Chapter 21

                                    

                                          
Matthew
June 24th 2018
We'd been at Emma's place for hours, just hanging out. 
The sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow through her living room window. 
Inside, though, it was that perfect kind of lazy where everything felt slow, like time itself was stretching. 
The whole day had drifted by without any real plan or direction. We hadn't done much—just sat around, talked, and let the hours slip past like water through our fingers. 
But that was what made it so comfortable.
Her place felt lived-in. 
You could tell it wasn't one of those houses where things were too neat, too perfect. 
There was a coffee cup on the table from earlier, an open book lying on the arm of the couch, and some half-folded laundry on a chair in the corner. 
Emma sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling absently through her phone while we debated what to do next.
"Alright, what should we watch?" she asked, finally setting her phone aside and reaching for the remote.
I leaned back, sinking into the cushions. "I don't know," I replied with a shrug. "Something easy? No brainpower required."
She smirked and started flipping through the usual suspects—Netflix and Hulu. As she scrolled, we half-joked about the insane number of shows that neither of us had ever watched. 
There was that endless feeling of having way too many options and still not knowing what to pick. It was almost comical.
Eventually, we landed on Family Guy. Not that either of us was in the mood for cartoons, necessarily, but it was one of those shows you didn't really have to pay attention to. Perfect for background noise.
"Good enough," she said, pressing play.
The show flickered on, and soon we were sitting there, letting the goofy humor fill the room. Neither of us was really watching that closely, though.
 I could feel my stomach starting to rumble, reminding me that it had been hours since I'd eaten anything. Breakfast felt like a lifetime ago.
"You hungry?" Emma asked, glancing over at me as if reading my mind.
"Starving," I admitted, shifting slightly on the couch.
Her lips twisted into a thoughtful smile. "How about Chinese?"
I didn't even hesitate. "Perfect."
She grabbed her phone again, quickly pulling up the menu for the Chinese place nearby. 
We scanned through the options, ordering enough food for four people even though it was just the two of us—dumplings, spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, the works. 
I don't think either of us cared how much we were getting; we both had that hungry, lazy-day vibe going.
After the order was placed, we settled back into our rhythm. The TV droned on in the background, some ridiculous scene playing out while we talked, our conversation flowing from topic to topic without much effort. 
As we talked, I glanced around the room, taking in the little details. 
There were family pictures on the walls—Emma with her parents at some beach, another one of her, Lilly ab Peter when they were kids. 
There was a mess of school papers on the kitchen counter, a few textbooks piled up next to them, a couple of sneakers kicked off near the front door. It was such a normal, everyday space, but I liked that. It felt like her. 
Comfortable.
Time passed, and before long, the doorbell rang. The food had arrived. We both perked up, our stomachs ready for the feast that was waiting. 
Soon the coffee table was covered with cartons of steaming food. We dug in right away, barely pausing between bites to talk, laughing through mouthfuls of dumplings as we watched the absurdity on TV. 
Everything tasted amazing—probably more so because we were both so hungry—and it felt like there were no worries in the world.
At some point, I realized the light outside had completely faded. The sun had set, leaving the room illuminated by nothing but the soft, bluish glow of the TV and the dim lights overhead. 
The night had snuck up on us, but neither of us had noticed. We were too wrapped up in the comfort of the moment, too content to pay attention to the passing of time.
As we finished off the last of the spring rolls, our conversation slowed a little, naturally shifting into quieter territory. 
It wasn't that we were running out of things to say; it was more like the mood was changing in sync with the night outside. 
There was something about the stillness of it all that made everything feel a bit more... 
intimate, I guess.
Emma glanced at her phone, breaking the soft silence. She sighed, the sound pulling me back to the present.
"My parents are gonna be home soon," she said, her voice a little quieter than before. It wasn't a dramatic shift, but I could hear the underlying message: the night was coming to an end.
I sat up a bit straighter, stretching my arms over my head. "Guess I should get going, then," I said, though I didn't really want to. I liked being here—liked being with her like this.
She hesitated, her eyes flicking from the TV to me, and then back again, as if she were weighing something in her mind. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer now. "Or... you could stay."
I blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. "Stay? What about your parents?"
"They don't have to know"