Midnight Muse

“Not in the mood,” I grunt, shoving past him. I hate every second of pushing through the crowd, bodies plastered against my own like the ink on my arms. I wonder if the loud music is bothering Quinn on the other side of the thin wall, and I shake that thought straight from my mind because I simply don’t care.

I can pretend that I don’t, anyway.

She’s probably here, if I had to guess. Somewhere in this crowd with a drink in her hand and that gorgeous smile on her face. I bet her cheeks are red with liquor and her perfect hazel eyes are all wide and glossy. She’s probably dancing with Rory, or maybe not, because Rory’s probably off somewhere with Ace. Maybe Quinn’s dancing with someone else, grinding those generous hips against his?—

I clench my jaw, digging in my pocket for my keys so I don’t look over my shoulder to seek her out.

I shove the key into the lock, twisting more aggressively than I need to. I added a new one to my door after our first party when I found a couple in my room about to fuck on my bed.

I’m the only one that gets to do that, even if I haven’t touched another girl in God knows how long. I had a few flings and hookups freshman year, but after my accident I’ve become too much of a surly asshole to even want to pursue a random girl. I know they wouldn’t want me touching them with my fucked-up hands anyway, despite the eyes made at me in the hall.

There’s really only one set of eyes I want on me.

Someone bumps into me and it causes me to nearly smash my head into my door. I choke back the growl threatening to crawl from my throat and decide against whirling around to bark at whoever has run into me. My grip on the doorknob tightens.

A soft light emits from the room when I push my way inside. The lamp beside my bed is glowing, though I don’t remember leaving it on. I release an exasperated huff to try to ease the tension in my shoulders, but it skyrockets when I notice the lump tucked tightly beneath my blankets.

I move closer and my steps falter.

It’s Quinn.

Two thoughts run through my mind so quickly I can hardly grab onto them before they’re zipping away.

What the fuck is she doing in my bed?

Who the fuck let her into my room?

Okay, so the second question is easier to answer than the first. It’s obvious that Slate must have let her in here because I’m pretty sure the fucker made a copy of my key the second he found out I put the lock on the door. I hadn’t let him in when he was trying to get me to smell four different colognes he got as samples from a magazine, so Slate took it into his own hands to make sure I could never be in my own room in peace.

The first question, however, makes no sense. She lives right next door for fuck’s sake, so what the hell is she doing here?

I stare. I can’t help myself; I’m frozen in the doorway until Slate’s belting voice complaining about the pop song that the playlist has switched to snaps me from my stupor. I quickly duck inside, shoving the door shut behind me and flicking the lock back into place.

I genuinely don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I gawk at Quinn’s sleeping form like she’s only pretending, armed with a weapon and hoping I’ll move closer; she’ll pop up and scare the shit out of me and then Ace and Rory will fall out of the closet laughing and Slate will use his key to burst through the door, clutching his chest in hysterics.

But she’s not moving. Quinn is curled up on her side, and a plastic bowl sits on the table next to my bed, my stack of books spilled over haphazardly. One is face down on the floor.

There’s a glass of water next to the empty bowl, and I don’t like that it’s sitting so close to my books, despite the cup only being half full.

My bag falls from my shoulder and I sling it over the back of my desk chair, all while keeping my eyes pinned on Quinn. The dark sheets rise and fall shallowly with each breath she takes, her pink lips parted slightly, completely unbothered by the intrusion and the loud music shaking the walls, sleeping through it like a cursed princess.

She must be used to it by now.

A few strands of her blonde hair fall across her cheek and I ache to reach forward and push them back, tuck them behind her ear. I want to see if her skin is as soft as it looks. I want to wake her up and watch those hazel eyes find focus on me as she tries to figure out how she ended up here.

This is weird. This is so fucking weird that I don’t even know what to do with myself but my feet are pulling me closer against my better judgement. No, it’s beyond fucking creepy now, with me looming over her like this, watching her sleep.

Flexing my fingers, I suck down a few breaths, my mind spiraling.

Doing so doesn’t stop the feelings that curdle in my chest. The one where I want to feel the familiar pencil in my hand, charcoal coating my fingers. There’s a blooming feeling in my head, inspiration swiping the foulness of meeting with my father away. The urge to get my sketchbook and flip it to a clean page and start by drawing every curve of her?—

No. I scold myself, shaking my head furiously, backing away from Quinn. I trip over her shoes, discarded in a pile on the floor, but luckily, I don’t eat shit. Maybe if I did, it would help clear my mind of whatever is happening right now—the way Quinn’s presence has erased my tainted night. It should be adding fuel to my anger, to see her occupying my sacred space like this, but instead, she calms me.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be looking at the way that my sheet is draped across her body. She’s still clothed, and I’m more than thankful for that. I shouldn’t be admiring her quiet, peaceful side, not when I’m so used to seeing that crease between her brows and the frown tugging her lips whenever I’m around.

I bolt from the room, but not before making sure I lock it behind me. I’m feeling frantic again, like my skin is stretched too tightly over my bones. I need to find Ace because the music is making my head spin and I’m so, so close to completely spiraling right now.