Date 3

                                    

                                          
Charlie lay sprawled out on her bedroom floor, her oversized Old Navy hoodie swallowing her frame as she lazily kicked her legs back and forth. Her sweatpants were cozy—too cozy—as she halfheartedly stared at the scrawled notes in her notebook. The words blurred into indecipherable lines, and her thoughts drifted toward the rich, comforting aroma of coffee.
But the idea of walking downtown to grab one felt like scaling a mountain, so she stayed where she was, tangled in a mix of laziness and caffeine withdrawal.
Her roommate hadn't come back last night, leaving Charlie to revel in the rare luxury of solitude. She'd blasted music the roommate hated—upbeat songs she could dance to, twirling around the room with wild abandon. She'd raided the snack stash too, figuring her roommate wouldn't notice or care.
Still, as the hours dragged on, the quiet turned from freeing to suffocating. Charlie missed the sound of another voice, someone to distract her from the ever-growing mountain of work she couldn't seem to conquer.
With her head resting on the carpet, Charlie dozed off, drifting into a dreamless, heavy sleep.
A sharp knock startled her awake. She jerked up, groaning softly as she rubbed her eyes. Without bothering to fix her hoodie, which hung awkwardly off one shoulder, she shuffled to the door and pulled it open.
Her breath hitched. "Peyton!"
There he stood, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk firmly in place. He carried a backpack slung over one shoulder and a plastic takeout bag in his hand.
"Can I come in?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring her to say no.
"Uh, yeah, sure. I didn't know you were coming over," she said, stepping back quickly and wishing she'd at least brushed her hair.
Peyton strolled in, surveying the mess of notes, books, and pens strewn across the floor. He set his things down beside hers, then plopped himself onto the carpet. "Perfect timing for a study date," he announced, grinning as he lifted the bag. "And I brought Chinese takeout."
Charlie crossed her arms, acutely aware of her rumpled clothes and unkempt hair. "If I'd known, I would've cleaned up a bit," she muttered, grabbing a brush and running it hastily through her tangled locks.
"Don't even think about it," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You look adorable. Besides, you're starving, aren't you?"
Her stomach growled in response. Peyton chuckled as Charlie sighed in defeat and sat across from him on the floor.
The aroma of sesame chicken and fried rice made her mouth water as he unpacked the containers. They picked at the food in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging jokes and snippets of conversation.
By the time they'd polished off the meal, Charlie leaned back against the bed, letting out a satisfied sigh. Peyton grabbed his backpack and unzipped it, pulling out a textbook and a stack of flashcards.
"Ready to get back to work?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not even a little bit," Charlie groaned, stretching her arms overhead in a yawn.
Peyton shook his head, smirking as he shuffled the flashcards. "Come on, you've got this."
The two settled into a rhythm, taking turns quizzing each other. Charlie's answers became increasingly mumbled as her eyelids drooped. Her insecurities about her messy room and disheveled appearance melted away under Peyton's steady, warm gaze.
"Come here," he said suddenly, shifting his position. He patted the space in front of him, his back against the wall.
Charlie hesitated but eventually crawled over, dragging her textbook with her. Peyton pulled her between his legs, her back resting against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding the book so they could both see it.
"This okay?" he murmured, his voice soft against her ear.
"Yeah," she whispered, sinking into his warmth.
Charlie relaxed completely, her head resting on his arm. The faint scent of vanilla clung to him, driving her thoughts into a quiet, blissful haze. She felt safe, cocooned in his embrace.
"I'm gonna fall asleep," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"Go ahead," he replied, smiling against her hair.
And she did.
***
Charlie jolted awake, gasping as if surfacing from underwater. The nightmare still clung to her, playing out behind her eyelids like a cruel encore. She blinked rapidly, trying to orient herself, her pulse racing.
"Charlie?"
A warm arm wrapped around her waist, and a hand gently swept her hair over her shoulder. Peyton's voice was low and groggy.
She turned to face him, momentarily forgetting where she was. "Sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be." His brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"
"Just a nightmare," she said, her voice shaky.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, brushing his fingers lightly through her hair.
Charlie shook her head, burying her face in his T-shirt. "No," she mumbled.
Peyton's arms tightened around her protectively. He didn't push for more, simply held her as she tried to steady her breathing.
She didn't tell him about the recurring nightmares. She didn't tell him about the nights she woke up alone, terrified and trembling. She didn't tell him how scared she was to let anyone get too close, afraid they'd disappear like smoke in her hands.
Instead, she whispered, "Go back to sleep."
And for the first time in a long time, she thought maybe—just maybe—she could let someone stay.