Sometimes it felt like the two of you lived on your own, isolated island, far away from the crashing waves that were the rest of Hampden College; further yet from the rest of the world. You’d spend hours at his place, drinking yourselves into a stupor and lounging on armchairs, couches, beds—anywhere available. Lazy kisses you’d deny ever happened, but nothing further. School didn’t matter—not after Bunny. You couldn’t care less for your other courses, and neither did Charles. Greek occasionally caught your attention, and you’d do one or two assignments together before giving up. It was bliss, it was burden. It was cloudy memories and loosely floating spurts of consciousness. Do I have to wash my clothes today? Did I promise to go out with someone? None of it mattered. You’d cut yourselves off, cordoned off in Charles’ little apartment.

Tonight was another night like this. You’d drunk yourselves stupid, wine staining your lips and clothes, Charles lying with his head on your lap. He opened sleepy eyes and grinned up at you.

“You’re…hm…you make it better, sometimes. Is that weird?”