The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23: 23 | Put Your Head on My Shoulder

"Right." I released her wrists and pushed myself up. "Sorry."

"Don’t be." She sat up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Was it my imagination, or were her cheeks pinker than usual? "Get the popcorn while I queue up the movie."

I retrieved our abandoned snacks while she fiddled with the remote. When I returned, she patted the spot next to her on the loveseat.

"Sit here."

"There are like twenty other seats in this theater."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to pass the popcorn back and forth across three rows? Sit down."

I settled beside her on the small couch, our shoulders touching. The loveseat wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t designed for personal space either. Every movement brushed us against each other.

The movie started with a dramatic opening sequence – some nonsense about ancient temples and forgotten martial arts techniques. I wasn’t really paying attention. Sloane had shifted so that our legs were touching from knee to hip, and she’d tucked her feet up under her, which somehow pressed her even closer to my side.

Ten minutes in, she reached for popcorn at the same time I did. Our hands collided in the bowl, and instead of pulling away, she let her fingers linger against mine for a moment before grabbing a handful.

This was new territory.

We’d lived in the same house for years. We’d watched countless movies together. But always with space between us. Always with the unspoken boundary that existed between two people who were practically family but not quite.

Now that boundary seemed to be dissolving with each passing minute.

Twenty minutes into the movie, the main character began training in an impossible sequence of moves that defied both physics and common sense. I glanced at Sloane, waiting for her inevitable critique.

"What?" she asked, catching my look.

"Nothing. Just waiting for you to explain why that triple spinning backflip would actually break his spine."

"I told you I wouldn’t complain." She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

"The Sloane Fitzgerald I know physically cannot watch bad martial arts without commentary."

"Maybe I’m distracted."

"By what?"

She turned to face me fully, her knee now pressed against my thigh. "You manifested an Aspect today, Lukas. That’s kind of a big deal."

"Yeah, well. It’s still sinking in."

"How does it feel?"

"What?"

"Having an Aspect. Being able to move things with your mind. It must feel incredible."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "It’s... hard to describe. Like finding a limb you never knew you had."

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Spectral Reach did feel that way.

"I remember when mine manifested," she said softly. "I was six. Had a complete meltdown because Mom wouldn’t let me have ice cream before dinner. Blew out every window on the first floor."

I laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Mom wasn’t even mad. She just looked at me covered in glass and said, ’Well, that’s going to be expensive to train.’"

I tried to picture tiny Sloane surrounded by shattered glass, pink hair in pigtails, eyes wide with shock at her own power. The image made something twist in my chest.

"Must have been scary," I said.

"It was. For about ten seconds." She grinned. "Then it was awesome. I could make things explode with my hands. What six-year-old wouldn’t love that?"

"Fair point."

On screen, the hero was now fighting ten men simultaneously, his movements a blur of impossible gymnastics and power strikes. Sloane, true to her word, didn’t comment on the absurdity. Instead, she shifted again, this time leaning her head against my shoulder.

My body tensed involuntarily.

"Is this okay?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Yeah. Of course."

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