Chapter 63 63- Do Not Forget How Close He’s Standing
LEXI
Breakfast with Blake and my parents is nice. Relaxing in a way that sneaks up on me. There’s no awkwardness this time, no careful circling around topics. Just easy conversation, plates passed across the table, the clink of cutlery and the low murmur of voices filling the kitchen. Blake fits into it better than I expected, answering questions, making the occasional dry comment, listening more than he speaks. Afterwards, I show Blake my room and some of my favourite things. The posters I never took down. The bookshelf with the dog-eared spines and half-finished series. The little objects that only really make sense to me. He basically pokes around nosily, opening drawers just far enough to look, picking things up and asking questions like he’s cataloguing pieces of me. I let him. It’s fine. More than fine, actually. There’s something comforting about the way he treats my space like it matters, like it tells him something important. We do decide to head back to the Academy pretty early in the day. Sure, we could stay longer. No one is rushing us out the door. But getting back late would probably just result in us both being really tired first thing tomorrow, and neither of us needs that. Sometimes it’s nice to just have a few hours in the afternoon and evening to not do anything at all. To just chill. To exist without expectations. Also… I still plan to talk to Blake. The thought resurfaces quietly but insistently. The resolve I’d felt last night is still there, but it feels different now. Heavier. More intimidating. The idea of bringing it up in the daylight, with my parents nearby, suddenly feels much scarier than it did alone in the dark in my room. In daylight, things feel more real. More permanent. I think it would be better back at the Academy. Maybe after we watch that movie, when everything is relaxed and familiar and Blake has somewhere easy to retreat to if things go badly. The thought stings a little, but I know myself well enough to be honest about it. So I hug my parents goodbye, lingering just a moment longer than usual. Mum squeezes me tight and tells me to text. Dad presses a brief kiss to the top of my head and tells me to behave, which earns him a roll of my eyes. Then Blake and I load into another taxi, because apparently Blake has some deep-seated issue with public transport, and off we go, the house shrinking away behind us as the car pulls down the street. I lean back against the seat, watching the familiar scenery slide past, my thoughts already drifting ahead. Academy. Movie night. And a conversation I’m both determined to have and quietly terrified of. This should be interesting.
We get back around lunch time, and I am weirdly exhausted. Not the kind of tired that comes from doing something physically demanding, just the deep, full-body heaviness that settles in after a weekend that’s been emotionally busy in ways I didn’t quite notice until now. Much to Blake’s displeasure, I decide to skip lunch and go take a nap. He protests, predictably, pointing out that I’ve barely eaten since breakfast, and I just shrug it off.
“I promise I’ll eat well at dinner.” I say sincerely, meeting his eyes so he knows I mean it. He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go. I head into my room and collapse into my bed, not even bothering to do more than kick my shoes off. I barely have time to register how comfortable the mattress feels before sleep takes me. I sleep like the dead for a few hours, the kind of heavy, uninterrupted sleep where you don’t dream and don’t move. When I wake up, I feel mildly drowsy but totally satisfied. Like something important has been filed away properly. My limbs are heavy, my thoughts slow, but there’s a quiet sense of contentment humming beneath it all. The weekend has gone… Well. Better than I expected. Now, all I need to finish it off is dinner and a movie night with Blake. And, hopefully, some kind of answers about our relationship. The thought makes my stomach flutter, nerves waking up now that I’m more alert. I get up, splash some water on my face, and look myself over critically in the mirror. I tilt my head, assessing. I doubt Blake is judging my outfit particularly, he’s never given any indication that he is, but a little extra confidence wouldn’t hurt. Confidence feels like armour right now. I tidy myself up as much as possible without actually getting changed. Smooth my hair. Adjust my clothes. Take a second to breathe. Because if I do get changed, Blake will notice and ask me why, and I’m not ready to answer that question yet. Okay. I straighten, shoulders squaring just a little. I can do this. Just act normal.
When Blake knocks on my door to head to dinner, I’m already on my feet and answering within seconds. I don’t give myself time to second-guess it.
“Hey Blake!” I say, a little too cheerfully. The brightness in my voice is obvious even to me. Blake pauses, eyes flicking over my face, my posture, the way I’m standing just a bit too straight. He gives me a suspicious look.
“Hello?” He answers cautiously.
“Ready for dinner?” I ask, still overly perky, words tumbling out faster than usual. Mostly because I’m nervous, and apparently my coping mechanism for that is enthusiasm.
“Yes…” He says slowly. Then his expression sharpens.
“But something is wrong. What’s wrong, Lexi?” He demands.
“Nothing is wrong.” I tell him honestly. That part is true. Nothing is wrong. Everything is just… Confusing. He studies me for a moment longer, gaze steady, searching.
“Something is bothering you though.” He says, voice firm now.
“Tell me.” He repeats his demand. My overly cheerful expression cracks just a little, the effort of holding it slipping. I glance away, then back at him, my voice softer when I speak again.
“How about I promise that I’m going to talk to you about it. But also that I want to have dinner first…” I say, choosing my words carefully, then I trail off, leaving the request hanging there between us. Blake takes a close look at my face. Really looks. I can tell he wants to argue. His jaw tightens, the line of his mouth flattening like he’s already preparing a rebuttal.
“I skipped lunch, remember?” I add gently.
“Food first. Conversation after.” I prompt. That does it. He exhales through his nose, tension easing just a fraction, and finally relents. He steps closer and takes my arm, the contact grounding in a way that makes my chest loosen.
“Alright. But we’re eating quickly.” He grumbles. I can live with that. And as we start walking, nerves buzzing quietly beneath my skin, I remind myself that I meant what I said. Dinner first. Conversation after.
True to his word, Blake rushes through dinner, barely pausing between bites. He finishes long before I do, then sits back and stares at me with an intensity that makes it impossible to forget what’s waiting on the other side of my plate. I try to ignore it. I really do. But the pressure builds until every bite feels painfully slow. As soon as my plate is finally clear, his chair scrapes loudly against the floor and he’s on his feet. He grabs my hand, pulls me up with him, and hooks it firmly over his arm like this is non-negotiable.
“Let’s go.” He says, already tugging me along. I follow willingly, barely having time to react before we’re moving. Blake doesn’t slow down once we leave the dining area. If anything, he moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move. Usually, he takes his time getting wherever he’s going, unhurried, confident, like the world will wait for him. Apparently not tonight. We head back to the dorms, his pace brisk and purposeful. When we reach my door, he stops short and waits impatiently while I fumble slightly with the lock, my hands just unsteady enough to notice. The second the door closes behind us, he turns on me. He’s standing over me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“Well?” He asks. I blink, momentarily thrown by the intensity.
“Okay, first I’m going to need you to relax. You are all up in my face, which in some contexts might be appealing, but in this context is very uncomfortable.” I say slowly, lifting a hand between us.