He knocked like a person trying not to set off a tripwire. I opened the door to Elijah holding two brown bags and a six-pack of sparkling water like he was applying for a permit.
“No work,” I said.
“No lectures,” he said.
“No hands until the movie starts.”
He glanced at his pockets. “I left them downstairs.”
“Cute,” I said, stepping aside.
He kicked his shoes off, set the food on the counter, and scanned my face the way he does when he’s checking for cracks. I was fine. Wired, a little raw, but fine.
“What’d you bring?” I asked.
“Carbs,” he said. “And a salad so we can pretend.”
We ate on the couch. Credits rolled. We said nothing. Ten minutes in, he slid his phone across the cushion. A note app glowed.
This is killing me.
I typed back.
good.
He snorted, quiet. The movie tried
