I stand in Cecil's doorway, tea and cookies in hand, trying to keep my breathing steady.
You need to do this. You've been putting it off for days.
Cecil is staring at me with wide eyes, his hands trembling slightly under his desk where he thinks I can't see them.
He's scared. He thinks I'm here to confront him about something.
The realization makes my chest tighten.
Not confrontation. Apology.
"I need to tell you something," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Cecil doesn't respond. Just watches me with those guarded eyes, waiting for whatever blow he thinks is coming.
I step further into the room, setting the tea and cookies on his desk carefully. My free hand pinches my thigh—a grounding technique I've used since I was a kid. Reminds me I'm here. Present. Real.
Say it. Just say it.
"I'm sorry."
The words come out before I can second-guess them. All at once. No preamble. No careful lead-up.
Just the truth.
Cecil blinks, confusion flickering across his face.
"For the other night," I continue, my hand still pinching my thigh. "During Truth or Dare. The question I asked. About the nightmare."
Recognition dawns in his expression, followed immediately by something that looks like pain.
I hurt him. I know I did.
"I shouldn't have asked that," I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes even though everything in me wants to look away.
"Not like that. Not in front of everyone. I was worried about you and I wanted to help but I didn't think about—" My hands shake slightly and I have to stop, take a breath. "I didn't think about how it would make you feel. Being put on the spot like that."
The guilt I've been carrying since that night sits heavy in my chest.
I've replayed that moment a hundred times. Watched Cecil's face go pale. Seen him retreat into himself before making an excuse and disappearing into his room.
And then the days after. The awful, suffocating tension. Cecil barely looking at me. Barely talking to me.
He was upset. With me. Because I pushed when I shouldn't have.
"I thought—" My voice cracks slightly and I have to steady it. "I thought if I gave you space, it would be better. That apologizing would just make you more upset. But these past few days, watching you avoid me, knowing I hurt you—"
My control is slipping. I can feel it fraying at the edges.
Hold it together. Just finish.
"I'm sorry, Cecil. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—I wanted to help. I wanted to understand. But I went about it completely wrong."
Silence.
Cecil stares at me, his expression unreadable.
And then—
He laughs.
Not a nervous laugh or a bitter one.
A genuine, bright laugh that transforms his entire face.
I freeze, completely thrown.
What—
Cecil is smiling. Actually smiling. The kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners.
Beautiful.
The thought comes unbidden, hitting me square in the chest.
He's beautiful when he smiles like that.
Something shifts inside me. Something I've been trying not to examine too closely since the day I found him with my cat all those years ago.
This isn't just gratitude for him saving my pet.
This is—
The realization settles over me like inevitability.
I'm in love with him.
Actually, genuinely in love with him.
And I have been for a long time.
Fated partners. We're fated partners. And I—
"Dylan," Cecil says, and his voice is still edged with laughter. "Dylan, breathe."
I realize I've been standing frozen, just staring at him while he smiles at me.
"I—" I start, then stop. Words feel impossible right now.
Cecil stands up from his desk and crosses the small distance between us.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For having the courage to talk about it. For apologizing."
Before I can process what's happening, he wraps his arms around me.
A hug.
Cecil is hugging me.
I freeze completely, my brain short-circuiting.
What do I—how do I—
But then instinct takes over and my arms come up, wrapping around him in return. My head drops to his shoulder without conscious thought.
He's warm. Solid. Real.
And he's hugging me.
He doesn't hate me.
He forgave me.
The relief is so intense it's almost painful.
We stay like that for a long while. I'm not even sure when we started hugging but it feels like we were hugging for hours. And somehow, it just feels right.
His breathing is steady against my shoulder. My hands grip the back of his hoodie gently, afraid that if I let go too soon, this moment will shatter.
He accepted my apology.
Eventually—reluctantly—we pull apart.
Cecil is still smiling. Not as bright as before, but soft and genuine.
"I wasn't upset with you," he says quietly. "Not really. I was just... overwhelmed. The question caught me off guard and I didn't know how to answer it."
He wasn't upset with me.
All this time I thought he hated me.
He didn't.
"But I should have realized that," I say. "Should have been more careful."
"You were worried. I get it." Cecil gestures to the bed. "Sit?"
I nod and we settle on his bed—him cross-legged near the headboard, me sitting with my back against the wall.
The tea and cookies are still on his desk.
I grab the plate of cookies and offer one to Cecil.
"Thanks," he says, taking one.
I nod, allowing myself a small smile as I take a cookie for myself.
We eat in comfortable silence.
No tension. No awkwardness.
Just... peace.
I watch him from the corner of my eye—the way he breaks the cookie into smaller pieces before eating them, the way his plants are arranged on every available surface with mathematical precision, the way his textbooks are stacked on his desk in perfect alignment.
Details.
I've always noticed details.
Keith sees the big picture—emotions, energy, overall mood. But I see the small things. The way Cecil subtly winces when he moves his arms certain ways. The way he repositions his pen after setting it down, making sure it's perfectly parallel to the edge of his desk. The careful control in everything he does.
Something happened to him.
Something that makes him need this level of control.
But it's not my place to push. Not again.
"Dylan?"
I look up and find Cecil watching me with curious eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For the cookies. For the apology. For... everything."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tighten.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. But I wanted to."
We fall back into silence, finishing the cookies slowly.
The conversation lasts maybe an hour—not all of it talking. Mostly just existing in the same space. Comfortable. Safe.
The warmth of the room settles over me like a blanket. Cecil's presence beside me, the soft glow of his desk lamp, the quiet rhythm of our breathing.
Just for a moment, I think, letting my eyes drift closed. Just rest for a moment.
---
I wake to gentle fingers carding through my hair.
For a few seconds, I don't remember where I am. The room is dark except for a thin line of pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains. My body is heavy with sleep, warm and comfortable in a way that makes me want to sink back under.
Then I realize—I'm still in Cecil's room. Still on his bed.
And Cecil is stroking my hair.
My eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the darkness. Cecil is sitting beside me, his back against the headboard, one hand moving through my hair in slow, soothing motions. He's looking down at me with an expression I can't quite read in the dim light.
I fell asleep. I actually fell asleep in his room.
I should feel embarrassed. Mortified, even.
But instead, I just feel... safe.
"Cecil?" My voice comes out rough with sleep.
His hand stills in my hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"What time is it?"
"A little after five."
Five in the morning.
I've been asleep for hours.
I should get up. Go back to my own room. Give him his space back.
But I don't want to move.
His hand is still resting in my hair, warm and gentle, and something about this moment feels too precious to break.
"You didn't have to stay," I say quietly.
"I know." His fingers resume their gentle motion, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes again. "But I wanted to."
He wanted to.
He wanted stayed with me.
We sit in silence for a while longer, the only sound the quiet rhythm of our breathing and the distant chirping of early morning birds outside.
"Can't sleep?" I finally ask.
"Not really." He pauses. "Nightmares."
The admission is quiet, vulnerable. A trust offering after everything that happened with the Truth or Dare question.
He's telling me. On his own terms. In his own time.
"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.
"It's okay." His voice is soft. "They happen sometimes. It helps to... to have someone nearby."
It helps to have someone nearby.
He stayed because I was here.
Because my presence helps.
The realization makes my chest feel too full.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask carefully, not pushing. Just offering.
"Not yet." He looks down at me, and even in the darkness I can see the small smile on his face. "But maybe someday."
"Okay."
We lapse back into comfortable silence.
Eventually, Cecil shifts slightly. "I could make tea. If you want."
The offer is tentative, like he's not sure if I'll accept or if I'll use it as an excuse to leave.
He doesn't want me to go.
He wants me to stay.
"Tea sounds good," I say, finally sitting up.
My hair is probably a mess from sleeping and from his fingers running through it, but I can't bring myself to care.
We move quietly through the house, careful not to wake Keith or anyone else who might be sleeping. The kitchen is dark except for the light we turn on over the stove, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.
Cecil fills the kettle while I retrieve two mugs from the cabinet. We move around each other with an ease that shouldn't exist yet, but somehow does.
Like we've done this a thousand times before.
Like we're meant to do this together.
He sets the kettle on the stove and we both lean against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.
The silence between us isn't awkward or tense. It's comfortable. Natural.
I watch him in the soft light—the way his hair is slightly mussed from however he's been spending his sleepless night, the way his shoulders have finally relaxed from their usual careful tension, the way he looks at peace despite the nightmares that woke him.
Beautiful.
The thought comes easier this time. More certain.
He's beautiful.
And it's not just his appearance, though that certainly doesn't hurt. It's everything. The way he carefully measures out the tea leaves. The precision in his movements. The quiet strength in the way he carries himself despite whatever pain he's hiding.
The way he stayed with me while I slept.
The way his fingers felt in my hair.
The way he trusts me enough to admit he has nightmares, even if he's not ready to talk about them yet.
This.
This is what I want.
The kettle begins to whistle softly and Cecil pours the hot water into our mugs. The steam rises between us, carrying the scent of chamomile and honey.
He hands me my mug and our fingers brush. Just for a second. Just enough to send warmth racing up my arm.
We stay in the kitchen, sipping our tea in the quiet pre-dawn hours. No words needed. Just presence.
And as I watch him, I feel the truth settle deep in my bones.
I never knew what love was until I met him.
The realization isn't shocking anymore. It's just... true.
Ever since then, I can't take my eyes off him.
I think about that day years ago when I found him with my cat. The way even as a kid, something in me recognized something in him. The way I've been drawn to him ever since, in ways I couldn't name or understand.
For the first time in my life, I want someone.
Not just want. Need. Crave. The kind of wanting that goes bone-deep and doesn't let go.
That someone being Cecil.
He looks up and catches me staring. Raises an eyebrow in silent question.
I just smile and take another sip of tea.
Not yet, I remind myself. He just forgave me for pushing too hard. I won't overwhelm him with this.
But someday...
Someday I'll tell him.
For now, this is enough.
The tea. The comfortable silence. The gentle trust building between us in the quiet hours of the morning.
This is enough.
But someday—when the time is right—I'll tell him the rest.
I'll tell him everything.