We leave the park after sunset, walking side by side. Our conversation stays light, mostly small talk, yet I feel a bit better. There's no grand revelation, no sudden clarity, but I can't deny that having someone beside me is comforting.
"You know," Cody says, clearing his throat, "if you want, we could stay somewhere in the city tonight."
I glance at him. The offer is tempting as I'm not ready for another soul-baring at home. Still, I hesitate. The idea of spending the night out with him feels different now. But his expression remains neutral, so I let it go. No inappropriate thoughts, I tell myself.
"That'd be great, but I'm broke. Spent it all on the taxi," I admit, sighing as I stuff my hands into my pockets.
"Your fault for storming off so dramatically," he teases, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Luckily, the smarter one of us thought ahead and has money."
I raise an eyebrow but can't help cracking a faint chuckle.
"Fine. Go ahead, big spender," I reply.
We exchange a smile, and that's all the confirmation we need. The plan is set. After wandering a bit longer, we find ourselves in a busier part of the city. It doesn't take long to spot a motel perched at the top of a steep street, offering a decent view of the city below. Cody pulls out his wallet from his sling bag and steps inside. I linger outside, enjoying the cool night air, until he reappears in the doorway.
"Quit daydreaming. Let's go," he calls, jingling the room key.
We head to the fourth floor, navigating a dimly lit, uninspiring hallway. Stopping at one of the doors, Cody slides the key into the lock and pushes it open. When we step inside, my heart skips a beat at the sight of a double bed.
"One bed?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"It's not a vacation, and you're already in debt," he snorts, his gaze suddenly dropping to the ground. "Besides, it's not like we've never shared a bed before."
I let out a small sigh and flop onto the bed. He's got a point. But I can't shake the memory of the curious looks we got from the girls at the front desk. I brush the thought aside. It's no different from usual. Just a change of scenery.
I take a look around. The room is modest, with plain white walls and dated decor. The curtains and bedspread, patterned with faded flowers, have seen better days. A desk and chair sit near the window, and a small bathroom tiled in lime-green squares completes the setup. It's not luxurious, but it's clean and doesn't smell.
"I'm stepping out for a bit," Cody announces, watching me as if waiting for confirmation.
I nod, intrigued by his sudden errand. Whether he doesn't notice my curiosity or simply ignores it, he leaves with just a smile. Deciding to freshen up, I hop in the shower, letting the water rinse away the day's grime. I don't have fresh clothes, but just feeling clean lifts my spirits. Stepping out of the shower, I linger in the cozy steamy heat until a muffled knock interrupts from the other side of the door.
"I'm back," Cody calls.
I throw on my shirt and open the door to find him holding a plastic bag. It dangles right in front of my face for a second before moving aside, revealing Cody's grinning face.
"I thought a drink or two wouldn't hurt," he says with a glint in his eyes. "The motel has a rooftop terrace. Thought it might be nice."
A smile spreads across my face. The bag is opaque, hiding its contents. I can tell it's not juice, though his choice intrigues me.
"Beer?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Cody shakes his head and pulls out his prize—a bottle of cheap whiskey. My jaw drops.
"Didn't expect such a bold move," I admit.
"Emergency measures," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll wait for you up there."
"Give me a few minutes."
I quickly revisit the bathroom to fix my damp hair, grab my sweatshirt, and lock the room before heading upstairs. The terrace is also modest—a small space cluttered with random junk in the corners. In the middle is a bench that looks large enough for two people to sleep on. Soft yellow lights overhead cast a gentle glow, giving the space an unexpectedly cozy feel.
Cody brought a blanket from the room and he's already set out snacks and drinks. I sit beside him, watching as he mixes cocktails into disposable cups. Meanwhile, I munch on chips, my stomach grumbling after hours without a proper meal.
"Here," he hands me a cup before raising his own. "Cheers."
"Cheers," I reply, bringing the drink to my lips.
The whiskey burns, but the Coke tempers it. Though lacking ice, the cocktail goes down easily. As I finish my drink, Cody gently lifts my wounded arm, his touch careful as he examines the injury.
He reaches into his bag for the small first-aid kit. As he moves closer, I can't help but tense. My breath catches. It's just a touch. It shouldn't matter, but it does. I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure.
"Relax," Cody says, his tone soft as he applies antiseptic to the cut. "I'm not going to bite."
"I know," I mutter, hoping my voice sounds casual enough.
His fingers are gentle, but each movement sends an inexplicable spark through me. He wraps a bandage around my hand with a focus I can't help but admire. The whole time, he's humming quietly to himself, unaware of the way my heart is thudding in my chest. Finally, he finishes, smoothing the bandage down with one last touch.
"There. All better," he says, looking up at me with a small grin.
I nod, trying to act normal, but I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Cody doesn't seem to notice the shift in my mood, and I'm thankful for that.
"Thanks," I say quickly, pulling my hand back, though the sensation of his touch lingers.
"Anytime," he says, sipping on his drink again.
Strangely, I like it here. I feel better—grateful to Cody for making the day a little more bearable. The city lights twinkle in the distance, and the hum of traffic below fades as night settles in. We're halfway through the bottle now, chatting aimlessly, the buzz of the whiskey helping the words come easier. But after a while, Cody grows quiet, his gaze lost in the skyline.
Finally, he turns to me.
"I have a question," he says, his tone shifting, serious.
"Go ahead," I reply, though his sudden change catches me off guard.
"When we talked about your abilities," he starts slowly, "you mentioned memory manipulation. How does that work?"
"We can erase memories. It's useful when someone sees something they shouldn't..."
"But?" he prompts, sensing there's more.
"But it isn't simple," I admit. "You have to read them first. And they're... vivid. Some memories are beautiful, others are horrifying. It's invasive, like living someone else's life for a moment. And no matter how hard you try, it's hard to forget everything you've seen."
Cody nods, taking it in, before falling silent again. A few moments pass before he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Do you think there'll come a time when you'll have to erase mine?"
The question knocks the wind out of me. I've thought about it, but hearing him say it aloud makes it feel too real.
"I don't know," I mutter, my voice quieter than usual. "But if it happens... it wouldn't be up to me."
He lowers his gaze, his expression softening. "I'll be honest. The thought of it... it scares me. I don't want to forget you. Unless... unless it's to protect you."
I look at him, my heart tightening. His eyes catch the dim light, glinting like a blend of gold and amber. I lose myself in them and realize my soul wouldn't find bliss in some blindingly white heaven but in their depths. For a moment, everything around us fades.
"I don't want to forget either, Cody," I say, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. "Not this. Not you."
For a moment, I think he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he pours another drink. When he's done, he raises both glasses, his expression unreadable.
"To not forgetting, then."
"To not forgetting."
Our glasses clink softly, almost fragile, as if they might shatter under the weight of everything left unsaid.