Imperfect

I brought it up later, when we had finished our bed preparation. Everyone was sleepy. Jamie was tired enough that he got over his shyness and nodded off on Crystal’s shoulder. She kept looking down at him with a small smile.
Bryan was staring straight ahead with dull eyes. Walt seemed awake, he was thumbing through a magazine. I sat on the couch with Aven stretched across it, his head on my lap.
I was fascinated by his hair, which was spiky and black and long, so I ran my fingers through it. It was softer than I expected. Aven’s eyes were closed, so I kept doing it, smoothing the hair away from his face like he was a little kid.
It made him look exposed, a little younger. There was a scar across his right temple. “Aven?” “Mmm?” He purred. “This guy came into my design class today and said he would hire me.”

His eyes cracked open, showing a bit of golden hazel. “That’s fuckin’ great, Belle. How does that feel?” “Pretty cool, actually.” “You should be proud.”
I was still stroking his hair when the bell for bed rang. Aven sat up, pushing his hair back into place. The look on his face was a little distant. “You okay?” I asked as we walked to our rooms.
“No one’s played with my hair since my mom died.” “Oh. Uh, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It felt nice.” He appeared to be thinking of something else, probably his mom. “I meant about your mom.”
“Oh, yeah. It was a long time ago.” He left me feeling bad for him, and I fell asleep hoping he would be okay the next day.