Falling asleep next to Dylan, or wrapped up in his arms, is incomparable. The best sleep I have is the one where I'm with him. No nightmares, no visions of Maya, or my dad, or prison. Sometimes it scares me how comfortable I am with him. How much my body craves him. My heart beats differently for him, and there's no denying it. What scares me even more than being comfortable with him, is the fact that I can see it all with him. I can see good morning kisses, and late-night movies in front of the fireplace, falling asleep tangled up in each other.

It's been two weeks since we went back to work and the stress of what was waiting for us out there was real. I expected things to change because we were locked away from the rest of civilization in his house, and without any outside interruption it was easy to pretend we'd never have to actually face it. Too easy. But nothing much changed in our relationship. And the more we fucked, which turned out to be always, the more time we spent together getting to know each other. Which meant I became more blinded to the line separating our friendship from our friends-with-benefits-ship. Or a real relationship.

There's a chance I should tell all of this to Dylan, ask him what we are, what he wants us to be, but I stay stubbornly silent. About the way I'm aware of him. About the way my heart speeds up whenever he walks into the room, even if I'm not looking, because somehow I just know he's there. About all the things I know about him now. About how I collect every scrap of information he gives me because I want to know everything. About how much I like the way he says hi to me in his gravelly morning voice when he opens his eyes and how I live for the sleepy smile that always goes with that greeting. How beautiful it is when he sometimes laughs at my stupid jokes, or when he tries to stay serious but fails. How my favorite time of the day is the night now, because that's when he's pressed against me, head to toe, seeking me out like he can't get close enough. How every time he wraps himself around me, it feels like home.

His body heat and stirring pull me out of my head. Blinking sleep from my eyes I slip out from under the covers and head to his closet to pull out a pair of pyjama pants. They're huge on me and the sight makes me chuckle. I tighten the drawstrings, then head into the living room.

I usually came to his place after work. Sometimes I stayed the night like now. Other times I made myself go back to my uncle's house trying to put some distance between us. But that was becoming harder to do. He is so easy to be around that it's tempting to do it forever. To forget that the real world exists in that distant place I've left behind. His presence calms me, makes me feel at ease. And it inspires me to create art again.

As promised, Dylan brought some supplies from his mother's old studio and it made me stay in his home even longer. When I asked, he said he didn't mind.

After making coffee my gaze turns to the painting perched on top of the mantel. A frozen lake. It called to me, like the lake had that day when we went to see the lights, and I go to it now.

I furnished the landscape yesterday. I'm not good, not by a long shot, but something is happening inside of me. When I have all these different oil and acrylic paints on my wooden palette, these brushes in my hand with a blank canvas in front of me, it's almost like an outlet for my anger. Like something is just pouring out of me. Maybe all the pain that I have bottled inside of me for so long.

I take the landscape off of the mantle, put it against the wall, and adjust a new, blank one and start. Maya was becoming almost a distant memory with how I became occupied with Dylan and I hated that. So there she is now, right in front of me, emerging from the whiteness of the canvas. I smile while I imagine myself telling her all about Dylan. I smile and paint and remember her birthday and how it somehow got me closer to Dylan. How my fucked up brain couldn't figure out how to deal with the loss, and how somehow Dylan's close proximity made me bare myself completely to him.

I look up from where I am curled up on the couch, completely engrossed in the painting I started this morning. I don't know what time it is or how long I've been doing it, but I see Dylan appear in the doorway. After spotting me, he starts walking toward me. He's wearing nothing but a pair of tight black compression shorts that do nothing to disguise every ridge and groove of muscle or the impressive package between his legs. His arms flex as he runs a hand over his naked chest, and the closer he gets, the more my jaw drops open. Am I drooling? I'm pretty sure I'm drooling. Tearing my eyes away from the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on, I continue applying the color mixture with my brush with one hand while I take my coffee cup with the other to disguise my ogling.

"Hey," he mumbles with a sleep-thickened voice.

"Morning. Want me to get you a fresh cup of coffee?" I ask, but he ignores me and takes the coffee from my hand. I stare as his lips purse around the lid of the cup, where my mouth was only seconds ago.

Every single thing that is his is now mine.

We share space, clothes, food. We share our breath, spit and cum.

And it's terrifying as much as it is the best thing in the whole world. So I want to share this, us with everyone else. I want to shout it from the highest Alaskan mountain tops.

"So... My birthday is coming up," I say distractedly, my hand busy with dipping my brush into a mason jar filled with water while he sits on the armrest of the sofa right next to me, watching me paint.

"Are you going to tell me the date or do I have to guess?" When I've been quiet for too long, he asks softly turning his body toward me.

"It's the 5th of January. My aunt is making a birthday dinner for us, and I guess there will be a cake. It's not a big deal or anything," I add, still focusing on the painting and not him.

"It should be a big deal. It's the day you were born."

"Would you like to come? My aunt invited you," I look over at him. "I didn't say anything about who you are. I would never do that without your permission. She just knows I'm seeing someone. Well, I'm never there so it's kind of obvious..." I let out a huffing laugh through my nose and shake my head, feeling so nervous suddenly. Why did I say seeing someone, that's such a stupid thing to say. "... but if you're not ready to be seen with me, I mean a man, then..."

Dylan suddenly pushes his fingers into my dark hair, scratching along my scalp.

"I'm so ready," his eyes are half-lidded now, and he is looking down at me with his expression so soft it almost hurts.

"Yeah?"

"I don't care who knows, I'm not the scared man I was before. And they're your family, of course I'd like to meet them. They seem like lovely people."

"Can...I want..." Words dance on the tip of my tongue. Promises I want to make, promises I want to ask for. But it is too foolish and right this moment it isn't even necessary. Why complicate things between us? Dylan and I are enjoying whatever this is, and naming it wouldn't make a difference. He'll be meeting my family and he doesn't mind being seen with me. All is well.

"What's up?" he prompts, expression somewhat worried.

"It's nothing."

"You sure?" He says confused.

"Positive."

"Ok," he returns my coffee cup and waves his hand around the hair of Maya on the painting. "Those colors are beautiful."

"You think so?" I love hearing what he has to say. I needed his opinion on the shade of blue I used for the lake in the painting I did before this one.

"She'd be proud of you." He means Maya. And I'd like to think that too. Dylan pauses, and a cheeky smile appears on his face. "Now I'm going to go look for your birthday present."

"No. I don't need anything. Please."

"I want to."

"Dylan," I grate out between my teeth. "You gave me enough already. Please don't spend your money on me. I'm honestly happy with everything I've got."

"Hm, just a little something. I won't spend too much on it. Promise. I already have an idea."

We already exchanged our Christmas presents, even though we didn't spend it together. He went to spend the holidays with his dad for a few days. When he came back he had a box of colors for me and a set of brand new painting brushes. And I got him a floor lamp with a modern looking lampshade that compliments the rest of his decor.

"Fine," I say, and his huge hands are cupping my cheeks before I can get a proper eye roll in. He leans over to plant a noisy kiss on my lips, causing me to drop my brush onto my lap.

"Thank you," he says walking away with an extra pep in his step and a smile in his voice.

I glare daggers at his back as I grumble, "At least put some baggy pants on. I can't focus." I glance down at my paint-splattered pants before resuming my work.

Dylan tosses his head back laughing, flexing his muscular ass cheeks as he heads for the kitchen. "Payback, baby," he shouts back, his laughter resuming, the sound of it warming my heart until it vanishes beneath the sound of him making breakfast in the kitchen.

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