Page 95 of Ex Somnis

He makes a small sound, then stands. And then he starts doing something. I don’t quite know how to describe it. Ridge builds like an artist, like he’s breathing life into ideas. Lucien builds like a god, effortlessly and look-at-me. Paul simply decides something should exist, and suddenly it does.

And the things he decides are yellow.

A yellow throw blanket appears folded neatly across the foot of the bed.

A nail polish set with every shade of yellow settles onto a shelf that wasn’t even there seconds ago.

A citrus-print cushion appears next.

Then another.

Then a ridiculous amount of plushies. All muffins in different colors.

A tiny yellow lamp.

A framed print of lemons.

I laugh despite myself. “Paul.”

“Too much?”

A jar of yellow lollipops materializes on top of a nightstand. Then beside it, a can of yellow spray paint.

My chest squeezes. “Paul.”

I know exactly what he’s doing.

A huge, oversized hoodie appears hanging over the back of a new chair, paint stains on the sleeve. Then a yellow rose in a little glass vase on the windowsill.

He’s filling my apartment with them and me, and I watch him do it. The itchy, overwhelmed feeling starts to soften.

Paul looks around once, then makes a tiny adjustment to the position of a cushion before he turns back to me.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” My voice wobbles. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He comes back to the bed and lies down. This time, when he opens his arms, I go into them willingly. He tugs my head under his chin before his hand comes up to stroke my back again.

“When I was younger and stuck in my nightmares, the bad ones I couldn’t pull out of, I used to recite fairy tales to myself. I’d read them before bed, hoping to dream about them, and when I fell into the nightmare anyway, they were all I had. I’d sit in the dark in my subconscious state and tell them. To myself.” His chest rises slowly. “I still remember all of them.”

I lean back to look up at him. “I’m sorry you’re having nightmares.”

“Don’t be. I would endure them all my life if it meant I’d get to have you.”

I want to say something to that.

I don’t, because I don’t know what or how.

“It’s not like reading a book, but I could tell one to you?”

I blink up at him. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

He pulls me closer, and I shift until my cheek is against his chest. His arm comes around me, and he glides his fingers through my hair.

He starts with Sleeping Beauty.