Page 111 of In Somnis

“And why do you like cute and colorful stuff, Lennon?”

The question catches me off guard. Not the words themselves, but the way he asks, as if he genuinely wants to know.

I set the sweater down and sit back on my heels, thinking.

“When my dad died,” I start slowly. “Everything started feeling heavy. Gray. Like the color was draining out of the world a little bit every day. The funeral home was all dark wood and muted tones. Even the people around me started wearing these… subdued colors. As if brightness was disrespectful or something.”

Paul has stopped unpacking completely now, his full attention on me.

“And I realized that I was starting to dress like that too. Wearing blacks and grays because it felt appropriate. Because grief is supposed to look a certain way.” I pick at a loose thread on my sweater. “But then one day, I was standing in front of my closet, and I saw this yellow dress hanging there. This bright, sunny, completely inappropriate yellow dress he bought me. And I thought… fuck that.”

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

“I realized that choosing to be colorful, to be soft and cute and bright… that’s maybe childish, yes, but it’s also defiant.”

I meet his eyes.

“It’s saying that the world can be dark, heavy, and hard, and I’m still going to put sprinkles on things, paint my nails yellow, wear fuzzy sweaters, and collect plushies because those things make me happy. I refuse to let the weight of everything mute me again…” I pause. “When my mom got sick, it was the only thing keeping me together.”

Paul looks at me, and I start to wonder if I’ve shared too much. But to my relief, he says, “That’s…” He stops, shakes his head. “That’s incredibly brave, Lennon.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “It’s just colors.”

“No.” He turns back to the bedframe pieces, but there’s something different in his posture now. “It’s not.”

We work in comfortable silence for a while—him assembling, me organizing—and I notice how he keeps glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking.

But I’m looking all the time.

He reaches for another piece of the frame, then pauses. His hand goes to his wrist, checking his watch with a glance. I watch him fit two pieces together, tightening a bolt, and then he does it again, another quick check of his watch, barely a minute after the last one.

Is he nervous? Does he have somewhere to be?

I’m about to ask when he looks up at me, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t you have to get ready for work?”

“Oh, yeah.” I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. “I guess I should start getting ready soon. I need a shower.”

“Go ahead,” he says matter-of-factly, already turning back to his work.

“I can wait until you’re done,” I offer, gesturing at the half-assembled bedframe. “I don’t want to disappear and leave you with all this.”

“Lennon.” He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me, his expression patient but firm. “Go shower.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I promise I won’t steal anything while you’re gone.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s planning to steal something would say,” I point out, but I’m already standing, brushing dust off my knees.

“You caught me.” His eyes glint behind his glasses. “I’m here for the plushie muffin. This whole furniture thing is a cover.”

I laugh, shaking my head as I grab clean clothes from one of my more organized piles. “His name is Mr. Muffin, and he’s non-negotiable.”

“Noted.” Paul returns his attention to the bedframe, but I catch the smile playing at his lips. “Go. I’ll be here when you get out.”

And just like that, something inside me unclenches.