Citizen

Chapter thirty-one

He nodded. It was then she realised his hands were curled around both of hers, warming them in his grasp. "Are you scared?" His voice was barely a whisper.

There it was again. That question. He'd asked her the very same one before their Vinctures. So much had changed in that time, but her answer was almost identical. "Yes."

James' eyes didn't leave her face. "So am I."

"An honest answer this time," she murmured under her breath.

"What?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she shrugged out of the blanket and stood, her hands still tangled in James'. "Nothing. I'm sorry, I know it's late, I just..." She broke off with a huff.

"Since when is midnight late?" His grip on her hands tightened, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Stay."

Kyra's chest tightened. She wanted to stay but a part of her - the part that told her to go home and get a good night of sleep and triple check her bag - knew it would be impossible to leave in the morning if she did. Her rational side always won.

But not tonight.

She freed one of her hands and used it to push James' hair behind his ear. When did it grow long enough to do that? Only a few months ago it had been short. Time constantly surprised her. And so did he.

"I'm not leaving you. Not tonight."

Grinning, James said, "Good. You didn't really have a choice anyway."

She shook her head, laughing. "Is that so, huh?"

"Mhm." James crossed to the dresser and pulled out a dry shirt, tossing it at Kyra's head before she had time to move. She pulled it away with a smirk.

"Henderson, you just started a war."

—

Kyra thumbed through a towering stack of novels as James played a soft song on the piano she'd never heard. The books were mostly hers, but he'd added to the collection over the years. In the corner was an oddly colourful stack of thin volumes. As she crawled closer the covers came into focus; it was all the books she'd given him the first day they'd met, the first time she'd ever really talked to someone about books, the first time she'd read to him.

"I can't believe you still have all of these."

"All of what?" His head perked up, but his eyes stayed on the keys.

"The books we read as kids."

"I had to. If it weren't for you and your book obsession I wouldn't read at all."

Her lips turned down at the corners. "A James that doesn't read? I can't imagine it."

"It was almost a reality. The only things my parents read to me were political and as a five-year-old with attention problems I can't say I was that interested." He shrugged. "Until the girl next door threw a book at my head and forced me to pay attention."

Laughing, Kyra said, "Hey, don't blame that on me. You were playing piano so loud I couldn't think. It was a good throw too, all the way from my window—" she motioned an arch with her hands —"to yours."

"Oh I know, I have a scar to prove it. The only reason I read books now is because you read them to me then. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't understand books. The characters, the plot, the hidden meanings — they all became clear because of you."

Smiling, Kyra turned back to face the novels; it was strange for him to be candid like that, and she tried to ignore the part of her brain that rationalised the sudden change. She wanted to enjoy her last night, as hard as it would be.