We arrived at the hotel at midnight, June gaping at all the richness around us, making me feel guilty for so carelessly picking such an expensive place without thinking. She deserved to be treated, though. While I was checking in, she took in all the details of the reception area, arms wrapped around herself. The receptionist looked her up and down, and I was annoyed by it — did no one ever leave her alone?

"What's your name, honey?" she said.

She startled, then smiled. "June Guevara." It wasn't. She left out her other names.

"Are you here because you want to be, June?"

Both of us stared at the woman, completely flabbergasted. What was she implying? That I'd taken her here against her will? And why? Because she was younger than me? Because she was disabled? I was too tired to think after eleven hours of driving.

"Can you understand what I'm saying, June?"

That seemed to wake her up. "Yes, I can damn well understand what you're saying, ma'am! I just don't know why in the name of god you're saying it!" With a fire in her eyes, she yanked the key cards from the counter. "And it's miss Guevara, if you please."

The woman dove behind her computer screen, and I chuckled — it was great to see June in action, even though I rather had this wouldn't have happened. I should've thought of this before — I was almost a full-blown lawyer, for god's sake! They could deny us if they suspected I was taking her here to sleep with her. They could even call the cops on us.

June seemed to have had the same realization. "Well, try to keep your hands to yourself tonight, old man," she joked as she pushed the elevator button to the sixth floor. "Wouldn't want to ruin your career because of me."

"Don't worry about it. They could never make a case against me."

She grinned at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Are you sure? After all, we both know I'm pretty and your type." I was sure I heard her laugh before she exited the elevator.

I froze in place. What the hell was that? I guess she was, yeah, she was beautiful, and if my type was indeed 'funny', then I guess she was the whole deal... I shook my head — she was messing with me, that girl, and I was letting her.

She was acting all innocent again when we finally entered the room, and I dumped our bags on the floor, almost falling asleep at the sight of the two tempting king-size beds waiting there for us. She looked at them in a somewhat disappointed way, frown on her forehead.

"What, they're not big enough for you or anything?"

"I'm trying to decide which one is the best."

"They're identical."

"That's what you think." She let herself fall back on the left one, spreading her arms and legs like she was making a snow angel. "I think I'm just not going to leave this room tomorrow."

"Yeah, because that wouldn't arouse suspicion at all." I took her example and plummeted into the other bed. Oh, she was right, though. This was glorious after a day of driving; my stiff muscles thanked me for giving them a break.

For some reason, she burst out into a fit of giggles. "Is that what you and Charlotte do on romantic getaways?"

The topic made me double-uncomfortable. "I don't think we've ever been on a... romantic getaway." No. We hadn't. It'd only been a year, after all. We'd celebrated our anniversary a week ago — it'd been a little awkward because she'd gone really overboard. Had it really been a whole year? And were we already moving across the ocean together?

"Well, maybe you should change that..." She let out a last giggle, then turned her head to me, all at once very quiet. "Is she still angry with me?"

"Why would she be angry with you?"

"Didn't she tell you about our fight?"

She seemed confused, which I couldn't blame her for, seeing as I was as well. My brain was blurry from exhaustion, and I couldn't think straight. "What fight?"

"So, she didn't tell you." She sat up, crossing her legs under her, earnest look on her face. Her curls were all messed up, her cheeks red from tiredness. "Just like you didn't tell her about Lena." Oh fuck. This was getting serious all of a sudden. "She was getting suspicious of you, you fool. You can't just leave in the middle of the night without any explanation."

Oh. I thought she'd never noticed... "Wait... So you and Charlotte had a fight about me leaving in the middle of the night?" It might've been a long day, but that surely didn't make any sense.

"Yeah... I was being your lawyer again."

It still didn't make any sense. I ran my hands through my hair, trying to wake myself up. "Did you tell her? About Lena?"

"No, I didn't. I don't get why you didn't tell her, though."

I'd contemplated that very same thing hundreds of times before. Why hadn't I told my girlfriend about Lena? At first, I thought it'd scare her away; it was a gloomy story, and people tended to pity you when you recounted it. Then, I figured Charlotte was too undamaged to handle such a thing, why would I burden her with it? Finally, it came to it that it might've been the right thing to keep it to myself — I could start anew, fresh, without any ties to that painful part of my life. "You know," I said. "I think that's more than enough."

She didn't say anything, and for the millionth time that day, I was reminded of that one thing she didn't know. But this was certainly not the moment to come clean. "Ugh, I need to go wash this ketchup out of my hair before I fall asleep," she said, clumsily jumping from the high bed. "You wanna hop in the shower too?"

June, please. I was too worn out for her cheek. "I'm starting to think you want me to get arrested."

"What?"

I looked up, seeing her brown eyes stare down at me in confusion. Great acting skills, Junie. "Stop your pretending. I know very well what you were getting at."

She shook her head. "I wasn't getting... — I asked because you might want to go first, considering the state you're in."

Oh. Apparently, I was in such a state I was hearing shit that wasn't there. "Right, yeah... Yeah, I'll go first. I'll make it short."

Should I have told her then?

Clearly not.

"Ouch — fuck!"

I sat up, something I immediately regretted: it made me light-headed, and it took me some time before I realized the string of words being uttered in the dark room was June cursing in Spanish. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I searched for the light switch — what'd happened?

When I finally found it, I still wasn't sure what was going on. She was standing at the edge of the bed, in an oversized T-shirt, clutching her shin. She looked up to me, brown eyes widened in shock. "Sorry," she said, a bit sheepishly. "I was trying not to wake you."

I chuckled. "That would've gone better if you'd just turned on the light."

"I realize that now, yes." She straightened up, taking a tentative step towards me. She winced in pain, squeezing her eyes shut, and took hold of my mattress to keep herself from falling. "Shit... Who manages to walk into a king-size bed?"

"I'm kinda sure everyone does, when they're roaming around in the dark," I said, rubbing my face. I couldn't have been sleeping long; it felt like I'd only been away for a few seconds. "Sit down and let me take a look."

"It's only going to be a bruise, Nathan. Don't be dramatic."

"Says the girl who just used a hundred different swear words because she walked into a bed."

"That's not dramatic, that's nece...-" I wasn't in the mood for her games. She let out a shriek as I dragged her to me, pulling her legs on the bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Which one?"

She fell still, suddenly timid. "Left — my left."

Nothing to see. She'd probably been right; it might have hurt, but it hadn't caused any damage. Only, her idea of what counted as real damage was so distorted I couldn't trust her judgment. She'd once been bleeding horribly from a scrape on her knee after slipping on the tiles next to the pool and had continued to assure me it wasn't a big deal and she wanted to finish her popsicle first, while sane people would've cleaned it as soon as possible.

Carefully, I ran my fingertips down her leg, her skin smooth and soft, just to check...— actually, I had no idea why. She gasped at my touch, and quickly, I stopped. "Did that hurt?"

She was looking up at me, not saying anything — when did she get this close? Had her eyes always been this big, and had they always shimmered like that? Her curls had fallen in front of her face; I couldn't help but brush them back over her shoulder. She shuddered, and all at once, I felt the urge to pull her towards me, an urge so intense I almost couldn't resist

— fucking pathetic.

Yeah, I was going to miss her, and I was going to miss her hugs, but that didn't mean I could hold her in my arms at one am in a hotel room bed when she was barely dressed — that'd be taking it too far.

I let her leg go, creating some distance between us. My impending leave was making me do strange things, and no doubt my fatigue wasn't helping. "You know what?" I said. "You take this bed, I'll take the other one. And if you need to go to the bathroom, just turn on the light, okay? I don't want to miss the concert because you tripped over my shoes and broke your neck."

I was expecting some sort of smart retort, or at least a protest about me having the better bed after all. None of that happened. Instead, she said "okay", so softly I almost didn't catch it, and went to lie down, tugging the sheets up to her chin.

It was a bit unsettling, this subdued response. Was something wrong? I got into her bed — or mine, now — and turned on the nightstand light before turning off the big one. A gentle glow illuminated the side of her face, her lips slightly curved into a smile, eyes glittering, staring up to the ceiling. Her dark curls flowed around her, the tips still glistening from being damp, creating the illusion of a waterfall. She was relaxed; there was no tension whatsoever in her neck, and the smile came easy.

"Night, Junie."

"Night, Nathan. We're gonna sleep in, right? You seem like you need it."

"Yeah, of course."

Should I have told her then?

Absolutely not.

Good thing I was as tired as I was, or I might have spent the whole night looking at her.

I didn't tell her when I woke up, and she was already awake, humming a song and brushing her hair.

I didn't tell her at breakfast either, not that it went on for long anyway: she didn't seem comfortable with the luxury around her, self-consciously pulling at her shirt each time a man in a suit passed our table.

I didn't tell her while we drove through Tempe, going through all the options of what we could do that day, both of us too lazy to actually do it.

I didn't tell her when she made us take a selfie in Papago Park to send to Sam — I was too busy feeling like a fool.

I didn't tell her at dinner, eating at some low-key Italian restaurant, unable to stop grinning because the concert would be starting in a couple of hours.

I especially didn't tell her during the concert. That might've been the first time in a month I wasn't thinking about moving away. Music was some type of magic, and she was another one, savoring the songs with all she had, singing along to all the lyrics, swinging from side to side with the crowd. Nobody was looking at her, and if they did, it was to exchange exhilarated smiles, it was for them to bask in the little lights in her eyes. There were these moments where it was only the mass singing; these were my favorites, where you heard all these average voices mashed up together, creating something spectacularly united. It'd been a long time since I'd sung this carefree, since I'd not cared enough to let go like this.

Every so often, she would throw a glance over her shoulder to me, as if she wanted to make sure I knew she was loving this. I was so lucky to be here with her, seeing Eddie Vedder in such a small setting — even Lena, who'd never been a big Pearl Jam fan, would've been jealous of us. That voice, man, there wasn't anything like it. If only I'd have some sort of talent — wouldn't that be the life, doing your job with an all-consuming passion? I was sure June was going to end up like that, either writing or cooking, because if there ever was a girl who possessed a passion for life, it was her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks silently during Just Breathe, and suddenly, the lyrics hit me harder than ever before.

I wasn't going to cry — I wasn't. I was supposed to be a grown-ass man, for god's sake. At that moment, the only logical option seemed to be snaking my arms around her waist and holding her tight, burying my face into her hair to counter the effect of the song. I didn't even think about it, about if it was strange or not, because when it came to her, nothing was strange.

And then there was the way she was glowing afterward, practically floating to the car, and the way she hugged me to thank me, saying it'd been the best night of her life, and the way I made her put on my sweater because she'd forgotten to take her jacket, and the way she got lost in it, and the way her eyes started to flutter on the way back to the hotel, and the way she fell asleep barely a few minutes after hitting the mattress, and the way I knew I had to tell her.

But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Or the day after.