Chapter 3: Watching Her Pee
The laughter finally subsided into hiccuping sighs, her face still buried in the soft cotton of his shirt. He didn’t let go. He just held her, one hand splayed on her back, the other tangled in the messy bun at the nape of her neck. The movie credits were rolling, casting scrolling shadows across the room.
“You’re crushing the gummy worms,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Priorities,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through her.
They stayed like that until the streaming service suggested another film, its auto-play trailer suddenly blaring aggressive music. Ethan fumbled for the remote, silencing it. The quiet that followed was different from before—charged, settled, complete.
Later, in the hazy blue of very early morning, she woke needing to pee. She tried to extract herself from the tangle of limbs on the couch, but his arm tightened around her waist in his sleep. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, his words slurred with dreams.
“Bathroom,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Two minutes.”
He released her, his hand sliding away reluctantly. She padded across the cool hardwood, the apartment dark and silent. She’d left the bathroom door ajar, a slash of light from the nightlight cutting across the hallway floor. She was just sitting down when she saw his shadow block the light.
He stood in the doorway, blinking sleep from his eyes, his hair sticking up in chaotic peaks. He looked dazed, disoriented, like he’d sleepwalked to her.
“Ethan?”
“I… I heard the door,” he said, his voice rough. He shuffled in, still mostly asleep, and leaned against the sink, folding his arms over his bare chest. He was trying to give her privacy, she could tell. His eyes were fixed with intense concentration on the shower curtain, on the mint-green tiles, on the worn floral pattern of the wallpaper. But every few seconds, his gaze would falter. It would drop, just for a heartbeat, to where she sat on the toilet. Then he’d wrench it back up, his ears turning a slow, deep pink in the low light.
A slow smile spread across Savannah’s face. She didn’t feel exposed. She felt a wave of fierce, protective fondness. He’d followed her like a lost puppy, too loyal and disoriented to be anywhere else, and now he was fighting a losing battle with his own bewildered devotion.
She caught his eye the next time it flickered down. He flinched, looking utterly horrified with himself.
“Sorry,” he stammered, the word tripping over itself. “I’m not—I wasn’t—I should wait outside.” He started to turn.
“Ethan.” Her voice was soft, amused. She stood, flushed, and walked the two steps to the sink. She didn’t reach for him immediately. Instead, she washed her hands, the scent of her lavender soap blooming in the steamy air. She watched him in the mirror. He was frozen, a statue of mortification.
She turned, drying her hands on her shorts. “It’s okay,” she said, closing the distance between them. She looped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his warm chest. His heart was thumping a rapid, guilty rhythm. “You can look. It’s just me.”
He let out a shaky breath, his arms coming around her to hold her tightly. He buried his face in her hair. “It’s not just anything,” he murmured, the words muffled. “It’s you. All of you. It’s all… perfect.”
She snorted, the laugh bursting out of her before she could stop it. “Even that?”
“Especially that.” He said it with such grave sincerity that she laughed harder, her body shaking against his. He smiled into her hair, his embarrassment dissolving into quiet joy at her reaction. “It’s real. It’s normal. It’s you being a person. I love it.”
The words hung in the air, simple and monumental. Not ‘I love you,’ but ‘I love it.’ A love for the mundane truth of her. It was better, somehow.
The rising sun began to spear through the narrow bathroom window, turning the steam into glowing filaments of gold. It caught the dust motes and the pale blue of her eyes in the mirror. He lifted his head, looking at their reflection—her in his oversized shirt and shorts, him shirtless and rumpled, both of them encircled in the tiny, tiled room. A private world of mint-green and morning light.
“We should probably try to sleep in an actual bed,” she said, her voice husky.
He nodded, but made no move to leave. His hands slid up her back, under the shirt, his palms warm on her skin. He kissed her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then finally her mouth, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of sleep and belonging. When he pulled away, he kept his forehead resting against hers.
“Today’s Saturday,” he stated.
“It is.”
“No practice. No lab.”
“A free day,” she confirmed.
A shadow, faint but unmistakable, passed behind his eyes. The real world, with its judgments and schedules, was beginning to encroach on their bubble. “What do you… what do people like you do on a free Saturday?” he asked, the question小心翼翼.
People like you. Cheerleaders. Popular girls. The thought was a small, sharp pinch. She thought of Lexi’s planned brunches, the aggressive shopping trips, the sunset photoshoots by the lake designed to look effortless. A performance, start to finish.
“I was thinking,” she said, tracing the line of his collarbone with her finger. “We could go to that used bookstore downtown. The one with the cat. And then maybe get those giant, terrible slices of pizza from Antonio’s. The kind that drips grease on your shirt.”
His eyes lit up, a slow, sunrise kind of brightness. “Really?”
“Really. But only if you promise not to explain the unrealistic gear shifts in any old cars we pass.”
He laughed, a short, happy sound that bounced off the tiles. “I promise.” He kissed her again, quick and hard. “I’ll even let you hold my hand in public.”
“How brave of you,” she deadpanned.
They finally migrated to her bed, collapsing into the cool sheets. Sleep pulled at her instantly, a heavy, contented tide. Just as she was drifting off, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Once. Twice.
Ethan’s arm tightened around her. “Don’t,” he whispered, already half-gone.
But the damage was done. The thread of anxiety, momentarily severed, began to re-knot itself in her stomach. She saw Lexi’s name in her mind’s eye. The ‘walk of shame’ comment echoed. She wondered, with a sudden, cold clarity, what the group chat was saying right now. She’d defied them. There would be a cost.
She pushed the thought away, nestling deeper into the curve of his body. The pizza, the bookstore, the cat. That was today. That was her choice. She focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the rhythm slowly syncing with her own.
When she woke again, full sunlight was blazing through the canopy. The other side of the bed was empty, but the smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. She found him there, staring with intense focus at her expensive espresso machine as if it were an alien artifact. He’d put his jeans back on.
“It’s a lost cause,” she said, leaning in the doorway. “I only keep it for show. I use the instant stuff in the cupboard.”
He looked up, relief washing over his face. “Oh thank god.” He busied himself finding mugs, his movements more assured here than in the bathroom. He was learning her spaces.
As they sat at her small kitchen island, sipping bitter instant coffee, the phone buzzed again. It was a persistent, angry sound. Savannah looked at it, a ceramic mug halfway to her lips.
Ethan watched her. He didn’t tell her to ignore it. He just waited.
She set the mug down, walked over, and picked it up. It was, as expected, Lexi.
Lexi: Rally brunch at my place. Noon. Be there. We need to talk about the fall fundraiser. AND other things.
The subtext was a screaming siren. AND other things. Savannah’s thumb hovered over the screen. She could feel Ethan’s quiet gaze on her back.
She typed back, her movements precise.
Savannah: Can’t. Have plans.
The three dots appeared immediately, dancing with furious energy. They disappeared. Reappeared. Then a single message popped up.
Lexi: Bring him, then.
Savannah stared at the words. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons, a challenge. A test. She turned and showed the phone to Ethan.
He read it, his expression unreadable. He took a slow sip of coffee. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” She chewed her lip. “But if I don’t, it never stops. It just becomes this thing they use forever. The weird boyfriend she hides.” She walked back to him, placing the phone face down on the counter. “Do you… would you want to? It would be brutal. They’ll be polite to your face and absolutely vicious the second you go to the bathroom.”
He considered it, his gentle green eyes thoughtful. He reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “You faced down the Griddle,” he said simply. “The least I can do is face the rally brunch.”
Her heart swelled, a painful, glorious pressure. “You don’t have to be a hero.”
“I’m not,” he said, a faint, nervous smile touching his lips. “I’m just the guy who gets to hold your hand while you’re being one.” He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her. “But can we still get the greasy pizza after? As a reward for survival?”
She laughed, the sound freeing the last knot of tension in her chest. “The greasiest slice they have.”
He stood up, pulling her with him. “Then let’s get ready for war.” He said it like a joke, but his grip on her hand was firm, an anchor. The morning sunlight streamed around them, illuminating the path out of their sanctuary, into the glittering, judgmental world she came from. This time, she wouldn’t be walking it alone.
This time, she wouldn’t be walking it alone. The thought was a shield. She took a deep breath, the smell of cheap coffee grounding her, and picked up her phone again. Ethan’s hand was warm on the small of her back, a silent press of solidarity. She stared at Lexi’s last message. Bring him, then.
The words weren’t an olive branch. They were a trap, baited with passive aggression and social obligation. Savannah could see the entire scene unfold in her mind: the sidelong glances, the coded language, Ethan sitting stiffly on a too-white sofa while她们 dissected him with surgical smiles. The fundraiser would be a footnote. She would be the main event.
A hot, sudden clarity burned through the anxiety. It wasn’t just irritation. It was a profound weariness with the entire performance, and a fierce, protective rage on his behalf. He was offering to walk into the lion’s den for her. He shouldn’t have to.
Her thumbs moved over the screen, faster than her conscious thought, typing with a fluid, furious certainty she didn’t know she possessed.
She didn’t type a paragraph. She didn’t justify or explain. She just let it out, raw and uncensored.
Fuck you and your rally. You only want to talk about my boyfriend. Let me remind you that you’re only my vice and I could destroy you. Understand? So don’t stick your nose in my life or you will regret it. Understand?
She hit send before the cold fear of consequence could catch up. The action was a physical release, a slamming door. A quiet, electric silence filled the kitchen. She placed the phone back on the counter, screen up, and watched it. The delivered receipt appeared. Then the read receipt. The three dots didn’t appear. They didn’t dance. They simply never came.
Lexi had seen it. And for the first time Savannah could remember, Lexi had no immediate reply.
Ethan had been watching her face, not the screen. He saw the hard set of her jaw loosen, the fierce blaze in her blue eyes soften into something like shock at her own audacity. He gently turned the phone toward him with one finger. He read the message. His breath caught.
A slow, deep crimson flush crawled up his neck, over his fair cheeks, painting his ears a brilliant red. It wasn’t a blush of embarrassment. It was a blush of overwhelming, awe-struck pride. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. He looked from the phone to her face, his green eyes wide.
“You… you didn’t have to do that,” he finally whispered, but his voice was thick with emotion.
“Yes, I did.” Her own voice was quiet now, the storm spent. “It’s done. No more brunches. No more passive-aggressive ‘and other things.’” She looked at the phone, a strange power settling in her bones. “She’s vice captain because I pushed for her. The social capital she uses? It’s borrowed from my account. She just forgot.”
Ethan reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and cupped her cheek. “You’re terrifying,” he said, and the way he said it was the purest form of worship. “You solved it.”
“I just removed the problem.” She leaned into his touch, the adrenaline melting away, leaving her light and hungry. “So. No war. Just pizza. I promised you a reward.”
The grin that spread across his face was unburdened, brighter than the kitchen sun. “The greasy pizza.”
“The greasiest.”
They didn’t bother changing out of their lazy morning clothes—her in his shirt and shorts, him in his jeans and a fresh t-shirt he’d pulled from his backpack. The autumn air outside was crisp, scented with fallen leaves and distant chimney smoke. She took his hand, lacing their fingers together tightly, and they walked. Not as a defiant parade, but just as two people going to get food.
The walk to Antonio’s took them across campus, past the library where they’d been just hours before, past the practice field now empty and quiet. Every familiar landmark felt new, seen through the lens of the quiet bomb she’d just detonated. The world hadn’t ended. The sky was still a hard, clear blue.
“Do you think she’ll actually leave it alone?” Ethan asked, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand.
“For a while,” Savannah said, considering. “She’ll either double down later or pretend it never happened. Either way, we have today.”
Antonio’s was a cave of warmth and noise, smelling of yeast, scorched cheese, and garlic. The linoleum was sticky underfoot. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, glinting off red vinyl booths and the glass front of the arcade games in the back. A television mounted in the corner played a soccer match with the sound off.
They ordered at the counter—one giant slice of pepperoni each, and two fountain drinks with crushed ice. The man behind the counter knew her, gave her a nod, his eyes flicking to Ethan with mild curiosity but no judgment. They took their number and found a booth in the corner, the vinyl sighing under them.
When the slices arrived, they were obscenely large, flopping over the edges of the paper plates. The cheese was a molten, orange lake, dotted with crispy cups of pepperoni, glistening with oil. It was a glorious, terrible mess.
Ethan looked at his slice with the same reverence he’d shown her in the bathroom. “How do you even start?”
“You commit,” she said, and folded her slice in half lengthwise, a New York trick her dad had taught her. The cheese stretched, then surrendered. She took a huge bite. Hot, salty, fatty flavor exploded in her mouth. Grease immediately dotted her chin and threatened to drip onto the stolen shirt.
He watched her, mesmerized, then mimicked her fold. He took a bite. A string of cheese clung to his lip. His eyes closed in pure pleasure. “Oh,” he mumbled around the food. “Oh, that’s… that’s the one.”
They ate in contented silence for a few minutes, the only sounds their chewing, the clatter of the kitchen, the distant beep-boop of a pinball machine. Savannah felt a profound sense of normalcy, a anchoring in this simple, greasy ritual. This was a date. A real one. Not a secret. Not a performance.
“Thank you,” Ethan said suddenly, wiping his mouth with a thin paper napkin that immediately disintegrated.
“For the pizza?”
“For the message. For this.” He gestured vaguely with his crust. “For not making me perform for your friends. I would have. But I’m glad I don’t have to.”
“I’m glad, too.” She reached across the table, her fingers finding his, tangling in his greasy ones. “This is better. This is us.”
He held her gaze, his green eyes serious. “I like us.”
After they finished, their fingers slick and salty, they got another round of drinks and just sat. They talked about nothing. He told her about the cat at the bookstore, a fat orange tabby named Fitz that slept on the science fiction shelf. She told him about the time she put salt in the sugar bowl at a squad brunch and watched Lexi almost spit out her latte. They laughed, easy and loud, and no one looked over.
When the lunch rush faded, they finally left, bellies full, hands linked. The afternoon sun was softer now, casting long shadows. They walked slowly, aimlessly, taking a different route back. They passed a small park where kids screamed on a swing set. The ordinary beauty of it all felt sharp and sweet.
Back at her apartment door, fumbling for her keys, he leaned against the wall beside her. “Today was perfect,” he said, his voice low.
“It’s not over yet,” she said, finally unlocking the door. She pulled him inside, into the quiet, lavender-scented dimness. She kicked the door shut with her foot and turned to him, placing her greasy hands on his cheeks, pulling his face down to hers. The kiss tasted like pepperoni and soda and him. It was messy and real and theirs.
He laughed against her mouth, his arms wrapping around her, holding her close. No more problems to solve. No more eyes watching. Just the warm, shared silence of their own making, and the whole, quiet afternoon stretching ahead of them, golden and free.