Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-Two

The summer heat had faded from the air outside, but the summer darkness was still warm as Wesley and I walked down the long drive towards the gates.

"You'll be back tomorrow, I imagine?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, my voice thick and snivelly. I was still recovering from my inappropriate dinnertime tears. "I have to finish reading the letters."

"Yes."

Our feet crunched on the gravel. I could barely see anything in the darkness, but I knew he was right close beside me, and he knew this place because it was literally in his blood. That was comforting. I was glad I wasn't given the chance to refuse his company on the walk home. I would've been wary of the dark on my own, but with him, I felt okay.

Safe, even.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen."

"Ah."

A couple seconds of silence.

"Um, you?" I asked.

"Nineteen. I study architecture at Oxford."

"Wow. That's—that's pretty legit."

He laughed. "I suppose so."

"A hell of a lot better than my position of failing half of my classes at a sub-par high school."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But hey, it's not the end of the world. Is it?"

He elbows me gently, like he was trying to prod out some information.

"Not really," I said. "It's going to disappoint the crap out of my mom, though."

"Well, we each can't have everything," Wesley said. "Maybe I have Oxford, but you have a cross-time correspondence."

And I wouldn't give it up for the world. "That's true," I said.

Wesley exhaled. His breath danced over my forearm. I could kind of tell where he was.

"You didn't tell my parents everything," he said. "Did you?"

"Um, it's kind of complicated. I didn't want to bore them."

"No, but, like..." He sighed. "It's more than just letters, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Did you... you know... did you love him? Did he love you?"

I nodded, then remember he couldn't see that.

"I love him," I said. "Present tense. But yes, he loved me. Past tense."

We walked in silence for a minute or two. The gates came into view. What was Wesley thinking? Was he freaked out?

"How did it go?" he asked. "I mean, no. That's not what I mean. I just mean... how did it work? You wrote love letters to each other?"

"Yes. And he—he sent me a gift, once. A pocket watch."

My own crunching footsteps were suddenly the only ones. I stopped and turned around. Wesley stood stock still a few feet behind me.

"The pocket watch," he said, laughing. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"In Alastair's things, there's a sales receipt for a pocket watch from France we've never accounted for. According to Dad, his parents were livid with him for spending that much money, especially on something he lost."

"It's not lost," I told him. "It's right here in my pocket."

I took it out. It glinted in the moonlight. He stepped forward, laughing again.