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Chapter Seven
I’m telling him about my cousin, who lives downstairs when he yawns and rests his head on the arm of my sofa, clearly exhausted. I don’t know how, but we’ve been inching closer as the minutes pass and our stories keep going on.
It almost feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime, and not just a few weeks. That’s how I’ve been told it works. Chemistry. Compatibility. Old souls reincarnating to find each other life afterlife. I truly don’t believe any of that rubbish, but he’s fun to talk to, and as far as I’ve seen, is the least judgmental bloke I’ve met. Every time I think he’s going to look outraged by one of my old Secondary school studies, he laughs instead. A musical, loud laugh that makes me blush.
“Am I boring you, Sam?”, I ask as I glance at my wristwatch. It’s three A.M. already.
“God no, it’s just-“ he says before another big yawn, “I’ve been up for ages.”
Marie A. Cinerhand holding because, yeah.
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