"Anchor up to me, love..."

✧✧✧

Evelyn, again, was trying to summon some semblance of courage as she stood outside the wooden door, which seemed to be made of fear and anxiety instead of oak.

In her defense, though, this could very much be the wrong decision. Either way, she realized with a shaky breath, it was the decision she made and she wouldn't backtrack.

And so, she lifted her hand and knocked gently on the door. When she received no answer, she opened the door quietly, knowing Tristan was in there. The second she saw his sleeping face, she closed his door to keep the light out.

For just a second, she hesitated, but then she shook it off, walking towards his bed and kneeling next to it. It filled her with a subtle sort of happiness that she could see traces of Tristan in the room, like he'd finally begun believing that the room was his. That it was just as much his home as it was Georgia's.

There were some notebooks, strung across his desk messily, settled next to his camera, and he'd started a new wall of his photography, only this time, her painting was the centerpiece, tying all the black and white pictures together.

Her heart softened at the sight, but her eyebrows furrowed. At every turn, he made it seem like Evelyn meant the world to him, so how did he turn his back on her so easily?

Why did he?

Before she let her thoughts take a negative turn, she let her gaze slide over his features. She loved the rare moments when she got to watch him sleep, but it felt wrong seeing his lips puffier and more chapped than normal as his eyebrows knitted together in a permanent frown.

Even in the stillness of his sleep, his sorrow was etched into his skin like markings on stone. Hopefully, with time, just as marks faded from stone, the sadness would fade from him, even if it never disappeared entirely.

Though she didn't want to wake him, she didn't want to have him wake up on his own and be creeped out, so she raised her hand towards his face, gently tracing his cheekbone, before she traced the slope of his brow-bone, finally sliding into his curly locks.

She saw the tension leave his eyebrows as she ran her fingers through his hair and he let out a quiet sigh of content.

"Keeping me company?" he murmured with a small smile, his eyes still closed and his voice thick with sleep.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked quietly.

"I always know," he said, his voice just as quiet.

"It's because my breath smells like gummy bears, isn't it?"

He breathed out a laugh and finally opened his eyes in a slow, drowsy way before he frowned. "You're here because of what I said earlier."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she admitted. "Even though I know it's a loose definition."

"I didn't tell you to make you worry," he said. "I just didn't want to leave without explaining. I wanted to be honest. You deserve that."

Evelyn's facial expression softened. "I know that."

"So you don't have to stay. I won't be much company, anyway."

"What if I want to stay?" she asked.

Tristan's eyes locked onto hers and she noticed him lick his lips before glancing away. "If my mom were here... God, she'd be so ashamed already. I don't want to add to it. I won't take advantage of the fact that your heart is too kind for your own good. I can't."

"You said you wanted to fix our friendship first," Evelyn said, giving him a pointed stare. "And friendship goes both ways, Tristan."

He let out a quiet sigh. "I know, but-"

Evelyn placed her finger on his lips, trying to ignore how it made her mind think of how much she missed his lips on her skin, and instead met his eyes with gentle fervor.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked, moving her hand so he could speak.

"Always."

"Then it's settled," she said, hesitating for a second before she slipped her cardigan off her shoulders and pulled her hair out of the ponytail, ignoring the warmth in his stare as she climbed in bed behind him.

Tentatively, she wrapped her arm around his torso, holding his back against her chest as she clutched the fabric of his shirt.

"Are you spooning me?" he asked quietly, his muscles tense.

"I'm holding you."

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because when someone you care about is sad, you hold them," she said. "So stop being tense and let me hold you."

After a few seconds, he released a breath that seemed to take the tension from his body and he slid a hand over hers that was resting on his stomach.

"Is that okay?" he whispered, referring to the way her hand was clutched in his. She didn't speak, only nodded against his back, which she was sure he felt.

"Tristan?"

"Hmm?"

"I kind of threatened your dad," she admitted and felt him tense before he turned over, so they were facing each other, barely an inch apart.

"You what?"

"In my defense, it was an accident. Kind of," she said, her voice getting squeaky

"How did you accidentally threaten my dad, Evelyn?"

"Well," she started with a nervous laugh. "He wasn't exactly saying the nicest things, so I kind of, sort of, a little bit, maybe, kind of told him I had an uncle on the police force that I wasn't afraid to call and make it so he was never hired at another school again, even if he didn't wind up in jail."

Tristan blinked.

And then he blinked again.

"But you don't have an uncle on the police force."

"I know," she said with a sheepish smile, worried he'd be mad, but he only laughed slightly before tentatively brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"You're the single best part of my day," he admitted quietly and she felt an onslaught of butterflies in her stomach at the words.

Evelyn frowned. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I know."

"But can we make a deal?"

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"For the rest of tonight and tomorrow, we have a clean slate," she said. "No Tanya, no relationship, no break up. We're just us from before, before we were together. When we were just best friends. Deal?"

"Deal," he said after a moment. "But can I have your hand?"

She furrowed her eyebrows as he clasped her wrist gently, pulling it between their bodies before he started to tap a pattern onto her palm. Her lips lifted slightly as she realized what he was doing.

"Are you using morse code?" she asked with a smile.

"It was how my mom and I had secret conversations when I was a kid," he said with a shrug. "I practiced it a lot after she died, because I thought maybe she couldn't answer me with words, so she could answer with morse code, instead," he continued, looking slightly embarrassed. "I had a hard time understanding exactly what death meant and at first, when I would talk to her headstone or the stars, I was mad, because I thought she was ignoring me."

"You remember it after all this time?" she asked, her voice drenched in soft fondness.

"Shh, I'm concentrating," he whispered as his fingers continued the deliberate, soft tapping against her palm, before he finally stopped tapping, drawing a smiley face in her palm before he interlocked their fingers.

"What did you say?" she asked.

A mischievous smile formed on his face. "I'll tell you someday..."

And though he didn't finish his sentence, the unspoken words wrapped around the comfortable silence like a promise for their future and an ode to their past. Two words that floated around them like particles of dust and flowed through them like spring breezes. Two words that clung to them so tightly, it seemed the words defined them.

Not today.