Chapter 17: s. W
The morning arrived not as an alarm, but as a slow, golden seep of sunlight through the blinds, painting stripes across the tangle of their limbs. Andi woke to the solid, warm reality of Matt’s chest beneath her cheek, the steady thump of his heart a quiet rhythm against the city’s distant murmur. The previous night—the rooftop, the stars, the way he’d looked at her as she’d climbed into his lap—felt like a dream etched into her skin.
He stirred, his hand finding the bare curve of her hip beneath the sheet. “You awake?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Barely.” She nuzzled deeper into him, inhaling his scent. “My brain is still off. Don’t turn it on.”
A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “No plans to.” He shifted, rolling onto his side to face her, his dark eyes soft and focused. “We’re calling in dead today.”
“A personal day for advanced decomposition.”
“Exactly.”
He traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. The memory of his mouth on hers, under the infinite rooftop sky, flashed between them, a silent, shared current. The air in the room thickened, charged with a lazy, potent energy. The world outside, with its deadlines and responsibilities, ceased to exist. There was only this room, this bed, this unspoken pact of stillness.
He kissed her then, not with the frantic heat of the night before, but with a deep, languid possession that made her toes curl. It was a kiss that had all the time in the world. Her hands slid up his back, feeling the shift of muscle, pulling him closer until there was no space left, until the sheets were a warm mess around them and the only sound was their shared breathing.
Later, the TV flickered to life, casting shifting blue light across the dim room. They found a marathon of a mindless baking competition and let it wash over them, a stream of sugary concoctions and manufactured drama. The day blurred into a delicious cycle of inertia. Matt ventured out long enough to raid the kitchen, returning with a bizarre but perfect feast: cold pizza from two nights ago, a family-sized bag of salt and vinegar chips, and a container of strawberry yogurt he ate with his fingers.
“This is the most depraved thing I’ve ever seen,” Andi said, stealing a chip from the bag between his legs.
“You love it.” He fed her a spoonful of yogurt, his thumb wiping a stray drop from her chin.
The afternoon sun slanted across the floorboards when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at the screen. “It’s Sarah.”
“Ignore it,” Matt murmured, his lips traveling along her shoulder blade. “We’re decomposing. We don’t have thumbs.”
She laughed, letting the call go to voicemail. “She’s probably just wanting to re-live the baby news for the hundredth time.”
“Let her re-live it with Ben. Today is ours.” His hands slid around her waist, pulling her back against him, and the conversation ended. The world narrowed to the feel of his skin on hers, the sound of the television forgotten, the city a silent painting outside their window. Time became something measured not in hours, but in the slow arc of sunlight across the wall and the deepening intimacy between them.
As dusk began to bleed into the sky, painting it in shades of violet and orange, they lay spent and tangled in the center of the wrecked bed. Empty wrappers and glasses of water littered the nightstands. The room smelled of them, of sex and sleep and salt. Andi’s head was on his stomach, rising and falling with his breath.
“We didn’t do a single thing today,” she mused, her voice hazy with contentment.
Matt’s fingers were combing slowly through her hair. “We did everything.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, at the peaceful, satiated expression on his face. The frantic energy of the graduation celebration, the shocking joy of Sarah’s news, the celestial intensity of the rooftop—it had all condensed into this single, perfect point of stillness. They had built a fortress of quiet, and for one day, nothing had been allowed in.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a slow, sealing press of his lips. Outside, the city lights began to wink on, one by one, but inside, the lazy day held, a warm, private world all their own.
The phone’s buzz was a harsh, metallic vibration against the wooden nightstand, a jarring intrusion into their quiet cocoon. Andi let out a soft groan, burying her face deeper into the warmth of Matt’s stomach. “Ignore it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her bare back.
It buzzed again, more insistent this time, skittering toward the edge. With a sigh, she reached a blind hand, fumbling until her fingers closed around the cool device. The screen’s light was painfully bright in the dim room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
“It’s Chloe,” she said, squinting at the message. She read it aloud, her voice still thick with sleep and satisfaction. “Massive party in Southside tomorrow at that new warehouse space. You and your mysterious man better be there.”
Matt’s hand stilled on her back. He could feel the subtle shift in her energy, a quickening of interest that tightened the muscles under his palm. “A warehouse party,” he stated, his tone flat. “Sounds like a lot of sticky floors and bad decisions.”
“It sounds like fun,” she countered, rolling onto her elbows to look at him. Her hair was a wild halo, her eyes bright with the first spark of external stimulus all day. “We’ve been hermits. We could use a night out.”
“We just had a night out.” He gestured vaguely around their disordered room, the evidence of their decadent isolation. “This feels like a better night in.”
“Come on,” she pleaded, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. “It’ll be different. Just us, but with music. No toasts, no family, just dancing.” She nipped playfully at his skin. “I want to see you in a crowd where I can’t keep my hands to myself.”
He caught her chin, his thumb stroking her jawline. The idea of losing her in a throbbing mass of strangers held little appeal compared to the certainty of having her right here. But the light in her eyes was a powerful force. “Southside’s a hike,” he said, a final, weak defense.
“We’ll take an Uber.” She grinned, sensing his capitulation. “Live a little, Johnson. Before we completely fossilize in this bed.”
He sighed, a sound of mock exasperation that betrayed his own flicker of curiosity. The protective bubble of their day was punctured, the outside world seeping back in with the promise of bass and neon and her hand in his. “Fine,” he conceded, pulling her down for a slow, deep kiss. “But if it’s awful, we leave.”
“Deal.” Her smile was triumphant against his lips. She tapped out a quick reply to Chloe, her thumbs moving with a new, anticipatory energy. The city lights outside now seemed less like a distant painting and more like an invitation.
The city lights outside now seemed less like a distant painting and more like an invitation. She tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, its screen winking out and plunging the room back into a comfortable gloom. Matt’s hand found the dip of her waist again, his touch a familiar anchor.
“A warehouse party,” he repeated, the words tasting foreign. “I’m officially too old for that.”
“You’re twenty-four, not ninety-four.” Andi laughed, a sound that warmed the quiet space between them. She shifted, rolling to face him fully, her expression softening. “Besides, we can’t hibernate forever. The world’s still spinning out there.”
He knew she was right. The sealed-off perfection of their day was already receding, a beautiful, temporary artifact. The real world, with its complications and its noise, was waiting. His gaze drifted past her, toward the faint glow of his laptop on the desk in the corner.
“Sarah’s news,” he started, his voice quiet. “It changes things, doesn’t it?”
Andi’s playful mood settled into something more thoughtful. “Yeah. It does.” She propped her head on her hand. “It’s not just us anymore. It’s… them. And a baby. It feels bigger.”
“I was looking at crib designs this morning,” he admitted, the confession feeling both intimate and significant. “Before you woke up. Modern, clean lines. Something that converts into a toddler bed.”
Her eyes widened, a slow smile spreading. “You were?”
“It’s what I do.” He shrugged, a little self-conscious. “I see a problem, I look for a design solution. Ben can’t build a birdhouse. They’re going to need help.”
“My big, practical man.” She leaned in and kissed him, a soft, lingering press of her lips. “But what about our design? Our convertible toddler bed?”
The question hung in the air, simple and enormous. The future, which had always been a abstract concept, suddenly had a tangible shape. It had the weight of a hammer and the scent of new wood.
“We start building it,” he said, his voice low and certain. “Right here.” He gestured around the room, at the life they were already making. “We build the crib for them first. Then we build everything else for us.”
A profound quiet settled over them, more powerful than any words. The party, the city, the noise—it all faded into background static. Andi curled into his side, her leg hooking over his, claiming her place in the blueprint he was drawing.
“Okay,” she whispered into his skin, the single word a promise and a acceptance. “Let’s build it.”
Outside, the invitation of the city lights blurred, becoming just stars again, watching over them as they began.