Chapter 16

A week later, the rain was coming down hard when Freja turned onto the Carters’ street. It wasn’t the gentle kind that barely dotted the sidewalk — this was steady and soaking, the kind that darkened the pavement and sent water rushing along the gutters. Hunched shoulders, she walked fast, backpack thumping against her spine, shoes splashing through shallow puddles she couldn’t avoid. By the time the Victorian house came into view, she was thoroughly drenched. Her hair stuck to her cheeks and neck, and the cuffs of her jeans were dark and dripping. She jogged the last few steps up the path, fumbling with her keys, then finally pushed the door open and slipped inside.

The door shut behind her with a soft, solid click, and the noise of the rain dropped away like someone had turned down the volume on the world. Freja stood in the hallway for a moment, water pooling at her feet, breathing out as if she’d been holding her breath the entire walk home. Warm air wrapped around her instantly. The house felt unusually quiet, but it wasn’t an empty disturbing quiet. Just peaceful.

She toed off her soaked sneakers and left them by the mat, then shrugged out of her jacket. The house smelled faintly of clean laundry and the familiar creak of the floorboards under her socks felt oddly comforting. No voices called out. No one rushed in to ask where she’d been. The quiet simply ... waited for her. It reminded her of home. Getting used to the silence, Freja caught the faint, muffled sound of the television. Someone was home after all.

Freja followed the sound of the TV to the living room, where Micah sat sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen. Some animated show was playing — bright colors, fast voices, the kind of thing that didn’t require much thinking.

“Hey,” Freja said softly.

The word barely carried over the TV noise, but Micah’s head turned immediately.

He glanced over and grinned. “Oh, hey. Everybody else went out. Mom left money for pizza.”

Freja nodded. “I need to get out of these wet clothes first. Is it okay if I join you after?”

Micah shrugged. “Sure.”

Up in her room, she peeled off her damp sweater and jeans and swapped them for soft pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. The fabric felt warm and gentle against her skin, and she rubbed her hair with a towel until it stopped dripping onto her shoulders. Outside, the rain rattled steadily against the window, a constant, quiet sound that made the house feel even more sheltered.

When she went back downstairs, the living room looked even cozier than before — dim except for the glow of the TV, the curtains drawn against the gray afternoon. Micah had stretched out again on the couch, blanket pulled up around his waist. He glanced over when he heard her steps.

“Feeling less like a drowned rat now?” he asked.

“Much,” Freja smiled, curling up on the couch beside Micah. “Though I think I still smell like wet dog.”

Leaning in, Micah theatrically sniffed her hair. “Nah, you’re good.”

Nudging him with her shoulder, Freja giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

She felt the warmth of his body radiating through the blanket. It was a feeling that comforted her. She settled in, her head resting on his lap.

“Is this okay?”

Micah didn’t answer with words. Instead, his fingers brushed against her hair, this touch light and reassuring. It was permission, encouragement, an unspoken invitation to stay. Freja let out a slow breath, her muscles relaxing into the couch. Together, they watched the screen for a while, the animated characters’ voices filling the space between them. The TV’s glow painted the room in shifting hues of blue and gold.

Freja could feel the weight of Micah’s hand resting lightly on her side, his fingers occasionally tracing idle patterns against the curve of her waist. The touch was casual and innocent, but it sent little sparks through her skin. She shifted slightly, her head still resting on his lap, and felt something else —something that made her pause. Beneath her cheek, Micah’s body had changed. There was a tension there, a subtle shift in the way he held himself. She could feel it through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his thigh muscles tightened just a little.

The room felt warmer now, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Freja stayed still, and so did Micah. His hand still on her side, his fingers had stopped moving. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his breath had changed. Then she felt a twitch beneath her cheek, a subtle shift in the fabric of his sweatpants, and she knew.

She didn’t move away but pretended not to notice. She knew Micah would be embarrassed if she acknowledged his changing state, so she kept her eyes on the screen. But she couldn’t ignore the second twitch beneath her cheek. It was more pronounced this time. A slow hardening that pressed against the soft skin of her face.

Her hardening nipples and a warmth spreading from her chest to her lower regions told her that Micah wasn’t the only one affected by the situation. The way he remained completely frozen, except for the one part that was making its presence known right next to her face, Freja could imagine how he’d be terrified right now. Terrified that she’d find out about his insisting erection, that she’d be offended.

It would only be kind of her to let him know she knew, right? That she wasn’t offended, that she understood. At least, that was what Freja told herself when she placed her hand on his leg, close to her face, close to the growing bulge in his sweatpants. She felt him tense under her touch, his breathing hitching slightly. Casually, she let her fingers drift a little closer. Somehow she could feel the difference in his tenseness. From one second to the next, it had changed from fear to anticipation.