“Not even dreams?”

“Nothing. I never really pay much attention to peoples’ thoughts. I hear them so often they become like wind or distant traffic, but the absence of them is like suddenly becoming deaf. And I just thought maybe I’d not been paying enough attention, but when I stopped to listen to you thinking, there was nothing. I got worried.”

“Worried?” I said, unconvinced. “Worried people don’t smile.”

“Well, I’m not worried anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not me, it’s you.”

“Okay, that makes me feel better.” Not.

He laughed. “You’ve mastered it, don’t you see? Ever since we met, Ara, you’ve been trying to shield or control your thoughts. You’ve just finally found a way.”

“I have?”

“Yes.” He kissed my nose. “It’s not perfect, I still hear you if I try really hard or if you’re reading a book or have song stuck in your head, but most of the time, there’s just—” he tapped his temple, “—nothing.”

“Hm.” I thought for a second. “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“And I’d have no idea, even if you did.”

“So, can you hear me now?” I thought about the colour blue.

“No.”

“Now?”

“Not a word.” Keeping his eyes on our hands, he said, “What is it you do—when you block me out, what are you doing then?”

“I—” I thought about it. “It’s a blanket—a dark blue one, like shaking the rug out by the lake. I imagine it covering my thoughts.”

“And that’s it? That’s all you’ve been doing?”

I nodded. “Even when I met Eric, I was practicing then. I always felt like he could read my mind—like he was in my head.”

“You could feel him in there?”

“I don’t know. I used to think I could feel you in there. Around Eric, in fact, even not around him, I sometimes had that same feeling.”

“So, you’ve been practicing all this time? Even with me here to protect you from him?”

“Especially with you here.”

“Why especially?”

“Because.” I stood up. “I have thoughts I don’t want you to hear.”

David stayed seated, smiling at the piano. “Like the thoughts you have about Mike.”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“It’s no different to when we were in high school, Ara.” He turned to me then. “I’ve always had to share your heart with him, even before you knew you loved me, and nothing changed after that.”

“Except that now I admit how I feel to myself.”

“Yes, then there’s that.” He tapped his foot, chewing the inside of his lip. “I’d rather to read your thoughts, even if I don’t like them. This—” He motioned between the two of us. “This disconnection, this inability to be a part of your every path to conclusions, it makes me feel uneasy.”

I laughed internally. I bet it does. He looked up and grinned. “What?” I said.

“I heard that.”

“Oh.”

He moved closer, sliding his hands along my waist. “See? Not perfect yet.”

“Yet.”

“Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?” he said.

“What?”

“That—” He pointed to my face. “You have this look in your eye, and I know you’re thinking cheeky thoughts—thoughts you’re not sharing with me.”

“You’ll just have to get used to it.” I hugged him, resting my face to his chest. “Am I the only human to ever block you out?”

“No. All humans are capable, just, without the need, they don’t know they have the strength—like a lot of things. And you’re not really blocking me out, by the way.” Something in his tone said he didn’t like the idea of not holding the reigns. “I can get in if I want to.”

“Go on then,” I challenged. “Try to read what I’m thinking now.”

He leaned back a little. “Are you thinking now?”

“I’m always thinking.”

“Okay, strengthen your blanket and think of a colour.”

The cover on my thoughts became black, instead of dark blue, and I imagined it thickening, from paper to cardboard—hiding blue, no red, wait, blue.

David laughed. “Pick a colour, Ara.”

“I did.”

“You can’t choose two.”

Fine. Blue.

He opened one eye and smiled at me.

“You know which colour it was, don’t you?”

“Grey.”

“Liar. You’re just saying that so I’ll drop my guard around you.”

“If I want you to drop your guard, Ara, my dear girl, I don’t need to lie to you.” He grabbed my hand and drew me into him, his lips to my brow, his gentle breath on my face with the promise of a kiss. But he hesitated, softly tracing my skin with his lips. “If I want you to drop your guard, I can just do this.” He finally kissed me. “And I can see all the colours I want to see.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Blue. It was blue.”

He kissed me again and said, “I know.”

“David!” We both looked up as the front door slammed, Mike’s voice, hoarse with distress, searched every corner of the room. “David!”

David, about to groan, suddenly looked up, then evaporated. That’s when I felt a quiver of worry. I rushed to the front entrance and stood frozen, unable to draw a breath, unable to cover my own gaping mouth.

“Give her to me.” David grabbed the limp body of my best friend from Mike’s arms, stopping as we met face to face.

“What happened to her?”

“I’ll give you one guess,” David said, his voice near to breaking. He pushed past, at human pace, cradling Emily so close one might’ve thought she was precious to him. Her arm hung loosely out from the hold, stained with rivers of blood, dried to her fingertips. Mike walked past me, caught in some voiceless, airless vortex; his eyes forward, his hand smoothing slowly down his chin.

“Mike, what happened?”