When He Finally Saw Me

For the first hour, the club worked.

There was music loud enough to crowd out thought, a group of Gavin’s friends who didn’t know anything about my life, and a seat near the dance floor where nobody asked why I kept checking my phone.

Micah had texted while I was on the bus.

Lab ran late. Back by eight. Can we talk then?

I replied that I was out and would call.

Then I put the phone away and ordered another drink.

That was my decision. Later, when I wanted somebody to blame, it was inconvenient to remember making it.

Gavin stayed beside me at first. He introduced me to people, brought water, and told me I could stop pretending to enjoy the music if I wanted.

“I am enjoying it.”

“You’ve threatened the speakers twice.”

“Affectionately.”

He laughed.

But he was watching somebody near the bar. When the guy came over, Gavin’s attention moved in a way I recognized. I told him to go talk. He asked whether I would be okay with the others.

I said yes.

Later, he told me he was heading out and asked whether I wanted to share a ride. I waved him off, pointing at a woman from his group who had offered to wait with me.

By the time I wanted to leave, she was outside taking a call, the group had scattered, and my stomach had started turning unpleasantly.

I had drunk more than I meant to. I was still aware enough to be ashamed of that and not steady enough to pretend it was a useful awareness.

I found a bench near the coat check, collected my jacket, and called Micah.

He answered immediately.

“Loui?”

“I think I made a bad plan.”

The background noise on his end stopped.

“Where are you?”

I told him the club’s name.

“Inside?”

“By the coats.”

“Stay there. I’m coming.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. Stay there.”

A staff member brought me water. I drank slowly and concentrated on keeping both feet on the floor. When Micah appeared, he crouched in front of me, jacket unzipped, hair flattened on one side as though he had been lying down.

His face looked frightened before it looked angry.

“Hey.”

I tried to smile.

“I’m not having a good time.”

“I can see that.”

He helped me into my coat and asked where Gavin was. I told him.

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t start the argument I expected.

“Can you walk?”

“With assistance and resentment.”

“Those I can provide.”

He kept a hand at my back while we crossed to his car. I leaned against him more than the distance required.

On the drive home, he cracked the window when I said I felt sick. We pulled over once. He waited beside me without complaining, one hand steady between my shoulder blades.

Back in our bathroom, I sat on the floor because it seemed more sensible than falling there.

Micah sat beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“We can talk when you feel better.”

“I didn’t do anything with anybody.”

“I wasn’t asking that.”

“I know. I just wanted you to know.”

He handed me a damp washcloth.

For a while, there was nothing romantic about any of it. I was nauseated, embarrassed, and cold. He found a blanket. I complained that it smelled like his laundry detergent, then refused to give it back.

“Do you want me to move?” he asked when I leaned against his arm.

“No.”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes.

“I love you,” I said, because apparently my mouth had decided the evening wasn’t difficult enough.

His arm went still beneath my cheek.

“Loui.”

“I wasn’t going to say it like that.”

“How were you going to say it?”

“Better.”

A small laugh escaped him, rough at the edges.

I lifted my head because my stomach rolled again. He held the back of my shirt away from the damp sink cabinet while I leaned forward.

When I sat back, the beanie slipped.

It had caught against the blanket. I felt the knit drag over one ear, then the other.

Cool air touched my fur.

Micah’s hand stopped moving.

I looked up.

He was staring at the top of my head.

There was a long second in which I could hear every pipe in the wall.

Then he said, very quietly, “Oh.”

I reached for the hat. My hand missed it.

“Don’t look.”

He looked at my face immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know which of us had said it. Maybe both.

“I need—” I tried to stand, caught the edge of the cabinet, and stopped when my ankle protested.

Micah rose halfway with me, then moved back when I flinched.

“Your hat’s here.”

He held it out without coming closer.

I took it and pulled it down so hard my ears hurt.

He sat on the floor again.

I stood staring at him, shaking.

“I’ve never seen that before,” he said.

I nodded because I couldn’t speak.

“Are you hurt? From keeping them under there?”

The question was so far from what I expected that it broke something loose.

I started crying.

Micah looked helpless. He reached toward me, stopped, and rested his hands on his knees.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Stop saying okay.”

“Sorry.”

I let out a wet, miserable laugh and sank back to the floor.

He stayed beside me until I stopped shaking. Then he helped me get settled on my bed, put water within reach, and left the small desk lamp on when I asked.

We didn’t solve anything that night.

But he didn’t leave.

In the morning, I woke with a headache, my hat still on, and Micah asleep in the chair beside my bed.

He had folded himself into an impossible shape. One hand lay open on the mattress, inches from mine.

I touched his fingers.

He woke immediately.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

“Mortified.”

“Physically?”

“Also mortified.”

He smiled cautiously.

For a moment, I wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

Then I looked at the chair he had slept in and couldn’t do it.

“They’re real,” I said.

“I figured. One of them moved.”

“Both of them move.”

“Right.”

I sat up slowly.

“I’m a Neko. There are others. Not a lot, I don’t think. My parents are human. I’ve always been like this.”

He nodded, listening.

“I don’t turn into anything. I’m not dangerous.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“You didn’t know what to think.”

“That’s true.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m still catching up.”

My stomach tightened.

“But I know you,” he added. “This explains things. It doesn’t make you a stranger.”

I stared at him.

“Is this why you kept stopping?”

“Yes.”

“And Gavin?”

“He’s like me.”

Micah leaned back. A breath left him slowly.

“Oh.”

“That’s why I could relax. He already knew. I didn’t have to wait for him to decide whether it was disgusting.”

Micah’s expression changed.

“Is that what you thought I’d decide?”

I looked at the blanket.

“Yes.”

He was quiet long enough that I had to look up.

“I wish you hadn’t been scared of me,” he said. “But I can see why telling you not to be wouldn’t fix it.”

I rubbed my face.

“You’re allowed to be surprised.”

“I’m very surprised.”

Despite everything, I laughed.

“Can I see?” he asked.

I touched the edge of the hat.

Then, slowly, I took it off.

My ears lifted. One turned toward him.

His eyes widened, but he kept looking at my face between glances, as though reminding himself how to do this.

“They’re the same color as your hair,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why that surprised me.”

“Your engineering degree will recover.”

He laughed, and the sound made the room feel familiar again.

When he reached for my hand, I let him take it.

“I said something last night,” I whispered.

“You said several things. One was a formal complaint about my detergent.”

“The other thing.”

“I remember.”

“I meant it.”

His smile disappeared into something softer.

“I love you, too.”

I covered my mouth. He squeezed my hand and waited while I cried again, less quietly this time.

There was still something else to show him.

I set the hat on my pillow, stood, and turned slightly away.

“There’s one more part.”

My fingers found the concealed fastening at my waistband.

For once, I opened it while he was watching.