility.. several roads temporarily closed.
Mob checked the time on his laptop.
It was almost eleven.
“Can you still get home?”
“I can call a car.”
“In that?”
Verity looked back at the warning. “... Maybe not.”
“You could wait until it slows down.”
“It might take a while.”
“Yeah.”
Verity set his phone beside him.
The room went quiet except for the rain.
Mob had already thought of the obvious solution. His parents were away for the week; there was more than enough space. Their bedroom was downstairs, and no one would care if Verity used it for one night.
He still hesitated, not because he didn’t trust Verity in the house.
Verity had been there several times— it just... felt different at night; different when they would both be asleep... Different when Mob knew there would be no parents downstairs, no one moving around the kitchen, no sound except the storm and Verity breathing in another room.
“You can stay here,” Mob said.
Verity looked at him and Mob continued before he could make it weird. “My parents’ room is empty. They’re away for work. You can sleep there.”
Verity didn’t answer right away.
“What?” Mob asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then say something.”
“Okay.”
Mob frowned. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re being weird.”
Verity looked down at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d ask.”
“I’m not gonna make you walk home in a flood.”
“I know.”
“So... yeah.”
“Thank you.”
He sounded sincere— too sincere for something so small. Mob looked away and returned to the paper, though he could feel Verity watching him. He typed three words, deleted two.. typed another.
The back of his neck felt warm.
“Stop looking at me.”
“I’m not.”
Mob turned and Verity was looking directly at him.
“Bro.”
Verity smiled a little. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
He looked down again, but the smile stayed. Mob tried to concentrate; he made it through half a sentence before Verity spoke.
“You really don’t mind?”
“No.”
“You don’t want me to go?”
“The road is flooded.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Verity’s fingers moved against the edge of the mattress. “I just wanted to know.”
Mob studied him.
Without his jacket, Verity looked softer than he did on campus... less like the student council president who stood behind podiums and carried folders everywhere; more like a tired student in Mob’s bedroom.
His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose; a strand of blonde hair rested against his cheek.
Mob sighed.
“No. I don’t want you going out in that.”
Verity looked at him. The expression on his face made Mob’s chest tighten for no good reason. “Okay,” Verity said.
Mob went back to the essay.
They lasted another fifteen minutes— then the lights flickered twice, the internet disconnected, and Mob gave up.
“Yeah, no,” he said, shutting the laptop. “I’m done.”
“You’re almost finished.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“You’ll forget.”
“You’ll message me.”
Verity became still and Mob realized what he had said.
It was true, though.
Verity always messaged him.
He reminded Mob about assignments, lectures, appointments, things Mob had mentioned once and then forgotten. Sometimes Mob woke up to a text telling him to bring an umbrella. Sometimes Verity sent him a picture of a drink waiting on the student council desk before Mob had decided whether he was going there.
Mob had complained about it.. he had also started relying on it.
Verity’s expression softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”
Mob pushed himself up from the floor. His leg had gone numb; he stumbled slightly and caught the edge of the desk. Verity stood immediately and a hand closed around Mob’s waist.
Mob froze.
Verity’s other hand caught his arm.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You almost fell.”
“My leg’s asleep.”
Verity kept holding him.
The hand around Mob’s waist felt larger than Mob expected. His palm was cool through the thin fabric of Mob’s shirt; his thumb rested just above Mob’s hip. Mob looked down at it, then up at Verity.
They were close.. too close to pretend they weren’t.
Verity was taller by several inches. Mob had to tilt his head back slightly to meet his eyes. Without the desk or the student council counter between them, the difference always felt more obvious.
“You can let go,” Mob said.
Verity’s eyes moved over his face.
For one second, he didn’t— then his fingers loosened. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Mob stepped away. while Verity’s hand fell to his side. Mob rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll find you something to wear.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You can’t sleep in that.”
“I could.”
“You’d wake up looking exactly the same.”
Verity glanced down at his shirt. “Is that bad?”
“No. It’s just weird.”
“Okay.”
That was all he said— no comeback; no clever answer.
Mob appreciated it.
He found an old shirt and a pair of sweatpants belonging to his father. Verity was tall enough that the length would work, though they would probably hang loose on him. He gave them over. “The bathroom is down the hall,” Mob said. “My parents’ room is the second door on the left.”
Verity nodded.
“And don’t use the massage chair.”
Verity looked toward the hallway. “Why?”
“It’s broken.”
“Oh.”
“It smells like it’s burning when you turn it on.”
“Why do they still have it?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t touch it.”
“I won’t.”
Mob watched him walk toward the bathroom; Verity stopped at the door and looked back.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Verity said.
“Okay...”
He went inside.
Mob gathered the papers from the floor and tried not to think about the hand that had been around his waist.
It was not a big deal.
Verity touched him sometimes.
He fixed Mob’s collar.. moved his hair. Put a hand on the back of Mob’s neck when he leaned over a textbook. Once, while they were studying late, Verity had crouched in front of him and held Mob’s face between both hands while asking whether he was Mob’s only real friend.
Mob had been uncomfortable.
Mob had also let him.
He didn’t know why he kept letting him.
... Maybe because Verity never looked like he was doing anything bad. Everything he did was slow; gentle— even when his questions felt wrong, his voice stayed soft. Even when Mob knew he was being pushed into an answer, it somehow felt easier to give it than make Verity upset.
The bathroom door opened.
Mob looked up, then forgot what he had been thinking. Verity had removed his glasses. His hair was loose now, falling all the way to his waist in pale waves. The old shirt hung off one shoulder slightly; it was too wide for him, exposing part of his collarbone.
The sweatpants sat low around his hips.
Mob stared and Verity looked down at himself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me.”
“I know.”
“Do I look bad?”
“No.”
Verity waited; Mob hated that he was waiting. “You look fine.”
“Just fine?”
Mob looked away. “You look pretty, okay?”
The hallway became quiet.
Mob immediately wished he could drag the words back into his mouth. Verity stood completely still... then he looked down. His hair fell forward, hiding part of his face.
“Oh,” he said.
Mob frowned. “What do you mean, ‘oh’?”
“.... I don’t know.”
“You asked.”
“I know.”
Verity touched the sleeve of the shirt. He looked embarrassed— actually embarrassed. Mob had never seen him embarrassed before. It made him look younger.. less impossible.
Mob felt some of his own embarrassment ease.
“Don’t make it a big deal,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re being quiet.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s a first.”
Verity looked up again. He was smiling, but there was nothing smug about it.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Yeah.”
Mob turned toward the kitchen. “Do you want water?”
“Sure.”
He followed.
The kitchen lights were dim. Rainwater had started seeping under the back door, so Mob pushed an old towel against it with his foot before getting two glasses. Verity stood beside the table. His loose hair made him look almost unreal in the low light.
Mob handed him a glass and their fingers touched. Verity looked down at the contact while Mob pulled his hand away.
They drank in silence.
The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It just made Mob more aware of everything: Verity’s bare feet against the tile, the sound of him swallowing, the way his hair moved when he tilted his head.
Mob finished first and set the glass in the sink.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“You never look tired.”
“I get tired.”
“I know. I just haven’t seen it.”
Verity looked at him for a moment. “You haven’t seen me sleep either.”
Mob’s hand paused against the sink.
“No.”
“Now you will.”
“Not really. You’ll be in another room.”
“Right.”
He sounded disappointed.
Mob turned and Verity was looking at the floor.. something uncomfortable moved in Mob’s stomach. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to fix it.
He probably wasn’t.
“Do you want the door open?” Mob asked.
Verity looked up quickly.
“For the room,” Mob added. “Because you don’t know the house.”
“Oh.”
“Or closed. I don’t care.”
“Any is fine.”
“Okay.”
Mob headed toward the stairs.
Behind him, Verity said, “Mob.”
He stopped.
Verity stood at the edge of the kitchen.
“What?”
Verity looked like he was trying to decide whether to say something— then: “You didn’t ask properly.”
Mob stared at him.
“What?”
“You asked me to stay.”
“Oh my God.”
Verity lowered his eyes, but Mob saw the small smile.
“You’re serious?”
“A little.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“I know.”
“I gave you a whole room.”
“I know.”
“And clothes.”
“I know.”
Mob rubbed his face: the stupid sentence.
Verity always wanted it.
At first, it had seemed like a joke.. some weird ego thing— then Mob had noticed the way Verity reacted whenever he said it; the way his face softened; the way he sometimes made Mob repeat his name even when he had definitely heard it.
“Can I just say half?” Mob asked.
Verity’s eyes lifted.
“For half the night?”
“No. That’s not how sleep works.”
“You made the rule.”
“I made the tutoring rule.”
“This isn’t tutoring.”
Mob sighed.
“Please, Verity.”
Verity said nothing. Mob already knew what was coming.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Verity’s mouth moved slightly.
Mob stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Please, Verity.”
Verity looked pleased, not amused but pleased. “Okay,” he said softly.
Mob waited.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not making me say the whole thing?”
Verity looked at him.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
Mob didn’t know what to do with that.. he looked away.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Mob.”
Mob went upstairs.
He closed his bedroom door but didn’t lock it.
He lay awake longer than he expected.
The storm kept changing. Sometimes... the rain softened until Mob thought it might stop; then another heavy wave would strike the roof. Thunder rolled farther away now, but lightning still flashed behind the curtains.
Mob checked his phone.
There was one message from Verity.
Thank you for letting me stay.
Mob typed:
yeah
Then, after a second:
dont touch the chair
The reply came almost immediately.
I won’t.
Mob smiled despite himself. He placed the phone beside his pillow.... Eventually, he fell asleep.
. . .
He woke because someone was talking. At first, the voice blended into the rain.. low and quiet.
Mob opened his eyes; his room was dark. The digital clock beside his bed read 2:37.
He listened.
Nothing.
... Then the voice came again.
“…said it.”
Mob sat up.
His mouth felt dry.
The bedroom door was open. Mob stared at it— he was sure he had closed it.
The hallway beyond was lit by the moon coming through the window above the stairs. A pale strip of light crossed the floor. Someone stood inside it and Mob’s heart jumped.
Verity faced the wall.
His eyes were closed.
His hair hung loose down his back. The borrowed shirt looked almost white in the moonlight.
“Verity?”
—No response.
Mob pushed his blanket aside. For a second, he considered staying in bed, then Verity spoke.
“You said I was…”
The rest was too quiet.
Mob stood.
The floor felt cold beneath his feet. He approached the doorway but didn’t step into the hall.
“Hey.”
Verity’s head turned. His eyes remained closed and Mob’s skin prickled. “Verity?” Verity faced him.
“You said it,” he whispered.
Mob swallowed. “Said what?”
“You asked me to stay.”
“Yeah.”
Verity took one step forward while Mob held up a hand.
“Are you asleep?”
No answer.
“Dude.”
Another step.
Mob could see Verity’s face more clearly now. His expression was calm; too calm... His eyes were closed gently, as though he were standing in normal sleep instead of walking through someone else’s house at almost three in the morning.
“You should go back downstairs,” Mob said.
“You leave me.”
Mob frowned. “What?”
“You keep leaving.”
“I’m right here.”
“Not always.”
Verity took another step; Mob moved fully into the hallway. He told himself he was trying to keep Verity away from the stairs.
Sleepwalkers could fall.
That was all.
“Okay,” Mob said. “Come on. Turn around.”
Verity didn’t.
“When they call you, you go.”
“Who?”
“Your friends.”
Mob’s stomach tightened.
“Are you talking about people from school?”
“You go with them.”
“Sometimes.”
“You don’t need them.”
Verity’s voice was still soft— it sounded almost normal.. that made it worse. “Verity, wake up.”
“You have me.”
Mob reached toward his shoulder.
Before he touched him, Verity caught his wrist and Mob froze. The grip was not painful, but it was firm. “Hey,” Mob said. “Let go.”
Verity’s eyes stayed closed.
“You said I was the only one.”
“I said the sentence you made me say.”
“You said it.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t have other friends.”
Verity’s fingers tightened and Mob pulled once. Verity didn’t release him.
“Okay, you’re being weird now.”
“You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
“Verity.”
“You don’t.”
Mob felt irritation rise beneath the fear.
He hated when Verity did this: the questions.. the little comments. The way he spoke as if Mob’s other friends were unnecessary things he had somehow failed to throw away.
“You don’t get to decide that,” Mob said.
Verity’s head tilted slightly and Mob tried to pull his wrist free again.
“Wake up.”
Verity moved suddenly while Mob barely understood what happened. His back struck the floor. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
Verity came down over him. One of Mob’s wrists was still trapped in Verity’s hand, pinned beside his head. Verity’s knee slid between Mob’s legs; the other rested beside his hip.
Pale hair fell around both of them.
For one breathless second, Mob’s body reacted before his mind did.
Verity was warm.
Close.
His weight pressed Mob into the carpet; his face hovered inches away, lips parted slightly as he breathed. Heat rushed through Mob’s stomach, then fear caught up.
“Verity— what the fuck?”
Verity’s eyes remained closed. His free hand moved to Mob’s face; Mob went still. Cool fingers slid along his cheek. It was almost the same way Verity touched him while they studied... gentle and careful.
His thumb moved beneath Mob’s eye.
“You look at them,” Verity whispered.
“What?”
“You smile.”
Mob pulled against the hand pinning him.
“Get off.”
Verity leaned closer, his mouth moved near Mob’s ear.
“You leave.”
His breath touched Mob’s skin and Mob shuddered.. he hated that reaction. Verity’s knee pressed more firmly between his thighs as Mob shifted and so, Mob’s face burned.
“Verity,” he said. “Wake up. Come on.”
“You come back.”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“You always come back.”
“I’m literally under you right now.”
Verity’s fingers moved from Mob’s cheek to his jaw, then lower. His thumb rested against the side of Mob’s throat and Mob stopped moving— the touch was light. Still, his pulse jumped directly beneath it.
Verity smiled with his eyes closed.
“You need me.”
Mob swallowed against his thumb.
“Okay.”
“You do.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Say it.”
Mob’s breathing quickened.
“Say what?”
Verity’s thumb pressed slightly harder.. not enough to hurt, but enough that Mob noticed.
“You know.”
Mob looked at his face.
He seemed asleep.
He also seemed to be listening to every breath Mob took.
“Please, Verity,” Mob whispered.
Verity’s smile softened... For a moment, the pressure eased.
“You’re the only one,” Verity said.
Mob’s fear turned cold.
“No.”
Verity’s hand became still.
“The best,” he continued.
“No.”
“Say it.”
“Get off me.”
“Say it.”
Mob pulled hard at his trapped wrist and Verity held it down without effort.
“You’re not the only person in my life,” Mob said.
The hallway went silent.. even the rain seemed quieter. Verity’s smile disappeared and his hand shifted. Fingers moved across the front of Mob’s throat and his heart slammed.
“Verity.”
Verity squeezed while Mob gasped. The pressure wasn’t immediately enough to stop his breathing, but it was hard. Real. Mob grabbed Verity’s wrist with his free hand.
“Stop.”
Verity’s face stayed close to his.. eyes closed and expression blank.
“You don’t need them,” he whispered.
Mob pushed against his chest; Verity barely moved.
“Wake up!”
The pressure increased and panic hit him fully. Mob twisted, dragging one knee up between them. He shoved at Verity’s shoulder and turned his hips... Verity’s balance shifted.
Mob managed to roll them halfway.
For a brief moment, Verity’s back nearly touched the floor. Mob tore his pinned wrist free and tried to move over him, one hand still locked around the wrist at his throat.
“Get off me—”
Verity’s eyes opened.
Blue caught the moonlight.
Mob froze.
There was nothing sleepy in them. For one horrible second, Verity looked directly at him; aware and focused and beautiful. His hair spread over the carpet like pale water. His face was calm; his pupils wide... then Verity moved.
He turned them over with one sharp motion.
Mob hit the floor again. The back of his head struck the carpet hard enough to make his vision flash. Verity settled above him, heavier than before. His thighs pinned Mob’s hips; his hand closed more tightly around Mob’s throat.
Mob couldn’t breathe.
His fingers clawed at Verity’s wrist.
“Ver—”
Nothing came out.
Verity stared down at him.
Mob had seen those eyes across student council tables, above textbooks, close to his face while Verity asked whether anyone else understood him as well. He had always thought they were soft.
Now they looked empty.
No...
Not empty—
Hungry.
Mob kicked uselessly beneath him. Darkness crept around the edges of his vision and Verity leaned closer. His hair brushed Mob’s face.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
Mob’s stomach dropped. He dug his nails into Verity’s skin while Verity blinked once, then again. His expression changed.. the grip loosened slightly.
“Huh?”
Mob dragged in a broken breath; Verity blinked several times, looking around as if he didn’t recognize the hallway.... then his gaze returned to Mob. His face went pale.
“Mob?”
Mob shoved him.
This time, Verity moved immediately. He released Mob and fell back onto his knees; Mob rolled onto his side, coughing. His throat burned... every breath felt too large and too sharp.
He crawled backward until his shoulder struck the wall.
Verity stayed where he was.
His hands rested on his thighs, palms visible.
He looked confused— actually confused.
“What happened?” he asked.
Mob stared at him. “You…” His voice came out rough. Verity’s eyes moved to Mob’s throat; his expression changed.
“What did I do?”
“You were choking me.”
Verity looked down at his hands.
“No.”
Mob laughed once, breathless and angry. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t…”
“You did.”
Verity looked up again.
Mob pulled his knees toward his chest, keeping one hand against his neck. “You were sleepwalking,” he said. “I think.”
Verity’s breathing had become uneven.
“I don’t sleepwalk.”
“Well— you just did.”
“I don’t remember coming upstairs.”
Mob watched him carefully.
“You remember anything?”
Verity shook his head.. too quickly.
Mob noticed.
“Anything?”
“I heard you say my name.”
Mob’s fingers tightened against his throat.
“That’s all?”
Verity didn’t answer.
Mob felt cold. “You opened your eyes.”
Verity looked at him.
“You looked right at me,” Mob said. “You were awake.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You slammed me back down.”
Verity’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Mob stared at him; the silence felt worse than denial. “You said I was yours.”
Verity went still.
There.
A reaction.. small, but real. Mob’s heart started beating faster again.
“You remember that,” he said.
Verity lowered his eyes.
“Verity.”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t know what I remember.”
Mob pushed himself more firmly against the wall. Verity noticed and didn’t move closer. For a while, neither of them spoke; rain tapped against the hallway window. Somewhere downstairs, the refrigerator started humming.
Verity finally said, “Are you hurt?”
Mob gave him a look.
“I mean... badly.”
“My throat hurts.”
“I should look at it.”
“No.”
“Mob—”
“No.”
Verity stopped.
“Okay.”
The easy obedience made Mob angrier.
“You don’t get to act normal now.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound normal.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You always know what to say.”
“I don’t right now.”
Verity’s voice shook slightly.
Mob had never heard that before.
He looked smaller sitting on the floor, despite his height. His long hair covered his shoulders and part of his face... The borrowed clothes made him seem less put together; almost young.
—Almost harmless.
Mob knew better now.
“You were talking about my friends,” Mob said.
Verity looked down.
“You said I didn’t need them.”
No answer.
“You said I keep leaving you.”
Verity’s fingers curled slowly into the fabric of the sweatpants.
“I dream about that,” he said.
Mob swallowed carefully.
“About what?”
“You leaving.”
“That’s what this was?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying you don’t know.”
Verity looked up. “I really don’t.”
Mob waited; Verity took a slow breath.
“I have dreams where you stop talking to me,” he said. “You walk past me at school. I call you, and you don’t look at me.”
His voice was quiet.. simple, not dramatic.
That made Mob listen.
“Sometimes you’re with someone else,” Verity continued. “You hear me, but you keep walking.”
“That’s a dream.”
“I know.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.”
Verity didn’t answer; Mob’s anger shifted.. not gone and just tangled with something else. “You really think I’d just pretend not to know you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
Mob glared at him; Verity rubbed his thumb against his palm.
“I know you have other friends,” he said. “I know that’s normal.”
“But you hate it.”
Verity’s eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
The direct answer landed heavily.
Mob almost preferred when he avoided it.
“Why?”
“I don’t like when you leave with them.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“I don’t like waiting for you.”
“You could do something else.”
“I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Verity looked at him for a long time.
“I’m still waiting.”
Mob’s throat hurt when he swallowed. “You’re the student council president,” he said. “You know everyone.”
“I don’t care about everyone.”
“You have friends.”
“I have people I talk to.”
“That’s what friends are.”
“No.”
Mob exhaled through his nose.
“Okay. Whatever. You still can’t do this.”
“I know.”
“You can’t grab me because I say something you don’t like.”
“I know.”
“You can’t decide I’m not allowed to have other people.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
Verity’s face tightened.
“I know it’s wrong,” he said. “I just don’t like it.”
Mob stared.
There was the real problem.
Verity understood. He understood every social rule, every boundary, every reason what he had done was wrong... He just didn’t feel the way he was supposed to feel about it.
“Did you mean it?” Mob asked.
“What?”
“When you said I was yours.”
Verity became quiet while Mob waited.
“I don’t know,” Verity said.
“Bullshit.”
Verity looked at him.
Mob’s voice came out rougher than he intended. “You knew exactly what you were saying.”
“I was half asleep.”
“You were looking at me.”
“I know.”
“Then did you mean it?”
Verity looked toward the open bedroom door, then back at Mob.
“I wanted it to be true.”
Mob’s stomach twisted.
“That’s not better.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
“Sorry.”
“No, stop saying you know. Just... talk normally.”
Verity pressed his lips together; Mob could see him thinking. “I’m scared you’ll leave,” he said at last.
There.
Mob’s anger softened by a fraction.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t need me as much anymore.”
Mob almost laughed, but his throat hurt too much. “You think I don’t need you?”
“You have other people now.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”
Verity looked up quickly. Mob immediately regretted the phrasing.. not because it was false, but because of the way Verity’s face changed.
Hope appeared too easily— too much of it.
“Don’t,” Mob said.
Verity went still.
“I’m not saying you’re the only person I need.”
The hope dimmed.
“But you’re...” Mob rubbed his forehead. “You’re important, okay?”
Verity said nothing.
“You’re the first person I met here.”
“Twixxel technically was.”
“Don’t be annoying.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re the first person I actually became close to.”
Verity listened. Mob hated how exposed he felt.
“You help me with everything,” he continued. “Sometimes too much. You know my schedule better than I do. I look for you when I get to campus.”
Verity’s eyes softened while Mob pointed at him. “That does not mean you can choke me.”
“I know.”
Mob glared.
“Sorry,” Verity said quietly.
Mob lowered his hand.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
This time, Mob let him say it. Verity looked at the marks on Mob’s throat again; his face went tight.
“I really hurt you.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You were angry.”
“Yes.”
“So some part of you wanted to.”
Verity didn’t answer... Mob looked away. The hallway felt cold now that the panic had started fading. His hands were shaking— he tucked them under his arms. Verity noticed.
“Can I get you water?”
Mob hesitated.
“Yeah.”
Verity stood slowly while Mob’s entire body tensed. Verity stopped immediately.
“I’m just going downstairs.”
“I know.”
“I won’t touch you.”
“Okay.”
He walked past Mob with enough distance between them that his hair didn’t brush Mob’s knees. Mob listened to his footsteps descend the stairs.
For a second, he considered going into his room and locking the door. He should probably do that.. He should call someone.
His parents.
Twixxel.
Anyone.
Instead, he stayed against the wall.
Verity came back carrying a glass of water and an ice pack wrapped in a thin towel. He placed both on the floor several feet from Mob, then he sat down again.
Mob reached for the water. It was cold.. exactly how he liked it; that nearly made him angry again.
He drank slowly, wincing.
Verity watched.
“Stop staring,” Mob said.
Verity looked down.
“Sorry.”
Mob held the ice pack against his neck.
The cold hurt at first.. then it helped.
After a minute, Mob asked, “Were you really asleep?”
Verity didn’t respond immediately.. Mob waited. “Kind of,” Verity said.
“What does that mean?”
“I remember the dream more than I remember the hallway.”
“You remember pinning me?”
Verity looked at his hands.
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“You saying my name.”
Mob held the ice pack tighter.
“Then?”
“You told me I wasn’t the only one.”
“And?”
“I got angry.”
“Then?”
Verity’s voice lowered. “You tried to push me off.”
Mob waited.
“I remember you almost turned us over.”
“You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Verity looked at Mob’s face.
For a moment, he didn’t answer— then: “I remember liking that you were under me.”
Heat moved through Mob’s body before he could stop it. It was immediate and humiliating. His grip tightened around the glass.
Verity saw and his eyes lowered.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mob’s face burned. The memory returned too clearly: Verity’s knee between his legs, pale hair hanging around them, his mouth close to Mob’s ear. He hated that not every part of the memory felt bad. Either way, that did not erase the fear.. it made everything more confusing.
“Was that why you did it?” Mob asked.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t want you to leave.”
“I wasn’t leaving.”
“In the dream, you were.”
Mob studied him. “And choking me was supposed to stop that?”
Verity’s face went pale again.
“I don’t know.”
Mob sighed.. his throat protested.
Neither spoke for a while.
The rain had nearly stopped. Mob could hear water dripping from the gutters. Verity remained on the opposite side of the hallway, knees drawn slightly up, hands resting where Mob could see them.
He looked exhausted.
“You should go home in the morning,” Mob said.
Verity nodded.
“Okay.”
“And we’re not pretending this didn’t happen.”
“Okay.”
“You do that sometimes.”
“What?”
“Something weird happens, then you act normal after.”
Verity frowned slightly.
“Like what?”
Mob stared at him.
“You held my face and asked if you were my only real friend.”
“Oh.”
“You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“You acted like nothing happened.”
“I thought you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t know what I wanted.”
Verity looked down again; Mob watched him.
“You always push until I say what you want,” he said.
Verity’s fingers moved once against his knee.
“I know.”
Mob almost snapped at him again, but Verity continued.
“I don’t mean to make you scared.”
“You make me say that stupid sentence.”
“You agreed.”
“I agreed because you wouldn’t help me.”
“I would’ve helped eventually.”
“That’s not the point.”
Verity nodded.
“Okay.”
Mob pressed the ice against his throat.
“Why do you like it so much?”
“The sentence?”
“Yeah.”
Verity thought for a moment.
“I like hearing you ask for me.”
Mob’s stomach shifted.
“You could just say that.”
“I didn’t want you to say no.”
“That’s not exactly healthy.”
“I know.”
Mob gave him a tired look.
Verity stopped himself.
“Sorry.”
Mob leaned his head back against the wall. “You don’t have to know everything,” he said.
Verity looked at him.
“You don’t have to already know what I’m gonna say before you ask.”
“I usually do.”
“No, you think you do.”
Verity was quiet as Mob continued. “If you want reassurance, just ask.”
Verity’s expression became uneasy.
“What?”
“You ask me if you’re my favorite, or my only friend, but you already have an answer you want— then you keep asking until I give it to you.”
“I…”
“You can ask normally.”
“What if the answer is bad?”
Mob let out a slow breath.
“Then it’s bad.”
Verity looked genuinely uncomfortable with that. Mob almost felt sorry for him... almost.
“You can’t force it to be good,” Mob said.
“I don’t want to force you.”
“You pinned me to the floor.”
Verity flinched and Mob immediately felt guilty. He hated that— but he did not apologize. Since anywho, Verity deserved to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” Verity whispered.
Mob looked at him. His blue eyes were wet.. not crying, but pretty close.
The sight unsettled Mob more than it should have.
“Ask me,” Mob said.
Verity blinked. “What?”
“Ask whatever you actually want to ask.”
Verity hesitated.
Mob waited. It took him almost a full minute.
“Do you want me around?” Verity asked.
His voice was quiet. Mob looked at the marks beginning to darken around his throat... then at the glass of water Verity had brought.
Both mattered.
“Yes,” Mob said.
Verity’s shoulders loosened.
“But not like this.”
“I know.”
Mob stared.
Verity corrected himself.
“Okay.”
“You’re allowed to be jealous, I guess.”
Verity looked at him.
“You’re not allowed to make it my problem every time I talk to someone.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not allowed to decide they don’t matter.”
Verity nodded.
“And if you ever do this again…”
Mob trailed off.
He didn’t know what the end of that sentence was.
Call the police?
Never speak to him?
Fight him?
He wasn’t sure.
Verity supplied nothing.
He waited.
“If you ever do this again,” Mob said, “I’m done.”
Verity went completely still; Mob saw the fear hit him. It was immediate yet real.
“Okay,” Verity said.
His voice almost disappeared.
Mob’s chest hurt... He reminded himself that Verity had nearly made him black out. He reminded himself that fear did not make Verity harmless. “Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You can’t just say yes because you think that’s what I want.”
“I understand.”
Verity raised his eyes. “If I hurt you again, you’ll leave.”
Mob nodded while Verity looked down. His hands were shaking now and Mob noticed. “Hey,” he said.
Verity didn’t look up.
“Verity.”
His eyes lifted.
“You’re not leaving tonight,” Mob said.
Verity stared at him.
“I said in the morning.”
“You still want me here?”
“I’m not sending you into a flood at three in the morning.”
“Oh.”
Mob frowned.
“Also…” He hesitated. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”
Verity’s face changed again; Mob pointed at him before the hope could become too much.
“Don’t make that weird.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re already doing it.”
“I’m not.”
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
“Verity.”
“Sorry.”
Mob sighed.
He pushed himself carefully to his feet. Verity started to move and Mob tensed... Verity froze.
“I can stand up myself.”
“Okay.”
Mob’s legs felt weak.
He used the wall for balance. Verity watched but didn’t approach; Mob picked up the water and ice pack— then he looked toward his open bedroom.
He did not want Verity downstairs where he couldn’t see him.
He also did not want Verity in the bed.
“The floor,” Mob said.
Verity looked confused.
“You can sleep on my floor.”
“In your room?”
“Yeah.”
Verity stared at him— Mob’s face warmed.
“Not like that. I just... I don’t want you wandering around again.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Verity lowered his eyes. “Right.”
“You sleep on the floor. I’ll leave the lamp on.”
“Okay.”
“And if you get up, wake me first.”
“Okay.”
Mob walked into the bedroom.
Verity followed several steps behind him. Mob placed the glass beside the bed and moved the papers out of the way. He pulled an extra blanket from the closet and dropped it onto the floor.
The blond stood near the door. His hair fell around him, pale and loose.
Mob looked at his throat in the mirror above the dresser. The marks were obvious... Verity saw them too; he turned his face away.
“Don’t,” Mob said.
Verity looked back.
“Don’t do the guilt thing all night. I’m too tired.”
“Okay.”
“You can feel bad tomorrow.”
“I already feel bad.”
“I know. Just lie down.”
Verity did.
He arranged himself on the floor beside the bed, long body curled slightly because there wasn’t enough space for him to stretch out fully. Mob climbed under the blanket. He left the bedside lamp on.
For a while, neither spoke.
Mob lay facing the edge of the bed.
From there, he could see part of Verity’s hair spread across the pillow Mob had given him. Verity stared at the wall.
“Are you awake?” Mob asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re not gonna sleep?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“I might do it again.”
Mob’s chest tightened.
“You’re on the floor.”
“That didn’t stop me before.”
Mob thought about that— then he reached down. Verity turned his head; Mob held his hand out over the edge of the mattress.
Verity stared at it.
“What?” he asked.
“Give me your wrist.”
Verity slowly lifted his arm.
Mob wrapped his fingers around Verity’s wrist... His skin was cool— his pulse beat steadily beneath Mob’s thumb. “If you move,” Mob said, “I’ll feel it.”
Verity looked at their hands.
“Okay.”
“This isn’t romantic.”
“I know.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay.”
Mob narrowed his eyes. Verity’s mouth curved slightly.. it was not smug, just soft. Mob almost pulled away— then Verity’s expression became serious again.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mob looked at him.
“I know.”
“No, I…”
Verity swallowed.
“I’m really sorry.”
Mob’s grip around his wrist loosened slightly.
“I believe you.”
Verity’s eyes closed for a moment.
Mob watched him.
“You still scared me,” he added.
“I know.”
“But I believe you.”
Verity nodded.
Mob settled back against the pillow, still holding his wrist over the side of the bed.
Several minutes passed.
The room became quiet. Verity’s breathing slowly evened out.... Mob was almost asleep when Verity spoke.
“Mob?”
“What?”
“Am I still your friend?”
Mob opened his eyes. He looked down. Verity’s eyes were open, blue in the warm light; Mob thought about the stupid sentence.
The tutoring.
The coffee.
The jealousy.
The hand around his throat.
The water beside the bed.
“Yes,” Mob said.
Verity’s face relaxed.
“But don’t ask me if you’re the only one.”
A pause.
“Okay.”
“You’re not.”
Verity looked away. Mob tightened his fingers around his wrist.
“But you’re still…”
He stopped.
“Still what?” Verity asked.
“Important.”
Verity looked at him again.
“That’s all you’re getting.”
“Okay.”
“Go to sleep.”
Verity closed his eyes.
A few minutes later, his fingers shifted.
They curled carefully around Mob’s wrist in return. Mob tensed. Verity’s grip remained loose... not holding him down—just there. Mob could have pulled away easily; yet he didn’t.
“Verity.”
“Sorry.”
His fingers began to loosen; Mob held on.
“I didn’t say stop.”
Verity became still while Mob closed his eyes. The lamp stayed on. The blond man remained on the floor.
Mob kept one hand around his wrist until sleep finally came, listening to the steady beat beneath Verity’s skin and telling himself that he would wake if it changed.