There’s at least a foot and a half between our bodies on the massive bed, but this feels extremely intimate. “You’re going to sleep in here with me?” I ask in surprise.
“This is my room, remember?”
“I could use another room, you know. You’ve got plenty.”
“Why would you do that?” he asks.
I want to ask him the same question. But I’m terrified of what the answer will be. So I close my eyes and let myself drift off.
But even my dreams are of him.
When I wake up the next morning, Anton is gone.
But I can see the faint indent of his body. It’s still warm to the touch, proof that he slept by my side the whole night.
Pathetically, I run my hand over the disappearing lines, wondering why I feel this sense of longing. I pry myself out of bed and slink into his bathroom to wash up.
The show
