Sweet Dandelion

He’s the sunshine, I’m the rain, but we’re no rainbow together. There is no happy ending for us. How can there be? I want there to be so badly, and I keep pushing and pushing, because I can’t stay away. I crave his nearness, because … well, he’s the sun and I need him. But the truths still remain.

My age.

His position.

This could ruin us both.

He must notice the sadness in my e

yes and misinterpret me. “I don’t want you to think you can’t borrow my books, that’s not why I got you this, but I thought it might open your eyes to other books that even I haven’t read.” He cracks a grin. “You could give me some recommendations sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I rub my finger over the orange packaging housing my new e-reader. I’m trying to force my melancholy thoughts away. They have no business here, souring this moment with him, because even if my gut tells me there isn’t a white picket fence waiting for us in our future it doesn’t mean I don’t want to enjoy the now and whatever it brings me. “Thank you so much for these, it means a lot.”

His smile is crooked, almost playful. It makes him look younger than his nearly thirty years. “And thank you for this.” He holds up the embosser. “I guess I have an excuse to go buy more books now, huh?”

I eye the growing pile by his TV stand. “I’m not sure you need one.”

His eyes follow my gaze. “Guess you’re right.”

Silence falls between us and I rock my legs back and forth, not knowing what to do or say.

He twists his lips as if he’s thinking the same thing. After our last talk about the complications and implications of what we’re doing, I don’t want to push him, not even if I want to kiss him.

I’m trying to be a grown up, to be responsible. But it’s difficult.

“I-I should go,” I finally speak, hopping down.

My movement seems to break him from some kind of trance. “Yeah, thanks for coming by.” He says it so easily, like I was stopping by to borrow sugar, not for him to give his student a Christmas present.

I grab my presents, cradling them in my arms and treasuring them more than he can imagine.

He walks me to the door, Zeppelin sniffing at my heels. Swinging it open, he waits for me to pass through. I turn around and look at him.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Lachlan,” I whisper back, my heart clenching.

Another half-smile later he closes the door.

I return to the apartment with my spoils, and when Sage gets back with grape Fanta, junk food, and enough takeout to last us a week, I tell him I’m suddenly not feeling well.

It’s not entirely a lie either.

Chapter Forty-Six

By lunch time Christmas day, all the presents are unwrapped, the paper tucked neatly in the trashcan. It leaves the two of us, in the too quiet apartment that’s surprisingly lonely despite the two souls residing inside.

Sage flips through channels on the TV, clicking his tongue as he does. Sometimes he’ll stop on one for a few seconds before moving on, other times it’s a few minutes that pass before the inevitable flip of the switch comes.

“You want to pick something?” he asks me suddenly, holding the remote out to me.

“Sure.” I might as well, because he seems incapable of choosing.

I end up putting on Home Alone. It’s a complete classic.

Grabbing a blanket I climb onto the couch from where I’d been sitting on the floor, fiddling with the artist tablet he got me, playing with the calligraphy aspect of it.

Sage reclines back against the cushions, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch and the side of his face into his open palm.