It drove me crazy that even now I felt a level of comfort with him I’d rarely felt with anyone else. That even when we were antagonizing each other, there was something about sitting across from a guy I’d known since I was three that was reassuringly familiar. The night in his room came back to me suddenly, and this time instead of the shame that had plagued me the morning after—when I’d crept back out of his window at the asscrack of dawn rather than bear any more of his pity or potential backlash against what had gone down between us—I felt a disorienting sense of nostalgia.
