Pancakes After Dark

I told Gavin the next morning.

I texted first, asking whether I could stop by. When he opened his door, he smiled and moved aside, but I stayed standing until I had said it.

“Micah and I are together.”

His smile faded.

“Oh.”

“Since last night.”

He nodded once, looking toward the window.

“I wanted to tell you before anything got confusing,” I said. “What we were doing—I can’t keep doing that.”

“I figured.”

I waited.

After a moment, he looked back at me.

“Is he being good to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m happy for you.”

He sounded like he wanted to mean it completely. I appreciated the effort without pretending not to hear the rest.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.”

“It’s awkward,” he admitted. “Give me a minute to stop being heroic about it.”

I laughed softly.

He sat on his bed and rubbed both hands over his face.

“Okay. Better.”

“We can take some space.”

“I don’t want to lose my friend.”

“Neither do I.”

We talked about our next assignment. It was a small, slightly clumsy conversation, but when I left, he gave me the extra sour candy from the bag on his desk.

“For your terrible life choices.”

“Thank you. I intend to make several more.”

Back in our room, Micah was sitting at my desk, looking deeply offended by my laptop.

“Your paper has stolen my boyfriend.”

“We’ve been together for twelve hours.”

“And already there’s another man. His name is Professor Hargrove.”

I pulled my chair out from under him.

“Move.”

He moved, then leaned over my shoulder.

“Two thousand words?”

“Most of them have to make sense, too.”

“Unreasonable.”

For twenty minutes, he behaved. Then a paper ball landed beside my keyboard.

I turned.

He looked at the ceiling.

Another landed in my lap.

“Micah.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m four feet away.”

“Emotionally, you’re in an academic journal.”

He came over, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and rested his chin on my head. I froze automatically. He lifted it at once, settling against my shoulder instead.

The quick adjustment made my chest hurt.

“You can’t interrupt every time you’re bored,” I told him.

“I can try.”

I turned in the chair and kissed him.

He looked delighted.

Then I pointed at the door.

“Go find Jamil. Come back in an hour.”

“Cruel.”

“Fifty-nine minutes.”

He kissed my forehead, carefully clear of the hat, and left.

I finished two paragraphs smiling like an idiot.

The next Tuesday, he told me to keep my evening free.

“Actual date,” he said. “Please wear something that suggests you like me.”

“Will a hat with your name crossed out work?”

“I’m learning to interpret your affection.”

He met me outside the dorm carrying a large bag and wearing a nervous expression he tried to cover by complaining that I was three minutes late.

“You said seven.”

“My watch is emotionally ahead.”

We walked slowly toward the lake. My ankle was improving, but the boot made longer walks tiring. Micah matched my pace without mentioning it.

At a picnic area near the accessible path, he stopped.

“Close your eyes.”

I gave him a look.

“Or face the lake. I’m flexible.”

I turned around, listening to bags rustle behind me. Somewhere in the trees, a bird called. The air smelled of wet leaves and woodsmoke from houses across the water.

“Okay.”

A blanket covered one of the benches. There were cushions, two insulated mugs, sandwiches, and a container of very uneven pancakes.

I looked at him.

“You made these?”

“Unfortunately.”

I laughed.

“The first three batches are between me and the kitchen trash,” he said. “Jyll has been instructed to forget everything.”

I opened the container. One pancake had a burnt corner. Another resembled a state no cartographer would claim.

“They’re perfect.”

“They’re edible. Let’s not become dishonest this early.”

We sat close together under a second blanket. He remembered how I took my coffee. He remembered the jam I liked. When I reached for the last strawberry, he moved the box toward me instead of taking it himself.

I stared.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m witnessing history.”

He nudged my knee.

As the sky darkened, I asked about his telescope. He pointed out the few things visible beyond the campus lights, sometimes using his phone to check himself.

“You’re allowed to say you don’t know,” I told him.

“On a date? Absolutely not.”

Then he admitted he had shown me a plane.

I laughed until he kissed me quiet.

Afterward, he stayed close, forehead touching mine.

“I haven’t done this before,” he said.

“Picnics?”

“A boyfriend.”

“I guessed.”

“I’m trying to be impressive. Help me out.”

I traced a finger around the rim of my mug.

“Why me?”

His teasing expression eased.

“You steal the bad movies off my list and pretend you’re doing me a favor. You argue with me when I’m being stupid. You put my mug in the sink when you thought I was asleep.”

I looked at him.

“And sometimes,” he said, “you laugh before you remember you’re trying not to.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m not trying not to anymore.”

“I know.”

The lake moved quietly below us.

“I liked you when you told me about your dad,” I admitted. “I mean, I liked you before. But that was when it got difficult to pretend it was just because you’re annoyingly good-looking.”

He smiled.

“Annoyingly?”

“Deeply inconvenient.”

“Good.”

He kissed the side of my hand. The tenderness of it nearly undid me.

I thought about telling him then.

My fingers rose toward my hat, paused, and came down around the mug instead.

Micah noticed. I knew he did. He asked whether I wanted another sandwich, and I loved him a little for giving me somewhere else to look.

That Friday, we went out with Miyu and Jamil. We ate at a small diner, argued over which movie to see, and ended up watching something haunted because Miyu insisted she was ready to conquer fear.

She wasn’t.

Ten minutes in, she grabbed Jamil’s sleeve so hard he lost a piece of popcorn.

Micah slipped his hand into mine.

“Scared?” I whispered.

“Will you come closer if I am?”

I leaned into him.

His quiet satisfaction was more distracting than anything on the screen.

Later, in our room, I kissed him first. I liked surprising him. I liked the way his confidence briefly deserted him when I caught his shirt and pulled him toward me.

But when his hand settled at my waist, close to the place my tail lay concealed, fear cut through the warmth.

I stopped his hand.

He stopped, too.

“Too much?”

I nodded, ashamed of how quickly my eyes had filled.

“Okay.”

He sat back, giving me room. There was disappointment on his face before he looked away, and I didn’t know how to bear both his kindness and that disappointment together.

“I do want you,” I said.

He looked at me.

“I believe you.”

I wished that made everything easier.

That night, I climbed into his bed after he turned out the light. He lifted the blanket without a word.

I lay against his chest and listened until his breathing evened out.

Then I took his hand and held it where I could be certain it wouldn’t discover anything.