Young Writers Society

Shane was slow to get up that morning, and he had the last two nights to blame for that. Wednesday night had been preparing for exams, and he'd gotten no sleep at all before those, but the real problem had been the paper due at 11:59 last night. Shane had nearly lost his mind writing about Ancient Sparta before he'd submitted the paper with nineteen seconds to spare and promptly fallen asleep at his desk.

He'd woken up about three hours later with neck pain, and he'd managed to get up and fall asleep again in bed, at least. And although this only added up to about eight or nine hours of sleep for the last forty eight hours, it felt like enough to him. Especially since he'd gotten used to losing sleep over Alan for the last couple weeks.

So much lost sleep. But what he didn't lose, he spent dreaming of stars.

Shane finally got out of bed at about 9:45, his watch told him, which was alright for today. But he'd really need a coffee before he could start the day.

He left his room, thinking of what he should make himself today on his way to the kitchen, but paused when he passed by his desk. His phone was still sitting there, uncollected from last night. He probably needed to charge it-- it had to be nearly dead.

Shane picked it up in one hand while he reached for his desk charger, but paused just before plugging it in once he saw the screen light up. At some point that he'd been asleep, he'd gotten a message from Alan.

He opened his phone quickly to read it. It took several minutes, but only because the moment he got to the end of it, his gaze would go right back to the start. Shane wasn't sure when he'd started smiling, but by the time he was done processing Alan's words, his cheeks felt sore.

He typed back carefully-- but remembered to plug in his phone so it wouldn't die on him-- his smile still lingering.

Shane wrote:Sorry for the haunting, Alan. You did catch me sleeping soundly, but if it helps at all, I think I did get your dreams. I've been dreaming of stars all week long, and it's been beautiful. But they really looked brighter when you were there.

Our surprise is going to have us meet at campus at half past 3. Are you still ready? I can't wait to see you.

After he sent it, Shane checked the time. It was now 9:59, and he did some quick timezone conversions. It was nearly 7am in Seattle, nearly 9am in Chicago, and nearly 4pm in Rome. Leilan and Kaja were both early birds, and he knew they'd be up. Kasumi and Dawn were awake for sure.

He'd been hesitant to break the ice on their group chat, but this was a good reason to. He was sure he'd get the right reactions.

Shane wrote:Guess who's got a date?

With a playful grin, Shane then set his phone down and left to make his coffee. It didn't take long for him to hear his phone buzzing like crazy while he was in the kitchen, and he laughed to himself.

A few minutes later, he came back to his desk, hazelnut latte in hand, and checked his phone again. He now had 36 unread messages from that group chat. Well, he'd broken the ice, alright.

Leilan wrote:Shane???

Kasumi wrote:oh my god shane be so fr rn

Leilan wrote:That's so great!!

Kaja wrote:is it you, shane?

Kasumi wrote:you had better be about to tell us everything

Kasumi wrote:and by that i mean everything

Leilan wrote:Oh yes you better

Kasumi wrote:shane i HOPE you're typing

Kaja wrote:this is so great i get to make fun of you for having a crush

Leilan wrote:Kaja, be nice

Kaja wrote:*make fun of you n i c e l y

Kaja wrote:how about that leilan

Leilan wrote:It'll do

Kasumi wrote:SHANE WHERE ARE YOU

Dawn wrote:I'm here, what did I miss?

Dawn wrote:OH

Dawn wrote:This is exciting news!!

Kasumi wrote:SHANE???

Kaja wrote:did he really just drop that and leave

Kaja wrote:he really did didn't he

Leilan wrote:Shane this is hilarious but pleeeease come back

Dawn wrote:Okay, but it's a very effective hook.

Leilan wrote:I have to respect it honestly

Kasumi wrote:SHANE ISTG

Kasumi wrote:GET BACK HERE

Kaja wrote:shane if i don't get the news before my next class starts in 25 minutes i am flying to boston and then you'll see

Dawn wrote:Isn't it like 7am over there? What are you majoring in, torture?

Kaja wrote:funny that's what i call your major

Leilan wrote:Okay, Kaja's business classes are killing her brain, Dawn's a starving artist, you're both being tortured, we've been over this

Kaja wrote:says the man with four years of law school ahead of him after graduation

Leilan wrote:Actually good point, touche

Leilan wrote:And Shane's got grad school dreams too

Leilan wrote:Seems like Kasumi's the only one living her best life free of torture

Kasumi wrote:SHANEEEEEEEE HELLO???? FINE THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME ARE YOU HAPPY NOW

Kaja wrote:it's only her best life free of torture if shane doesn't kill her this way

Shane laughed, shaking his head as he scrolled through the chain of texts while sipping his coffee. Alright, he'd had his fun.

Well, almost.

Shane wrote:How's everyone's day going?

Kasumi wrote:DON'T YOU SAY THAT

Kasumi wrote:GIVE US THE DETAILS

Leilan wrote:Oh thank goodness Shane we thought Kasumi was going to die

Kasumi wrote:I STILL COULD DIE IF HE DOESN'T FUCKING START TALKING

Dawn wrote:Hey Shane! My day's been nice, how about yours so far?

Kaja wrote:dawn do not encourage him or else i'll have to fly to rome as well

Dawn wrote:Please do, actually, I miss you.

Kaja wrote:my threats just don't work on you damn

Dawn wrote:Threat? All I see is a friendly travel plan :)

Kasumi wrote:shane please see i've even turned off caps lock

Alright, now Shane had messed with them enough.

Shane wrote:Alright, alright, you win. I'll share.

Leilan wrote:Spill!!

Kaja wrote:brb getting my imaginary popcorn

Kasumi wrote:go go go!

Dawn wrote:This is going to be a novel, isn't it? I'm excited.

Shane took a deep breath, wondering what he should share. God, there was so much he could share about Alan already, and there was no way he could do him justice in a text message. Maybe he'd call Leilan sometime soon and talk to him one on one.

Shane wrote:I met him late August, at an awards ceremony. We got to talking, and the two of us clicked immediately. I can hardly describe it without sounding cheesy, but I swear, there was a spark. He's so brilliant, thoughtful, and passionate-- and super talented with music, too. We've already gone on several dates, and all of them were incredible-- the waterfront, dinner, a museum, under the stars to see the Perseids, and a few smaller meetups too. I'm taking him on a date later today, and I haven't been able to get him off my mind the entire time it's been planned. Hell, the entire time since I met him. Is there a sequel to Sleepless in Seattle called Sleepless in Boston? I feel like I'm going through that right now. It's crazy how he's doing this to me, but I have a feeling he feels the same way too.

Dawn wrote:Awwww!

Kasumi wrote:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kaja wrote:this is wonderful i'll be back from my class with so many new ways to tease you about your crush

Leilan wrote:Shane that's so awesome! I'm really glad you met him.

Shane wrote:Me too! Glad you're all as excited as I am - or actually, maybe that's not possible. But I'm glad you're all happy for me.

Dawn wrote:Of course :)

Leilan wrote:What's this next date?

Shane wrote:We're going to visit the Boston MFA and I'll show him around, but I'm also taking him to see a show. Kasumi can help with this one.

Kasumi wrote:i can?

Kasumi wrote:ohhhhhh i see what you mean

Kasumi wrote:yesss bring the charades on

Shane wrote:First clue, it's a Shakespeare play, set in the Mediterranean.

Kasumi wrote:oooh okay second clue please

Shane wrote:And it's got these two characters, Sebastian and Antonio.

Kasumi wrote:oooh easy

Kasumi wrote:wait

Kasumi wrote:that describes two plays

Shane wrote:The character of Antonio is a traitor who betrayed a duke, does that narrow it down?

It did not, surprisingly. Shane did very much like Shakespeare, but it was true that he wrote about similar things more than once in his comedies. Yet another reason he preferred the tragedies-- but it made for a good joke for his English major friend.

Kasumi wrote:that's still two plays???

Dawn wrote:I don't quite understand this, but I know it's got to be funny.

Leilan wrote:I do understand it and I can confirm it's very funny

Shane wrote:What about if I said Sebastian was shipwrecked?

Kasumi wrote:STILL TWO PLAYS

Kasumi wrote:WHICH ONE IS IT

Kasumi wrote:THE TEMPEST OR TWELFTH NIGHT???????

Shane wrote:Alright, I'll give it to you, it's the one where they're gay for each other.

Kasumi wrote:TWELFTH NIGHT!!!

Leilan wrote:I have the interpretation that they're kinda gay in The Tempest too but Twelfth Night is much gayer by far

Shane wrote:Both of you are so right.

Dawn wrote:Is Shakespeare really like this? Like those two plays have those exact things in common?

Shane wrote:Oh, he totally is.

Kasumi wrote:that's good twelfth night is the better one anyway

Kasumi wrote:not biased at all from my own performance in it nuh uh

Dawn wrote:Oh yeah, I remember now! You were great.

Leilan wrote:You were!

Shane wrote:Seriously, though, you're the standard I hold every Viola to in each production. That was amazing and I can only hope tonight holds up to that.

Kasumi wrote:oh my god stoooop guys i'm getting emo

And they went on chatting like that, while Shane finished up his coffee and absent-mindedly packed his bag. It felt good to have some activity in the group chat, especially since he still felt like he'd killed it. Maybe they'd be able to start moving on.

Just as he thought that, he received a text from Kaja-- who he figured was in class now, given her absence in the group chat-- in their own personal messages.

Kaja wrote:so, like, does this mean you're getting better?

Shane had to read it a few times before it fully sank in, and he felt that feeling of hope slipping away, replaced by a new heavy feeling of hurt. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe their friend group wasn't ready to go back to what they had yet.

And Kaja was still ignoring the message he'd sent her months ago to text him this instead.

Shane bit his lip before he left that chat behind. He didn't know how to dignify that with a reply, and he wasn't going to let this ruin his day.

With much better timing, a message from Alan arrived, and he tapped on that with a racing heart instead.

Alan wrote:It's a shame - I don't think you did get my dreams. If you did, you'd have seen yourself. I'm glad you had a peaceful night's sleep though.

Sounds like a plan. I've been looking forward to this for a while, but I think I feel that way before any time I see you. Where at campus do you want to meet?

Shane smiled-- a little more weakly than he would have if Kaja hadn't texted him before, he was sure, but it was a smile nonetheless-- as he typed back.

Shane wrote:I'll keep an eye out for them. But even after seeing you again, I think I'll still be sleepless for a while, so it may take some time.

Shane wrote:How about the library? I won't be studying, but you know where to find me.

Alan took a minute or two in answering him, but Shane was pretty sure he'd seen he had a class on his schedule during this time.

Alan wrote:You and me both. We can meet at the library, same spot.

Then another one after a half-minute:

Alan wrote:I can't wait to see you again.

That widened the smile on Shane's face.

Shane wrote:You and me both.

Alan took a peek at his phone, slightly taking it out of pocket to check the time. He could have checked his watch, but he also wanted to see if he had any notification, just in case.

3:10pm, and no new notifications.

It took maybe a second, but his attention was immediately grabbed with a bow tapping his music stand.

"Did you hear me? Your intonation is off. Too sharp. You might want to write that down," Rose said in front of him, cradling her cello as she pulled her bow back.

"I know. I know," Alan murmured, putting his phone away and then making the right notes on the sheet music.

Seat auditions were on Monday, and they had to not only audition with the selected section pieces the conductor picked, but they also had two minutes to perform a solo of their choice. Naturally, Alan opted to pick his solo qualifier piece he was going to perform at the end of the year, and it took him too long to figure out if he wanted to play the introduction or the cadenza.

That was a whole other can of worms. He qualified for the solo, but he still had to do a final audition with it. And he knew he had no chance for it next year, because Rose wanted the solo her senior year, and there was no way he could go against her.

It was nice she was on his side for this. Although, she was relentless. She could be nicer, although he appreciated the honest critique... and her time. He was glad that she was that bored that she'd devote hours of her time this weekend to listen for imperfections and help with his audition pieces, because he really did want to move up some seats this semester.

"Try again," Rose encouraged.

Alan nodded, starting from the top and still reading the sheet music for the cadenza, even though he didn't think he needed it. He felt the notes reverberate off his violin seamlessly, but still, the music lacked... something. Depth. Meaning. Inspiration.

The song didn't really capture what he was feeling. This song was intense and bitter sounding, which was quite the opposite of what he felt right now.

He lifted his bow off his strings when finished, almost feeling out of breath, but instead looked at Rose expectedly, who was always so unreadable.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Hmmm." She tapped her fingers along her cello. "Something's off. You're distracted."

"Well, it is Friday afternoon," Alan said lightly with a smile.

Rose pursed her lips, slightly tilting her head as she studied him. "Thinking about your date?"

Right. He did tell the group yesterday. She hadn't commented on it, but of course she'd remember. Especially if it affected music.

Alan checked the time again. 3:15pm. He should pack up and get ready to leave, especially since he still had to get to the library. He stood up, walking over to his violin case.

"I am," he admitted as he set the violin down. "But only because my date is literally in fifteen minutes."

"That's fine. But you know how you sound when you're distracted," she warned.

Alan chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced back at Rose. "You know, there's more to life than music. And it's also just as beautiful."

Rose sighed, setting her cello down. "Have a good date. Same time tomorrow?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Same time tomorrow. Thanks, Rose."



Alan rushed to the library, hoping that what he was wearing was fine. He dropped all his items in the music hall since he planned to go back tomorrow morning, and he had dressed a little nicer today anyways. If he had time, he would have gone back to his apartment to freshen up, but time was becoming a rare commodity for him these days.

He skipped two steps at a time at the entrace of the library, walking in and bee-lining towards the rare books sections. He was right on time, and he knew Shane would be here already. Predictably, it didn't take long to find him, because he was at his usual study spot by the large south-facing window.

Shane was standing, leaning on the edge of the table. He was wearing a flannel-- his usual-- and had an envelope on the table near his hand. Alan smiled as he approached, and Shane stood up straighter as they made eye contact, smiling back.

"Hey, stranger." Alan smiled wider as he took a moment to soak in Shane's presence. "I'd ask if you've missed me, but I think I've missed you far more."

Shane tilted his head to the side, grinning. "Are you sure about that? Because I happen to have missed you quite a lot."

Alan hummed, not taking his eyes off him. "I'm not so sure, actually. Because now that I'm here, I've stopped missing you. After all, missing one another implies that we'll be apart. And I don't plan on parting ways with you."

Shane grinned wider, laughing. "Well, it's a busy afternoon and evening that I've got scheduled, so we won't be parting ways for quite a while. Although that time does feel too short." He placed his hand the envelope and picked it up, handing it to Alan with a lingering smile. "This is yours, but don't open it just yet. It's still a surprise."

Alan stared down at the envelope before slowly taking it and turning it around on both sides. It was closed and white with no other markings to indicate any clues of what it may contain. Intrigued, Alan grinned and turned back to Shane.

"Intriguing. Alright." He paused. "You said it was an afternoon and evening?" He tilted his head curiously, smile widening. "What on earth do you have planned, Mr. Hawking?"

"Well, you know what they say. My job to know, yours to find out." Shane laughed, still grinning, but it seemed a touch more bashful now. "Though you do know half of it-- I promised you the museum, didn't I?" He reached into the chest pocket of his flannel, holding up a museum ID badge on a lanyard before he tucked it back with a chuckle. "But our surprise is up first. That's where we're headed."

"For the record, I would have acted surprised for you even if I did know that we'll be going to the museum. But maybe just for fun, I still will," Alan said with a smile as he placed the envelope in his pocket. "Whatever you have planned, though, I know I'm going to love it, because I'll be with you the whole time."

Shane kept on smiling. "If there is anything you don't care for about it, just let me know, and we'll find something else to do. It's you I'm here for, after all, and I'm looking forward to you more than anything on the schedule."

Alan was touched. Shane was sweet, but--

"There is something, actually," Alan said casually. "And what I don't care for is you thinking that there may be something I don't like about what you've planned." He smiled, meeting his eyes more sincerely. "I do mean it when I said that we don't need to do anything special. But at the same time, Shane, I know you enough that you did plan something special. It doesn't even matter what it is, at this point. I'm already touched that you planned something. It's already such a thoughtful gesture."

Shane's smile turned softer, more gentle. "Thank you, Alan. I appreciate that." He gestured behind Alan to the library exit, walking over to his side. "Shall I lead the way?"

Alan stifled a chuckle as he nodded, gesturing for him to go on ahead. "You shall."

Shane laughed quietly before he took the lead, guiding him out of the library and to the edge of the campus. They walked along an arterial that was popular with Ivy students, with its shops, businesses and restaurants, and Shane told him it would be a short, ten-minute walk.

It had been a few days since they had seen each other, so they used their time to catch up. Shane told him about the history paper he'd loved writing but had gotten tired out from. When Alan was asked about his week, he admitted he had a fairly long week, mostly because he had been stressing about upcoming auditions while dealing with his other usual responsibilities and commitment. He thought about telling Shane about Cyrin and how he came out to a few people this week, but decided that could be a conversation for another time when it felt more appropriate.

They'd just finished laughing at a joke Alan had made when Shane glanced a short distance down the block, smiling at something. "Alright," he said, turning back to Alan with a lingering smile. "You're good to open that envelope now."

Curious, Alan took out the envelope from the pocket as he glanced down the block. This street was lined with a few university buildings, performance halls, shops, apartments, and more. He did wonder if there was a reason why he was opening the envelope here, but didn't dwell on the thought as he gave Shane another smile and then carefully opened the envelope.

He reached in, pulling out two slips of paper. It was two tickets to a 4pm theater showing of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Alan stared at the tickets, slowly processing.

"Surprise?" Shane asked softly, giving him a gentle, hopeful smile.

Alan finally tore his gaze away from the tickets, brightly smiling as it sunk in that he was taking him to the theater.

God, it felt like it had been ages since he actually sat down to watch and enjoy a show.

"You got theater tickets," he said in disbelief with a soft giddy laugh as he gazed at Shane with appreciation. "Thank you. This is--" He laughed, shaking his head as he stuffed the empty envelope back in his pocket before turning his attention back to Shane. "This is great. Truly. I'm excited, actually. It's been so long since I've even seen a show. How did you know that I'd like this? It's perfect."

Shane beamed, his smile turning warm. "I made a guess, based on a few things I know about you," he said with a soft laugh. "You're a man of the arts, of course, but there's a few reasons why I picked theater specifically. You like performances, and theater performances come alive for a lot of the same reasons that musical ones do-- they're both made up of talented, passionate artists who are there to make an audience feel things and leave the room feeling like a different person. Actors, like musicians, spend hours of their time in rehearsals regularly dedicating themselves to their craft, hoping to get better at creating that emotional connection to their audience. The things they do are both different-- but they're both so beautiful. I guessed that if you had an appreciation for one-- and I know how much you appreciate music-- it's not much of a stretch to appreciate the other." He laughed softly again. "And I love the way you love art. I thought I'd get to see you admiring it this way."

Alan felt his chest tighten with each passing sentence, but he felt his heart swell at his closing thoughts. It wasn't a bad type of ache. If any thing, Alan's only regret was that he misspoke earlier before.

It felt like he did still miss Shane, even though he was right here. Something about the way he "made a guess" about Alan, without Alan even knowing he was taking in this information... and something about how he used this information, along with his own beautiful thoughts about art, made him yearn for Shane.

Alan hadn't even realized he had been gazing at Shane with such adoration until some seconds had passed, and he wondered if he appeared to be the bashful one now.

He dropped his gaze, finding Shane's hands by his sides. Gently, he scooped both of them up, sandwiching them between his hands. He placed the two tickets between their palms, giving his hands a gentle squeeze before he met Shane's eyes again with a soft smile.

"Thank you, Shane. This means more to me than words could ever express," he said sincerely, deciding to start off with that for now.

"I'm so glad, Alan," Shane said softly, smiling back gently. "I hoped you'd like it. After I got the idea for theater, I saw this show was opening today, and I just knew-- I knew I had to take you there. It delayed our surprise date a bit, but--" He tipped his head towards the theater, which was just ahead of them, still smiling. "I hope it's worth the wait."

"It is. Oh, it so is," Alan said, still smiling warmly, unable to take his eyes or hands away from Shane. "And you are so right about... well, everything. About me, about art, and the connection that inspires artists. It is beautiful, and it makes me happy that you see it that way. It makes me happy that you see me that way."

Shane beamed again, grinning brighter than ever, and Alan finally let go of his hands, placing the ticket in his palm so that they were both holding their own. He looked down at his ticket, not able to stop grinning ear-to-ear from the excitement of it all.

"The date's barely begun, but you've already made my whole day. I've been meaning to see this show for ages. I've heard my peers talk about it all the time, and I've even read the script, but I've never gotten around to seeing the show live." Alan smiled warmly, his gaze settling back on Shane. "I must have known in my heart that I've been waiting to see this show with someone special."

Shane laughed that soft laugh again, glancing at the theater before turning his smile back to Alan. "Twelfth Night is timeless for good reason. It's a comedy, of course, but it was written in mind for celebrations and special occasions. I felt like this was a special occasion, hence my choice of show."

"And it's a good one. Thank you. Sincerely. I can't wait to see it with you," Alan said, still smiling and meaning every word.

Shane met his gaze for a few moments longer before he gestured towards the theater, still smiling. "Why wait? If you're ready, we can get our seats."

Alan nodded, already feeling eager. "More than ready. Let's go."

Shane excitedly took him through the doors, and they stepped into the vast theater lobby. It had been a while since he stepped in here, but he was reminded by how elegant the space was, with a chandelier hanging down from the ceiling and curling staircases leading up and down into the main theater. Alan showed their tickets to the woman running the house desk, and after she checked them, she pointed to the middle staircase. "Straight ahead to the first balcony, front row, then to your right," she informed them with a smile. "Enjoy the show."

They thanked her and went up the stairs, making their way through the balcony aisle. Shane seemed to be admiring the space, turning his head to catch all the red velvet and gold accents and decorations, but then refocused once they approached the balcony railing. "We have the two seats three down," he said with a smile to Alan, gesturing to the right.

Alan led the way down the row, sitting down when Shane was ready. Now that he was sitting-- and at a front balcony section, no less-- the excitement was bubbling to the surface, clawing its way out of him. He couldn't help but sit at the edge of his seat, peering out over the stage and seeing the orchestra get ready in the pit.

"How are you feeling?" Shane asked with a quiet laugh as he noticed, turning his head to him. "Is everything a pleasant surprise so far?"

Alan shook off the nostalgia, finally sittinf back at his seat again. "Surprised? Yes, and nostalgic," he admitted with a bright smile. "Have you ever been in this theater before?"

"Once," Shane said with an excited nod. "One of my Seattle friends-- she's in Chicago now-- came over to visit the summer before last, and we watched Hamlet here. She's actually performed in Twelfth Night for our high school's theater, so I've seen this show once before too."

"Oh, really? That sounds amazing. She must love theater, especially if she's acted. What's her name? I think you've only mentioned Leilan to me so far," Alan said.

"Her name's Kasumi," Shane said, smiling. "And she does love theater-- I think she was in every high school production all four years, and I hear she still does community theater. She's an English major, but doesn't know what she wants to do yet. Maybe it will have something to do with theater." He looked more thoughtful suddenly. "Or maybe she did figure it out. I don't know, I feel like I haven't heard much in a while," he added with a small laugh.

"Well, I know I don't know her too well yet, but if you end up talking to her and finding out the answer, I'd love to know as well. I'm rooting for her from a distance, hoping she goes into some type of art, or at least a creative field. It sounds like she's passionate about words, and words are still a creative form of art," Alan said with a smile.

Shane nodded in agreement. "I'll keep you updated," he promised, and then paused. "Nostalgic, you said? Did you do theater once too?"

Alan let out a quiet laugh, his gaze settling over the stage. "It may or may not surprise you that I was a theater kid. But-- I did, yes. In high school." He turned his attention back towards Shane, smiling again. "But I was part of the group who only wanted to be in musicals, which worked out, really, because I performed in the pit for all the other plays. It was a busy time, since I did this and orchestra for all four years."

"That sounds awesome," Shane remarked, mirroring Alan's smile. "Which musical was your favorite to be in?"

Alan mulled this over, tilting his head up in thought before he faintly nodded, settling on an answer. "I enjoyed all of them, of course. I freely admit that I'd enjoy any opportunity to tell a story with music or dance. But I mostly had support roles, except one time, when I played a leading role in West Side Story. It was a lot of fun and definitely one of my high school highlights."

"West Side Story? That's a good one, I can definitely see it," Shane said with a nod, still smiling. "And that's vaguely the work of Shakespeare, too."

"Vaguely, yes. But I think I'd prefer his less tragic works." He gestured in front of them. "Case in point: Twelfth Night."

Shane moved forward in his seat, glancing at the stage and the closed curtains. "I confess that I prefer the tragedies, generally," he admitted with a laugh. "But Twelfth Night is special, and people from all over time since the holidays it was written for have been falling in love with it over and over again. I wish I could say what it was, but it's got everything that makes up a perfect Shakespearean comedy."

Alan nodded, holding onto every word and giving Shane his full attention. "It is special. And I love that you considered that aspect when you were considering what play we should watch. That makes it even more special." He paused, reflecting back on Shane's earlier words before continuing. "And for what it's worth, there's nothing wrong with preferring tragedies. After all, life isn't always a special, happy comedy. Tragedies often reach deep in the heart to tell a story of pain, and since emotions are incredibly complex, it's often hard to describe how we feel, and so we turn to stories for answers." Alan paused again. "At least, that's how I interpret it. I do like tragedies, and have been in tragic headspaces before where I prefer them over something more light, but I think, right now, I'm better appreciating the happy endings."

Shane nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I look at it that way too. I've always found the characters in tragedies to be particularly interesting-- it always seems like in those stories, there's a million little choices a character could have made along the way that would've averted their fate. But the audience knows that character never would have made those choices, because it would go against everything they are, and so we can only watch everything fall apart. It's like they're trapped in the wrong story." He paused. "But as much as tragedies have something to teach us, the comedies do provide a breath of fresh air. Life isn't always a happy, special comedy, and it's nice to go somewhere that is, even if it's only as brief as a theater visit."

If they had this conversation during an early date, Alan may have thought nothing of it. If anything, he'd have thought Shane's insights were interesting and full of depth. But he couldn't help but wonder now if his insights were truly derived from inspiration provided from tragedies, or if they were derived from his experiences.

"You know..." Alan began gently with a soft smile, not taking his eyes off Shane. "I hope this isn't too forward for me to say, but I absolutely adore how incredibly insightful and perceptive you are. I'm also starting to learn to value and appreciate your keen intuition, which I had the wonderful privilege of seeing today when you made some guesses about me, resulting in a perfect date. I'm so glad that I'm here with you, and I'm so glad I get the pleasure of truly getting to know you. We both agree that life isn't a happy, special comedy that we're about to see, but I hope the special feeling isn't just a brief moment in the theater."

Suddenly feeling inspired by his own words, Alan looked down at their laps and reached over his to take Shane's hand, slowly intertwining his fingers with his before he returned his gaze, trying to look and sound sincere for his next words.

"At least, not when we're together. And I know this is supposed to be your surprise, but I'm still going to do my best to make today feel happy and special." He smiled softly, but then paused. "No promises about the comedy part, though. I'm only a comedian when I'm being thrown money on stage."

Shane smiled softly back, gently squeezing Alan's hand. "It's not too forward," he said softly. "In fact, thank you for saying it, Alan. And today does feel happy and special, but it's more about having you than having the theater."

"And it's not just today," Alan said, rubbing his thumb against the back of Shane's hand. "I'll always be here for you."

Shane's smile widened while staying just as soft, and he gave Alan a look of gentle adoration. "I'll always be here for you too. I promise."

Alan couldn't help but smile at that. A promise implied commitment, and perhaps if they were actually watching a tragedy, he'd wonder how long it would take before the promise was broken.

But right now, Alan chose to believe.

They watched each other for a little longer until the lights dimmed to half-brightness, and the conversations around them turned into excited whispers.

"This is always such an exciting moment, right before it begins," Shane breathed, his eyes shining as he looked around the stage and back to Alan.

"It is," Alan said with a lingering smile, still keeping his gaze on Shane with their hands intertwined on his lap. "The beginning of something new is always so exciting."

Shane had held high hopes for this date, with a detailed vision of how the surprise would be revealed and how Alan would figure out what they were doing today. Those high hopes had come with high worries that he was forgetting something, or that he would make a mistake, but he couldn't think of them at all right now. Today had more than exceeded those high hopes.

He still couldn't get over the relief he'd felt at seeing how much Alan loved the plan, and his excitement was so contagious. This wasn't Shane's first time watching Twelfth Night, but he found himself paying attention very closely, looking for the moments that made Alan laugh or smile, and then he'd laugh and smile along with a bright joy. He'd loved Kasumi's production, but this one really did feel special. And it was all because of Alan.

It really was a good show in its own right, though. The show's Viola absolutely killed the famous ring monologue, and he made a mental note to share his thoughts on it with Kasumi. The humorous plotline with Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria baffling the uptight Malvolio into wearing bright yellow stockings was hilarious, and the actors knew how to perfectly deliver the witty Shakespearean jokes and insults. And even though it was a little disappointing to see that the production didn't go for the romance between Sebastian and Antonio-- a romance that Shane believed went well past subtext-- the plotline was still interesting to watch and well-performed.

And Alan kept holding his hand the entire time, even when they excitedly talked during intermission about their opinions-- what actors or characters they liked the most, the funniest scene, their impressions of the director's choices, the best lines. Alan mentioned that his favorite part of the play was when Viola, in disguise as Cesario, described the way she would love Olivia if she loved her the way Orsino did. He mentioned that the scene captivated his attention, partly because of how moving the words were, but mostly because he admired how the actress spoke with such gusto and pain, like she was truly speaking from the heart. Shane shared his own favorite moment, which was the conversation between Antonio and Viola following Antonio's arrest. He spoke about the heavy mix of tragedy and joy that served to reach the audience's hearts, between Antonio's pain as he believed Sebastian had betrayed him when he mistook Viola in disguise for her twin, and Viola's hope when she heard the news that Sebastian might be alive if Antonio had named him.

He didn't share that he had another reason for liking it-- he, too, could imagine how he'd feel if he heard someone he loved who was presumed dead was actually alive. But now that Alan knew, it was possible he was already thinking of that reason himself.

At the curtain call, the two of them clapped loudly, and the applause filled the theater. They went back to talking about the show once it died down, even as they left the theater and caught a train to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Shane listened with a wide smile to Alan's thoughts, and he was eager to leap in with his own, but he enjoying the listening part more. He really did love the way that Alan loved art, and it warmed his heart to see him this happy.

When they arrived at the museum, it was still open for some time, but it would be much quieter than normal. Shane liked this-- it meant they'd have the museum more to themselves. He'd also planned the museum for the second part of the date so they could spend as long as they wanted there, rather than rushing to the show. He would hate to rush time with Alan.

Shane led Alan up the bold marble brick steps and through the wide doors with a smile. The line to get tickets was very short, but they didn't need to go through, since all Shane had to do was hold up his museum badge and get a friendly wave of approval from the receptionist for the two of them to pass by the desk. Lifting the lanyard over his head and letting the badge hang against his chest, he turned back to Alan, still smiling.

"Where would you like to go first?" he asked.

Alan hummed, thinking for a moment, but it didn't take him long to smile and think of an answer. "You said that you've been writing the biographies for Van Gogh, right? Maybe we could stop by his paintings first. I'd ask for the audioguide, but it seems I have a private tour guide instead."

Shane laughed. "Sure, I can take you there. I'll do my best at playing tour guide. I do think that'd be an awesome job, but I'm probably lacking some of the important necessary skills for it."

"Nonsense," Alan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll be the judge of that. I think you'd make a great tour guide-- starting with this one, with me, right here, right now."

Shane smiled. "Alright. But you should promise to stop me if I go off on too much of a tangent."

Alan pulled his lips back and briefly looked up, pretending to think about it before he smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, I'm willing to promise a lot of things, but that's a promise I cannot make. I love hearing you go off on tangents."

Shane let out a huff of laughter. "I don't think you've heard very many, then."

"Well, then that must change," Alan said with a playfil smile. "I'm pretty sure it's a requirement of the tour."

Shane hesitated, trying to decide whether he actually meant it before he settled on that he did, and then smiled. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll heed your warning, but I don't think I'll need it, since I love listening to you," Alan said, still with the same smile.

Shane chuckled, feeling a little bashful as he started to lead Alan up a flight of stairs. "Noted. And if you feel like going off on any tangents, please do. I can bring you the history, but I'm sure you can bring me the art better."

"I don't know about that. Art is subjective, after all, so I don't necessarily think one interpretation is better than another," Alan said as he closely followed Shane. "Plus, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You're a man of the arts too. I can tell by how you speak of it, look at it, think of it."

Shane smiled softly. "Oh, I just appreciate it, really. I admire the people like you who can actually create it."

"You talk as if you're incapable of creating art," Alan said with a raised brow. "People are born to create. We may create different types of art, and our journeys may look different, but it doesn't make it any less beautiful."

Shane glanced at him, a soft, curious smile spreading on his face as they reached the top of the staircase. "What about talent? Doesn't that matter, at least somewhat?"

"Maybe if you want to pursue it professionally. But if you're not, then there's no one there to judge you," Alan said gently, but meaning every word. "Art doesn't even need to be shared with anyone else but yourself. I think as long as there's some outlet for creative expression, that's all that matters. The output doesn't need to be perfect or even make any sense. It's the feeling you feel when you produce art that counts, not the end result."

Shane thought about that for a few moments as he led them through the exhibit, navigating subconsciously to the Impressionist gallery. "I can see that," he admitted, smiling gently at Alan again. "My dad is-- was-- a poet. He wasn't professional, but he did have a lot of talent, and he always seemed to find joy in it. Or when it wasn't joy he found, it was a better understanding of how he thought and felt, put into words. He didn't share what he wrote with a lot of people, and he'd shake his head at me if I called his poems perfect, but he did have a creative outlet. I didn't inherit it, but he's a lot of the reason why I like poetry."

Alan gave Shane his undivided attention, a longing sadness in his eyes as he empathized with him. "That's so sweet, Shane. If he didn't show many people, then showing you his works must have been a very special moment for him, especially since poetry can already be so raw and emotive. It's alright if writing poetry isn't for you, but it's so good to hear that you have a deep appreciation for it." He paused. "Although, usually, that's the first step to creating: appreciating. So, who knows-- maybe you did inherit your father's skills after all."

Shane let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the floor for a moment as his heart tightened in his chest. "Thank you. I don't know, maybe, but-- thank you. That helps to hear, for some reason I can't quite place."

Alan was quiet for a moment, watching Shane with a gentle look in his eyes. "It's alright if you don't have the answers. I'm glad that my words can help. I really did mean it when I said that I'm here if you ever want to talk about anything, good or bad. You deserve that."

Shane smiled softly, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate it, Alan. Sincerely. Thank you, really." He paused. "I do want to keep today happy and special and about you, even though we're here to see the paintings of a very tragic man, so I'll let you know if I ever need to take you up on that another time."

"Ah, sorry, Mr. Hawking, but I think there's an error in your script," Alan teased with a gentle smile. "The today isn't about me. It's about us."

Shane grinned playfully, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "You got me. I'm glad it's us."

"I am too," Alan said with a warm smile, then glanced down the hall. "Well, us and the ghost of a very tragic man who left behind his paintings for us to see. But ordinarily, it'd just be us."

Shane chuckled as he led Alan through a turn into the Impressionist Gallery. "And here I thought we'd only be finding the figurative kind of haunting here. If you see his ghost, please point him out to me so I can get a primary source for research purposes."

The two of them wandered among paintings of Monet, Renoir and Cézanne. Sometimes they admired them silently; other times Alan asked a question, and Shane did his best to answer. Shane guided them in vaguely the right direction, but he made sure not to rush the journey. He wouldn't want to cut short this time of Alan looking starry-eyed and surrounded by art, not even by a moment.

When they got to the paintings they were here for, Shane showed Alan the plaque near the entrance that had Van Gogh's biography he wrote enscribed on it. With a big smile, Alan read the biography with great detail, seemingly holding on to every word and closely paying attention. When finished, he looked back at Shane with pride and showered him with a slew of compliments, then went on to ask detailed questions about Van Gogh. Shane was happy to answer, and Alan was receptive and closely listening, asking several follow-up questions in response.

Finally, Shane tore Alan away from the plaque, finally walking into the hall of paintings. They stopped in front of the first painting, admiring it in silence for a few seconds.



"He did a lot of paintings of grain fields towards the end of his life," Shane said to break the silence after a short while. "In general, a lot of nature paintings-- cypresses and olive trees, notably, which are common features of the natural landscape in the region of Southern France that he was in. He was hospitalized in an asylum, and he didn't get to leave very often. But he was still able to paint those landscapes as if he were seeing them right there."

Alan slowly nodded, one arm crossed while his free hand was placed against his lips in thought. "It must have been terrifying, to be so alone towards the end of his life. You can see the desolation spread across the flat lands of the fields. Maybe at the time, it was perceived to be a nature painting. But as a true creative, more often than not-- it may have been a cry for help."

Shane hummed softly in agreement, settling his gaze on the distant windmills. "He must have really wanted to be free," he said. "Imagine you're trapped somewhere, and someone's in control of everywhere you go. Occasionally, you're allowed to go on short walks around the area, but you're still under tight supervision, forbidden from wandering. And you see this landscape, and you think about what it might mean to be free here. Maybe you dream of wandering into the field and disappearing among the stalks. But you can't. All you can do is remember it, and try to paint it. That was his life." Shane paused. "If the goal was just to have a nature painting that represented the landscape, it wouldn't have provided relief in a room that felt like a prison. A painted landscape can't replace the real one-- but then, it's not meant to. It's supposed to capture something else. It's the longing of a trapped man, trapped in careful layers of brushstrokes and held in place by a layer of glass and a frame. And yet, it's spilling out at us."

Alan didn't seem to move or respond, and it wasn't until Shane finally looked away from the painting that he realized Alan had been watching him instead, smiling.

"What is it?" Shane asked, smiling back at him and laughing softly.

"Nothing. I just like hearing you think out loud. That's it," he said, still smiling before he finally glanced away. "Although... I can pretend that I'm admiring the painting instead, if you'd like."

"As long as I can still see your smile," Shane said, laughing softly again. "I love your smile, but especially when you're looking at or thinking about art."

Alan smiled a little bashfully, letting out a faint laugh. "In that case, then you must understand why I couldn't look away when you were looking and thinking about art. The fondness goes both ways."

"I do understand," Shane said, his own smile turning shyer. "I'd have trouble looking away too. I feel like I'm admiring two masterpieces right now."

For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other, their gazes unwavering as they admired one another. Alan's smile grew with each passing second, intrigue and adoration sparkling in his eyes.

"Who are you, and where have you been all my life?" he said, still focused on Shane.

"I should say something like, I've been missing you all this time," Shane said, not looking away. "But I couldn't have imagined someone like you. My imagination would have fallen short of that."

Alan's smile turned to a grin. "You talk about me as if I'm a piece of art. But I'm not, because art wouldn't be able to close the gap."

At that, he closed the gap between them, standing close in front of Shane and focusing his attention on his cheek, where he had the knuckles of his hand gingerly graze against his skin. Shane's breath didn't completely catch like last time this happened, but he felt his heart flutter and skip a couple beats.

"...Between what's real and what's not," he finished with a smile after a long pause, then briefly looked up with a playful look. "Aaaaand art also wouldn't be able to take your hand and lead you to the next painting. Come on." Grinning, Alan grabbed Shane's hand and led him away, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was following.

And of course, Shane did follow, with a grin, a delighted laugh, and a racing heart.



The grin didn't leave Shane's face for their entire time in the museum as they roamed the exhibits. There was an obligatory stop to the Greek and Roman gallery-- where Shane almost began to believe in himself as a tour guide-- but for the most part, he and Alan wandered with no intention except the one to see as much art as possible. Even that became a little difficult to achieve, because Shane spent almost as much time watching Alan as he spend watching the art.

God, he really did love that smile of his.

Eventually, the hours slipped away, and Shane wouldn't have noticed when it was closing time if he didn't work here. Close to that time, he started leading Alan out, offering the receptionist a wave of farewell before they were standing on the marble steps again.

"How was it?" Shane asked, still smiling at Alan. "Maybe surprising, even if not a surprise?"

Alan let out a soft laugh. "I missed my chance to act surprised, but I was too busy being excited and looking forward to my time with you." He smiled warmly at Shane. "It was great. I loved it. Thank you for letting me be your plus one."

Shane smiled warmly back as he lifted the ID badge over his head. "Just let me know if you'd like to go again another month," he said with a laugh, holding it up. "It is the 20th largest art museum in the world, I hear. We didn't come even close to seeing everything here." He then tucked it back in his pocket, meeting Alan's gaze.

"How often are you allowed a visitor? Once a month, right?" Alan asked.

"Well, technically it's once a month. But the people here like me," Shane joked. "I can get away with more."

Alan hummed. "How about this: we come back once a month together, but I also sometimes come in to surprise you after your shift?"

Shane laughed. "Of course. Deal," he said, looking Alan over. "By the way, are you feeling hungry yet?"

"I could eat," Alan said with a curious smile. "Do you have dinner plans?"

"I had an idea," Shane admitted. "I feel like it's a place you'd like, but also, I'm nearly certain it wouldn't be your first time there. Sorry if there's a lack of novelty."

"No need to apologize. Novelty can bring in excitement during mundane times, but I'd hardly call this day mundane. Plus, familiarity is comforting." Alan paused. "What's the place called?"

"It's an Argentine place," Shane said with a small smile, deciding this didn't need to be a surprise. "It's called Las Pampas."

Surprised, Alan laughed and grinned widely. "You picked Las Pampas," he repeated, more to himself than to Shane. "I love that place. It's actually my favorite spot for Argentine food. I even have the owner's phone number so I don't have to call to make an order."

Shane laughed, equally surprised. "That really was a lucky guess. The plan definitely looks better than it was when I happened to be thinking of it. But that's a good spot for you, right?"

"Yes," Alan breathed out with a big smile. "How are you doing this? I didn't think the day could get any more perfect, but you keep surprising me."

Shane grinned again, feeling another wave of relief wash over him. "I don't know, but I'm so glad you're liking it," he said, meeting Alan's gaze for a moment before he tilted his head towards the bottom of the stairs. "In that case, do you want to lead the way?"

Alan smiled warmly. "I'd love to."



It wasn't a far walk, especially since the museum and restaurant was by a train station entrance. Alan led the way, but the whole time, he kept his close attention on Shane, listening to him attentively and flashing him smiles along the way. He asked Shane more about his work, taking great interest in not only how Shane spent his day-to-day, but also on his schedule. Knowing Alan, it seemed that he was already planning a surprise visit to see him after work, and Shane couldn't wait.

Eventually, Alan stopped in front of a restaurant with tinted windows and a overhang with ivy draping down. Shane glanced up to see the "LAS PAMPAS" lettering, indicating that they had arrived-- but Alan had already opened the door for him, gesturing for him to go inside.

They were greeted with warm lighting, the restaurant's rustic charm being obvious from just a quick glance around. Tango music played softly in the speakers, and decor included open wine barrels for display as well as murals, artwork, and photographs of the Argentine countryside and vineyards.

As Shane's eyes wandered, Alan was talking in Spanish to the host. They seemed to be acquainted with one another, speaking freely in a friendly manner, while even sharing a few smiles and laughs. The host eventually took them to a table, and Alan exchanged another quick conversation in Spanish, but then they were left by themselves.

"Sorry. They're pretty chatty," Alan said with an apologetic smile. "I also hope you like red wine."

"I do," Shane said with a laugh. "And no need to apologize. I take it you're a regular here?"

"Just about. A lot of other Argentine restaurants tend to be a fusion blend of other Latin American cuisines, or they mostly focus on empanadas. And they're both good, don't get me wrong-- but I like this place because they have strong Argentine roots. I can tell they put a lot of love into their food," Alan said.

Shane nodded, smiling. "I see that. It's also nice to befriend a business-- I've done that with plenty of cafes, but not really for restaurants. I have the feeling it'd be hard to become an appreciated regular at, say, an Irish bar, if I don't really care for beer."

Alan laughed through his nose. "I'd say you're the opposite of a walking stereotype, but considering you love coffee and are from Seattle, I'm not sure how true that is."

"Yeah, fair point," Shane said with a laugh. "Although, Seattle didn't make me any more outdoorsy than the next person. Which I think surprised you. So I'm not sure how stereotypical that makes me."

"Hopefully, not much, because I think you're your own person. Plus, you're full of surprises." Alan gestured loosely in front of him. "Like today, for instance. Although, I don't know if I should be terribly surprised, because I knew that today would be special regardless of how we spent our day."

Shane smiled more brightly. "I really am so glad it's worked out. I went into today with a bit of worry, even though I know I shouldn't have, since you kept saying you'd enjoy it no matter what... And then you did enjoy it, and that surprised me somehow. So, thank you for being someone who I want to do this for."

Alan smiled softly, meeting Shane's eyes. "I'm glad I can be that person. Truly," he said, then paused. "But mark my words: one of these days, I'll sweep you off your feet and take you to a surprise date that lasts the full day. And in that full day, we'll have no plans, aside from each other. There won't be judgement or feeling like we need to strive for anything more than enjoying each other's company. It will just be me, you, and our inner peace. It may be hard to understand now, but I hope, in time, you'll come to appreciate how much I want you as is."

Shane felt his smile turning gentler as well. "I'd love that," he said softly. "Really, I would."

Alan smiled warmly. "If we're making promises today, then this is one I can make. I promise to make that happen."

Shane raised an eyebrow playfully, deciding to quote Alan's own words back at him. "Well then, I promise to hold you to it."

Alan let out a laugh, lightly shaking his head. "You really are a future historian in the making. Should I be worried for when you start using my own words against me?"

"Against you?" Shane asked with a laugh. "Now, why would I do that? Unless it's just to tease you, of course. Mostly, your words just make me better at flirting with you."

"Hmm. Not sure how I feel about that," Alan playfully said with feigned skepticism. "Makes it feel like I'm flirting with myself, and I'd much rather flirt with you."

"Alright. Well, to respond to that in my own words, then..." Shane smiled at him. "I'm excited. You have a way of making every moment beautiful, each one worth more than its weight in gold, and a full day with you sounds priceless. I couldn't think of a better way to find our inner peace."

Alan's smile widened with each passing word, and he kept his gaze on Shane the whole time, even in the short silence that followed. "I disagree with what you said earlier," he said after a few moments. "My words don't make you better at flirting. Your own words are far more effective."

Shane beamed at him, watching him in adoring silence. Just in time, the waiter came in with the wine and waters, and Alan spoke in Spanish again, exchanging what Shane assumed was friendly banter. It also sounded like he ordered food since the waiter wrote some words on a notepad before scurrying away.

"Sorry, I know we didn't even open our menus, and I should have asked what your preferences are, but I didn't want to ruin the moment," Alan said with a soft laugh. "I ordered for us. Consider this my contribution to the surprise date."

"No need to apologize, you know how it goes for our dinners. It does make it a surprise," Shane said with a soft grin. "One I'm looking forward to."

Alan smiled, lifting his wine glass to toast his against Shane's. "Well, that deserves a toast." He paused. "To promises and surprises?"

With a lingering smile, Shane met his gaze and clinked his glass against Alan's. "To promises, to surprises, and to us."

Tonight-- or perhaps this early morning-- was a bit of a bad idea, but at least Clarity was just clear-headed enough to find her way back to the bus stop.

That was not to say her head was clear, though. Sure, she'd figured she would stick to beers when she'd first made the choice to crash the house party, but somehow that plan had morphed into mixing herself drinks in a stranger's kitchen around 2am. She always ended up drinking a little more than she meant to at these things, considering there was no peer pressure if it was at a party where she didn't know anyone. Maybe she needed to reconsider the way she partied, otherwise she wouldn't be allowed to judge Cyrin anymore.

But Clarity didn't spend long thinking about that. It was hard to spend time on thoughts of any kind right now.

She kept the tipsy stagger to a minimum as she found the night bus stop, letting out a faint sigh as she checked the bus schedule on her phone. It looked like it'd be a bit of a wait. Her phone battery was getting low, but she stared into the brightness of the screen for a long minute anyway, hoping it'd keep her awake.

Then an email notification banner popped up at the top of the screen, and she frowned. It was past 4am, and she definitely wasn't expecting anyone to be sending her an email at this time. Still, it was intriguing, and she'd rarely wanted to open an email as quickly as she did now.

Clarity clicked on it, and only found herself even more confused once she saw who it was from.

Evaline?

Mathematical Model for Magical Study

Levesque, Evaline (elevesque@ivy.edu)
09/18/23 4:12AM

Hi Clarity,

I've been thinking about the study you showed Dr. Sullivan last week. I did some literary searches and didn't find any results, but I did get a few hits from various fantasy authors. (Not J.K. Rowling, though. Maybe you haven't found the right wand yet?)

From a theoretical perspective, I think the study is possible. From an experimental perspective, however, getting substantial results from the study seems more impractical, if not impossible. I attached a screenshot of some working theory that I modeled on Mathmatica. I highlighted the variables that are external heat sources, and you can see that

Clarity blinked in confusion, reading the last sentence for entirely too many times before she realized that the sentence ended early and that it wasn't something to make sense of.

Just as she realized this, another email from Evaline arrived.

Re: Mathematical Model for Magical Study

Levesque, Evaline (elevesque@ivy.edu)
09/18/23 4:13AM

So sorry! I accidentally pressed sent too soon. The highlighted are the health sources, values included. I attached the screenshot.

Clarity pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a slight migraine coming on. Why was Evaline emailing her-- and why at this time? She hadn't thought the subject would stay on Evaline's mind after their conversation, and she definitely wouldn't think that she'd be seeing her help. Certainly not to the point where Evaline would stay up this late over it.

She checked the attached screenshot next. Her brain was too foggy to make much sense of it right now, but... It seemed helpful. Like something she could really use, considering she'd had no breakthroughs in the confusing stack of paper Professor Rangel had handed her.

She knew she should really have this reply for the morning, but... Well. She was too curious for that now.

Re: Mathematical Model for Magical Study

Sable, Clarity (csable@ivy.edu)
09/18/23 4:19AM

Hey, Evaline. Apologizes in advance for any typos I'm surely making-- your email is fidning me a little tipsy. (I could use a magic wand to fix that right now.)

Thank you for the work you send me, really. It looks like itll be helpful, and I'm glad I have it. You really went above and beyonf, but I have to wonder, why so above and beyond? Don't get me worng, I'm very grateful, but also a bit surprised. I guess it doesn't matter why, though, since you did help. You really did.

Anyway, thank you again.

Regards, Clarity

She got a response back five minutes later.

Re: Mathematical Model for Magical Study

Levesque, Evaline (elevesque@ivy.edu)
09/18/23 4:24AM

Hi Clarity,

Sorry again for the late email chain. I meant to auto-send this at 8am but I accidentally pressed send too soon. We can chat about this later if you'd like. I'd be happy to answer questions pertaining to the model.

Best,
Evaline

Clarity frowned as she read it, seeing no answer or reference to her wondering. She didn't really have questions relating to the model, but...

Wow. She was really about to send a second email out willingly.

Re: Mathematical Model for Magical Study

Sable, Clarity (csable@ivy.edu)
09/18/23 4:27AM

No worries aboit the timing, seeing as I was awake anyway. Seriously, no worries, I'm just surprised that you're working on it this late.

I do have a different kind of question, speaking of that. How come you're doing this for me?

Clarity kept an eye on her phone, but nothing else came through. With a sigh, she turned it off to save battery just as the bus' headlights shone down the street. She stepped on, scanning her pass and throwing herself into the nearest seat. The buzzing in her head got worse as the bus rumbled and kept going.

What a weird thing to have happen. She wasn't quite prepared to think about it just yet.

Maybe she'd skip her morning classes and just sleep in. Yes, that sounded good.



Clarity did indeed do just that-- and nearly went even farther and almost skipped her afternoon classes as well. She knew she'd end up regretting it too much if she did, though, and so she went to them despite her headache, which only got better in the last half-hour of her final class of the day.

It had been so hard to care much about any of those classes ever since she'd gotten her challenge. None of them seemed quite so important. And even though the assignment seemed ridiculous, it was mysterious enough that it had claimed all of her attention. She hadn't been bothered by not knowing the answer this much in a long time.

Which was the main reason Clarity found herself going back to Dr. Sullivan's office that afternoon with the document in hand and deciding to knock on the door, knowing she'd be there. At least, she would have knocked if the door was closed.

Her office was wide open with emanating chatter inside. Doc was at her desk like usual, typing away on her computer. But across from her desk sat Evaline, talking to a student who had their textbook out in front of them. It must be office hours right now.

Clarity walked in, and her presence seemed to immediately get Evaline's attention since she stared at Clarity with wide eyes and faltered in whatever she was telling the student. She quickly snapped out of it, reverting her gaze and intensely focusing on the problem at hand, resuming her teachings softly.

"Clarity," Doc said with a smile as she noticed her come in. "What a pleasant surprise. What brings you in my office today? Not trouble, I hope."

"Hey, Doc. Same old problem, I guess," Clarity said with a slight smile as she lifted the old papers slightly. "I guess I'm looking for some general advice. This might be a silly question, but have you ever conducted something that's possible in theory, but seems to fall apart in practice, in terms of science?"

Doc smiled, intrigued by the question. "Science is about testing the impossible, isn't it? There are always many failures before a success. After all, it was discovered the earth was round centuries ago, because scientists proved it was mathematically possible. At the time, it seemed silly to test that theory, but now it seems silly to not believe it." She paused. "I'm assuming this relates back to the study you've been working on?"

Clarity nodded, glancing at Evaline in the corner of her eye. She seemed to be still focusing her attention on the student, but maybe she was listening.

"From a theoretical perspective, it seems possible," she said clearly. "But it would be difficult to get any kind of meaningful result."

"Ah." Doc nodded, rolling her chair away from the computer to face Clarity more squarely now that she had her full attention. "Difficult doesn't mean impossible. What have you figured out so far? Maybe I could give it a review and spark some ideas."

Clarity went on to describe the new developments in detail, even though most of it were contributions from Evaline. Clarity had carefully studied the spreadsheet she sent, and it was broken down into various spreadsheets, each one representing one variable in a long conservation of energy equation. The simulated trend data Evaline attached were complex and dependent on factors such as the material, fluid, velocity, temperature, and more-- but she was thorough. Clarity had played around with the different input variables and re-modeled it to contain the correct chemical compounds, but the end result were basically the same: to obtain the desired fluid dynamics of certain elements in its fluid and gaseous state, an enormous amount of external energy is needed. This could come in the form of pressure or temperature, but it was not only at setpoints that would be impossible to have in a lab setting, but also dangerous.

Minutes passed as they discussed the development in great detail, and Doc picked apart every new discovery that came to light. They took over the white board again, writing out the long energy equation, its assumptions, its dependent variables, and the deemed energy amounts needed to follow the conservation law of energy.

At some point, the student who came by had left, leaving the three of them in the room. Despite this, Evaline didn't contribute to the discussion, focusing her efforts in grading papers and glancing up every once in a while.

Doc was surprisingly more invested than Clarity thought she'd be, and she made some very interesting points that Clarity hadn't considered. She was busy writing one of her insights down when all of a sudden she heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall, and then a man spoke behind them.

"Cris," the man said almost breathlessly, and Clarity turned around. She didn't recognize him from anywhere, but he was probably a professor, given that he was about Doc's age and was using her first name. He seemed to be breathing heavily, and his face was slightly flushed, like he'd been running. Not only that, but his dark eyes were wide with urgency. "I'm sorry for the sudden appearance, but-- do you have a moment? I have something important to tell you." The man's gaze flicked between Clarity and Evaline. "It's sensitive, too."

"Antonio..." Doc called quietly with a worry that Clarity had never heard from her before, considering she had always been so confident and calm. The worry washed over Doc's face as she seemed to have some kind of mutual understanding of the severity of his words. She grabbed her messenger bag on her desk then turned to force a smile to Clarity. "I'm sorry, I'll have to cut this short. You're on an excellent path, though, Clarity. Please come by any time." She then focused on Evaline next. "Evaline, do you mind staying and locking up for me? I'll be going to class right after."

Evaline nodded. "No problem, Dr. Sullivan. I can do that."

"Thank you."

At that, Doc hurried out of the room with the other professor-- Antonio, who offered Clarity and Evaline a short, distracted nod-- closing the door behind her and leaving Clarity alone with Evaline, who was staring down at the exams she was grading again.

"That was weird," Clarity said out loud in the silence that followed.

"He's an art professor who comes by sometimes. I think they're friends," Evaline said, softly tapping her pen on the stack of papers.

"Huh," Clarity muttered, still staring at the closed doorway. "Has he ever come by this suddenly?"

"No, but he transferred to Harvard recently. I imagine that has something to do with it," Evaline said.

"Leaving a school to teach at a rival one?" Clarity shook her head slightly. "If they're friends, maybe he's here to plead for forgiveness."

Evaline finally looked up from her papers, shrugging. "Or to convince her to leave as well. But for my sake and yours, let's hope that's not the case."

Clarity nodded. "Right. What would we do without Doc, after all? The school would probably fall apart without her."

"Very true. I'd be grading papers from more clueless students, and you wouldn't be here plagiarizing my work," Evaline said flatly.

Oh, right. She'd forgotten to credit Evaline for the spreadsheet.

"You're right, I should've said something about that," Clarity admitted, glancing at the filled whiteboard. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to, I just-- got ahead of myself, I guess. Something about how things felt like they were finally going somewhere made me forget about that."

"That's fine, I understand. I wasn't looking or expecting much credit anyways. It's no big deal," Evaline said as she then tapped her phone on her desk, presumably to check the time.

Clarity paused. "It... is kind of a big deal, though. Or at least, your help was. That's the only breakthrough there's been on this. I don't know why you did that, but thank you."

Evaline hesitated, tapping her pen on the papers again. "Well, if you happen to get your publication accepted into the Journal of Magic, feel free to put me as as a co-author," she said.

Clarity chuckled, dropping her gaze to the documents again. "Yeah," she said. "Sure thing."

That wasn't really what she wanted to talk about, although it would be a good joke to entertain. And so she looked back at Evaline, her expression curious.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

Evaline hesitated again, her tapping suddenly stopping. "Why do you keep asking me that?" she said instead.

Clarity shrugged. "I guess I don't know, and it confuses me."

"Well, there's not really an answer."

She stared, a little blankly. "As in, you don't know?"

"I don't understand. Am I not supposed to help you? You were the one who came in here for help," Evaline said, suddenly defensive.

"No, it's not that. I--" Clarity sighed. "I just figured there was no way that you would want to help."

Evaline was quiet for a moment, staring back down at her papers as she resumed her soft tapping of the pen. "I just like to solve problems. I am a math major, after all. That's all there is to it."

Clarity slowly nodded. If there was a different answer, she had the feeling she wouldn't be getting it, and if it was the real answer, she understood it. "Right," she said. "Well. Thank you. That was nice of you."

Evaline hesitated again, glancing up at her. "...You're welcome," she said softly.

Cris felt her heart begin to race as she hurried out of the office with Antonio. He was supposed to have been in Harvard by now, and the urgency in his voice worried her. Something must have gone wrong, and she couldn't help but think that the worst had happened.

After all, ever since Ray predicted when the space item will fall, everything has been more tense. And after it was proved that his prediction was right, and the item did fall near the coast of Florida... everyone and everything was tense.

The military had always been involved on the board, but now they enlisted someone new-- a man named Fidel Nazar-- likely to make sure that everyone cooperates. Cris knew that Antonio vehemently disagreed with their new policies, which was one of the main reasons that he left Ivy, but they had already discussed the role he'd leave behind as well as who would take his spot.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" Cris asked with a hushed whisper as they pulled off to the dead end of the empty hall, away from any open doors.

She watched Antonio take a deep breath, and he glanced down the hallway before he met her gaze again. He was still worried about telling her out here even though they were alone, she could tell, but his urgency seemed to outweigh his caution, because he sighed.

"Fidel got to Marcus," Antonio said in a hushed tone, shaking his head. His voice contained a bite of frustration, but it wasn't towards her. "He made threats of some sort, scared him away from accepting the position. I can't convince him."

Cris felt her heart sink. Marcus had always been one to lack self-confidence in himself, even when they were all students. Although Marcus had assured the two of them that he was up to the task, clearly whatever Fidel said scared him off.

"What now? Who else should we nominate?" she said, almost in a whisper.

"We might not be able to nominate someone new." Antonio pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Fidel's already come up with a nomination. She's someone we don't know, but I'm willing to guess she was handpicked for a reason, and that it's not good for us."

Cris felt her stomach twist, feeling uneasy. "Is she with the military too?" she asked quietly.

Antonio sighed softly. "I've haven't heard exactly, but I think so. They're taking over the board, Cris."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, the heaviness of his words and implication weighing down her stomach. "What do we do?" she whispered softly. "I understand why you wanted to leave, but... Antonio, we can't let them win. We can't do that to Ray. He wouldn't want this."

Antonio didn't say anything for a long moment, and finally, she heard him inhale deeply. "No, he wouldn't," he said quietly. "I've been thinking about what Ray would do, and... I can't come up with it, because I can't think like him, but I know he'd have a plan. He'd think of something. I don't even know where to look."

"I know. I miss him too," Cris said softly, then took in a quivered deep breath. "It's alright. I'll figure out who she is. You escaped to get out of this mess, so I don't want to drag you in anymore than you want. I'll take care of it. I'll keep you updated."

"I'm not leaving you alone in this," Antonio said, quietly but firmly. "I'm quitting the board, not our purpose. Not the prophecy. That was what I promised."

"You know how cutthroat Fidel is. And with space falling-- he's not going to want you to be involved since you're no longer at Ivy," Cris protested.

Antonio's expression shifted into a thin, wry smile. "You already know I don't give a damn what Fidel wants. If it upsets him, I think I'm doing something right."

Cris smiled at that, but it still felt forced. "Just be careful. You know they're watching us."

Antonio glanced back at the empty and silent hall, setting his jaw. There was a heavy but stubborn look in his eyes, like he was ready for it. "They can bring it on. We've still got fate on our side."

Alan set his bow down on the stand, not long after Leah placed hers on there as well. He'd been stand partners with Leah since last spring, and he quickly learned that she was someone who often got annoyed whenever she had to hold her violin or bow for too long during rehearsal. She seemed to be an antsy one, but nine times out of ten, her intuition of placing her bow and instrument down had merit, since it often meant that the first violins weren't going to play for a while.

Alan was hesitant to place his instrument down back in case as well, watching the conductor politely badger the woodwinds about their sectionals. The woodwinds were a lot weaker this year since the seniors graduated, and it seemed everyone was getting frustrated. Especially Leah, since she was slumped back on her chair, already on her phone-- as were the other string players.

Alan quietly followed suit, placing his violin down and hesitantly taking out his phone, swiping through his notifications and checking his calendar again. He had maybe ten minutes before the conductor would circle back to everyone else, and then there'd be another hour of rehearsal before he's free for the rest of the night. It wasn't too much time, but...

It didn't hurt to send Shane a text.

Their date last weekend went very, very well, and Alan was already making plans for the next time he'd see him. It seemed they were seeing each other every weekend now, although they were talking fairly consistently, whether it was through text, call, or seeing each other on campus. It had been a few days since he last saw Shane, though, and they had been so busy, they hadn't made concrete plans to see each other during the week. But Alan was patient and willing to wait.

It didn't mean he couldn't complain about it through text, though. Alan kept Leah's movement at the corner of his eyes as his cue that they were ready to play again, but otherwise he zoned out of listening, instead typing a new text to send to Shane today.

Alan wrote:Don't mind me. Just wanted to send a text saying that I miss you.

Shane never seemed to take very long with replying, and Alan didn't have to watch his screen for long.

Shane wrote:I happen to not mind at all, because I happen to be missing you too.

Alan cracked a smile, almost eagerly leaning forward with his phone in his hands, but stopping himself when he realized where he was.

Alan wrote:It seems that we're in agreement, yet we're not in each other's arms right now. Tragic.

Shane wrote:What a shame, right? Maybe we should make up for that sometime.

Alan wrote:I like how you think. Except instead of sometime, I suggest tomorrow. Does that work with you? I have a three hour gap in the morning, from 9am-12pm.

Shane wrote:That does work with me. How does coffee sound to you? There's a few places I know, though they all have some differences, so I could suggest a specific place depending on what your personal favorite cup is.

Alan hesitated, tapping his finger at the back of his phone. He had two coffee dates with Shane so far, and he did order whatever was on the menu, and it seemed like Shane was taking notes since he seemed curious of whatever he ordered-- but truth be told, Alan wasn't big on coffee.

Well, no time better than the present to finally face the music.

Alan wrote:Shane... I have a confession to make.

Alan wrote:Do you remember when I said I was less of a coffee person and more of a caffeine person?

Shane wrote:I do. Are you coming out to me as a tea person?

Alan wrote:I'll let you decide if this is better or worse, but I'm literally a caffeine person.

Alan wrote:I don't really drink much coffee or tea, actually. I take actual caffeine pills most of the time. It usually ends up being more effective, so I don't drink as much coffee or tea as I used to.

Shane wrote:I just gasped out loud in the library.

Alan wrote:I hope you're not caffeine-phobic. Coming out to you caused great emotional pain.

Shane wrote:Well, I guess it wouldn't be right to judge you. It's the 21st century, after all. Caffeine is caffeine.

Shane wrote:However, I do think you could be missing out. Maybe I'm biased as a Seattlelite, but coffee is about a lot more than caffeine.

Alan wrote:That's true. I think I saw a poster in the last cafe we went to that says "love is in the air and it smells like coffee." So I think you're on to something here.

Shane wrote:Exactly. Have I convinced you, then?

Alan wrote:Oh, that was the easy part. I was convinced to spend time with you before I even sent a text.

Alan wrote:Which cafe? I think I'm getting better at going on treasure hunts.

Shane wrote:I was going to make this one easy, but I can make it more of a challenge.

Shane wrote:It's on a street of history. And historians. Down that street away from Ivy, there's a streetlight that leans towards the road, as if it were pointing to the other side. And across from that streetlight, there's our cafe.

It took Alan a few times of re-reading to realize that Shane was describing his apartment-- or specifically, the cafe under his apartment. He grinned, briefly glancing up at the conductor when he saw Leah move at the corner of his eye, but it looked like they weren't playing yet, so he composed another reply text.

Alan wrote:I think I've been there before. It's a street of history because a handsome historian lives above the cafe, right?

Shane wrote:It's a street of history because the buildings are all from the early 19th century, I think, but just for you that can be the reason.

Alan only had time to type a few letters before he caught Leah moving again, this time to grab her instrument. Quickly following suit, Alan put his phone away and caught the conductor telling everyone to take the song at the top. He'd have to reply to Shane later, but it was a nice little break-- and a distracting one at that, since he fumbled on a few beginning notes on his violin.



Finally, he was going home. There was usually chatter and banter after rehearsals, and sometimes Alan stayed behind with other violinists or Rose to discuss music or even get drinks at someone's apartment if there was a special occasion, but he'd been far too busy to be more social lately, unfortunately. He finally put his violin away in his locker and made it out of the music hall, walking back to his apartment and finally checking his phone again. He was quick to pull up his texts with Shane, finally having the time to finish his reply.

Alan wrote:If that's the reason why the handsome historian lives there... can you tell him I find it endearing?

Shane wrote:I could, but he's going to wonder how so.

Alan wrote:I think it'd be better if I tell him in person. The eyes are a window into a person's soul, and I wouldn't want to miss seeing them.

Shane wrote:That should work, since he's a man of patience. And yet, of impatience when it comes to you. Because my sources say he can't wait to see you.

Alan wrote:I'm so sorry you're the messenger in all this, but I'm going to kindly request that you give him the phone. Because I'm going to call in ten minutes.

Shane wrote:Will do. He's left the library, so he'll be ready to talk by that time.

Alan stared at his phone for a few moments. He left the library? He was on campus? Alan just passed the library.

Letting out a muffled laugh, Alan put his phone away and quickly scanned his surroundings, his eyes flitting on any person walking that could be Shane. Naturally, his eyes darted in the west direction where Shane's apartment was, and he immediately locked on to who he thought was him. He was walking away from him so he couldn't see his face, but Alan recognized his backpack and, of course, the flannel shirt he was always wearing.

He quickly followed after him, rushing at first, but slowing and matching his pace until he was walking behind him. He didn't want to go after him and scare him, after all. Especially since he still wasn't one hundred percent certain this was Shane.

"Shane?" Alan called with a little laugh.

The student stopped walking, then turned around at the sound of his voice. Alan saw surprised hope spreading over Shane's features-- because it was Shane-- that quickly turned into delight when his gaze landed on Alan, and he grinned brightly.

"Alan!" Shane called back, laughing as well and hurrying to cross the distance between them. "I did not think I'd be seeing you in person now, but I'm glad that I am."

"Me too. I'm just as surprised as you," Alan said with a smile, now in front of Shane as he scanned his eyes. He paused and glanced back at the library. "You said you just left the library?"

Shane nodded. "I'd just finished studying and working remotely when you texted me a few minutes ago. Were you in rehearsal?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah, I have night rehearsals on Wednesdays. And I just got done a few minutes ago too. That's a funny coincidence."

"It is," Shane said with a soft smile. "I'm happy it happened, though."

"You know, I don't always believe in coincidences," Alan said with a growing smile. "Are you headed home?"

Shane laughed, shrugging. "I was vaguely bound for a historic street, I guess. What about you?"

Alan let out a soft hum, pretending to think. "I was thinking I could listen to the history of that street and be endeared."

Shane's smile widened. "How do you feel about hearing it on a walk?"

"A night walk with you, listening to you speak? I'd love that," Alan said with a warm smile.

Shane only beamed more, meeting Alan's gaze for a few moments before he nodded his head in the direction he'd been walking in. "Good, because I would love to walk with you too," he said, eyes bright as they started to walk again. "So, for history. Most of the buildings on that street are from the early 1800s, but have been restored and updated. They would've been built at a time when Boston's population was growing rapidly, mostly due to immigration from Europe. A lot of cities in the Northeast were seeing the same growth at the time as well."

As they walked, Shane continued telling Alan about the history of the street and neighborhood in a way that was detailed but clear and easy to follow. He'd occasionally seem to make checks that Alan was still interested in hearing from him, but when it was confirmed, he'd seem relieved and keep talking with the same smile. Shane covered the early development of the neighborhood, the antebellum historical happenings that had contributed to its growth, and-- unsurprisingly, considering how often the subject of art came up between them-- the famous writers who had lived there.

"Louisa May Alcott, Robert Frost and--" Shane raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Sylvia Plath. All of them spent time creating their work here. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to live in the neighborhood-- it's nice to be in a place that has a past and knows it, as well as a place that provided inspiration to many creative figures."

Alan smiled and raised a brow in surprise. "Really? All of them lived in your neighborhood? It really is a street of history." He paused. "A street of historians and poets. And like I said, I don't always believe in coincidences. Maybe you're meant to be a poet after all."

Shane laughed softly. "I don't know about that, but I do have to say, it feels special to have a book by Sylvia Plath sitting on a bookshelf in a neighborhood that she once lived in. That's poetic enough for me."

"That is special, but I hope it isn't too poetic for you, considering the pain she went through as a poet. But it is poetic from a historical perspective, which fits you well. And frankly, I'm not surprised that you did your research and also have her book on your shelf," Alan said.

Shane nodded. "I wanted to add to my poetry collection, and when I saw somewhere that she was born here, it just made sense. But you're right, it's mostly historically poetic for me."

Alan let out a quiet hum, squinting at the path in front of him, thinking. "I do think most concepts can be poetic for a variety of reasons. I think you connecting Plath to your neighborhood and taking a special interest in her works because of that is poetic from a historical perspective, yes. But I also think it's poetic in general that you are looking for deep meaning in works to add to your collection. I think you sell yourself short and have great potential, Shane. I'd love to see what other works you've collected."

Shane smiled softly, searching Alan's face for a moment. "Well, you could see them, if you wanted to. We are headed in the right direction."

Alan hesitated before glancing his way and mirroring his smile. "I know it's late. I wouldn't want to intrude..."

"It's an invitation. You don't have to take it, but it means you wouldn't be intruding. You'd be welcome." Shane laughed. "It is a little late, but all I really had planned for tonight was dinner. I could even make some for two, if you wanted."

"Well, now you're really making it hard to say no. I get to spend more time with you, see your poetry collection, and eat dinner with you?" Alan said with a smile. "It sounds like an impromptu date."

"You're right, it does," Shane said, his smile teasing. "Have I convinced you, then?"

"Only if we still get to have coffee tomorrow," Alan said, still with a smile. "You know I can't get enough of you. And plus, I need a special someone to teach me how to better appreciate coffee."

Shane grinned softly, meeting his gaze again. "Of course. I'd have to be crazy to cancel that, seeing as how I can't get enough of you either." He glanced at the street ahead, but soon turned his smile back to Alan. "It's not far now."

They chatted for the last few minutes of their walk until they reached Shane's block, where Shane entered the code for his building and let the two of them in. Shane apologized for the lack of an elevator as he led them up a spiral staircase with a historical feel, stopping at the hallway on the second floor. After getting his keys out and unlocking the door on the left, Shane pushed the door open, turning back to Alan with a warm smile as he turned on the light.

"Welcome in," he said with a soft laugh as he stepped in.

Shane's apartment was small, but it had an extremely cozy feeling to it, with wooden floors, brick exterior walls and windows with grids. The living room was warmly-lit, with a comfortable-looking brown leather couch, an old-fashioned writing desk against the wall, and a pair of wooden bookshelves to their right. Potted orchids adorned the coffee table in front of the couch, and a banker's lamp sat on the writing desk among other items-- a watercolor painting, two framed photographs, and a paperweight placed over a closed textbook. The bookshelves were full with books, all of them appearing well taken care of. Behind the living room, a counter with bar stools separated it from the kitchen, and there appeared to be more space to the left, probably for Shane's room and a bathroom.

"Wow," Alan said with a smile as he took it all in, still by Shane at the door. "Your place looks very cozy."

Shane smiled as he moved aside for him to step in, setting his bag by the door. "Thanks. I try to make it feel that way. You can make yourself at home."

Alan gently set his bag by the door as well, following Shane's lead and taking off his shoes before going in further. He naturally wandered towards the bookshelf on their right, but still kept most of his attention on Shane.

"So how long have you lived here?" he asked.

"Just over a year now," Shane said, following him to stand in front of the bookshelf as well. "I moved in just before sophomore year started. By now, it definitely feels like a place of my own, which is nice."

"This place does have a homey historical feel to it," Alan said with a smile. "It's very you."

Shane smiled softly. "I was going for something like that." He glanced back over his shoulder to the kitchen, but then looked back at Alan. "I was thinking I'd make some all'arrabiata pasta, so I could get the water boiling really quick and let you look around. Does that sound alright to you?"

"That sounds delicious. How did you know that's one of my favorite pastas?" Alan said with a little grin.

"Honestly, I didn't. But I'll keep that in mind now," Shane said with a laugh. "What sounds better, linguine or penne?"

Alan let out a soft hum. "Maybe penne, but I also don't have much of a preference. I trust your judgement."

"That's a good choice," Shane said with a nod. "I'll be right back. Feel free to look around-- it's totally alright to pick things up."

Alan hesitated. "Do you need any help? I'd be more than happy to help prepare anything."

Shane thought about it, still smiling. "If you wanted to help cook later, I'd be happy to do that together, but I can play the host just fine. For now, I can take care of the pasta water."

"Alright," Alan said with a smile. "And I am helping you cook. Consider it my payment for eating in this five-star establishment."

"I'm going to feel like a bad host," Shane said with a laugh, shaking his head as he went to the kitchen. "But I know it'll be a good way to spend time with you."

Alan tore his gaze away as Shane went to the kitchen, still with a lingering smile on his face. His eyes naturally wandered toward the wide array of books on the bookshelf. There were so many, but he took his time reading each title. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Alan recognized and even read a good amount of titles that were placed on the shelf. It seemed that he and Shane's reading preferences weren't too wildly different after all, at least from the first row of literature that he scanned.

Intrigued, Alan almost picked up The Bell Jar based on their earlier conversations, but his eyes landed on The Picture of Dorian Gray right next to it. It seemed weathered, worn -- loved. A paper bookmark was sticking out of it, perhaps indicating that Shane was reading it. Or wanted to remember a certain page to easily reference.

Carefully, Alan peeled it out between the books, gently opening to the page where the bookmark was kept. It was about halfway through the book, and he recognized it as one of the conversations between Dorian and Basil Hallward, the artist. It seemed Shane had marked an important monologue of Basil's, where the artist was confessing the iconic portrait of Dorian showed too much of the obsession for him that he had poured into it-- an obsession that always read as covertly romantic. That wasn't the only thing on the page, though. There were annotations, written on the margins and in between the lines in two different handwritings. One of them was elegant and narrow, with swooping tails and curves on one of the letters, and the other was a perfectly neat print in fountain pen ink that looked almost like a serif font.

Alan read a line of the monologue about the painting-- I grew afraid that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much, that I had put too much of myself into it-- before he read the annotation next to it. The elegant handwriting read: Was Basil really more afraid of others seeing his idolatry of Dorian in the painting, or of Dorian realizing it?

Below, the print read: Basil never seemed afraid to tell Dorian this- he shares this passion at nearly every turn- but it's the world that scares him the most. It's a bit like how you let Mom and I read the poetry about her, but I don't think anyone else knows you write it.

It seemed that Shane had shared this book with at least one other person, since the handwriting was different. It was sweet, but he wondered which was Shane writing, if he even wrote it at all. Regardless, Alan found himself rubbing over the narrower handwriting, feeling like he already knew the person writing with the pen. He flipped through the pages, reading more of the handwritten print. From what he gathered, it seemed that the writing was a discussion of the book, responding to one another.

The floor creaked softly behind him, and Shane stood by him again, looking over Alan's shoulder. "Oh, so you've found that one," he said with a smile. "That's a favorite."

"I can tell," Alan said with a smile as well, still holding the book in his hands, but quietly closing it and making sure the bookmark was still in place. "It looked well-loved on the outside, but it's also well-loved in the inside. I hope you don't mind that I sifted through it."

"Oh, of course not," Shane said. "I tend to annotate my books, and they can get personal, but I don't mind other people seeing them-- although I guess few people do. This one's a joint effort with my dad."

Based on context, Alan had a feeling the person with the narrower handwriting was his dad. He could understand why the book would be more loved.

"I think it's very sweet that you both not only read the same book, but also annotated and discussed each other's thoughts as you went along. It only makes the book more special." Alan smiled, pausing for a moment before he lifted the book up, ready to place it back on the bookshelf. "It is a good book. But this only makes it better."

Shane's gaze flicked from the book to Alan's face as he smiled wider. "Thanks. I'm glad you think so."

Alan took a moment to carefully and gently place the fragile book back in its spot, pushing the other books so he could slide it in the gap. "I naturally opened the book where it was bookmarked, and I flipped through a few more pages after. With the few minutes I had, I hope Oscar Wilde wouldn't be offended that I found the commentary to be more intriguing than the book."

Shane let out a huff of laughter. "Quite frankly, he probably would take offense. He was a dramatic man. But that praise feels a little high to me-- if he hadn't written the book, my dad and I wouldn't have had so much to discuss."

Alan let out a soft hum. "The book was a medium that was used for discussion, but it doesn't discount the experience, especially because your dynamics with him would have likely revealed itself in some other way. If not this book, then it would be another." He gestured to the lower shelf, which he realized was packed with poetry books. "Like poetry."

Shane followed his gaze, nodding. "That would be the pride of my bookshelf," he said with a laugh. "It's an ongoing collection."

"Do you have a favorite?" Alan asked.

"Do I," Shane mused, scanning the shelf with a chuckle. "That's a difficult choice-- maybe even more difficult than choosing between Greece, Italy and Egypt as a favorite country. But, gun to my head..." He pointed and waved his finger between the books, before tapping the spine of one. "Love Poems, by Pablo Neruda. The title's simple, I'll admit, but if you judged the poems by the title beforehand, their depth would come as an even greater shock."

Alan kept his gaze on the spine of the book, interest piqued. "Mind if I take a look?" he asked.

Shane nodded, smiling. "Be my guest."

Alan slid the book out, flipping through the pages. The poems should have caught his eye first, but it was actually the handwritten notes on the side, annotated by Shane. He was tempted to read it first, but landed on a page and decided to read the poem first, wanting to understand context before he read his notes.

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh, the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Finished reading, Alan went on to read Shane's annotation, which took up the entire bottom half of the page: I haven't figured out why this one sticks in my mind the most, considering it's not among the most famous poems in this book, and yet it does. I could blame it on familiar imagery that I've grown up around-- a night sea, windy pines, a lonely pier-- but it feels familiar in ways that I didn't even think were familiar to me. I've stood at piers from afternoon to twilight like this, but the real déjà vu isn't in the sightseeing. I'm not looking for a ship in the distance with all my wishes on board or a horizon to place all my hopes in, because that would mean I had someone to miss. These pines aren't singing for anyone-- the ocean currents and the moon get to move on, but the trees are stuck where they are, trapped in their roots, with nothing ever changing for them. I'm told there's a dawn, but I wonder if I'd even know how to recognize it if I saw it.

Alan couldn't help but feel his heart ache after reading the poem, but reading Shane's notes, it ached and sunk. He took in every word, and he didn't want to keep Shane waiting any longer, so he loosely flipped through the rest of the pages, albeit a bit distractedly.

"I haven't read this one," he said. "And I know that it's your favorite, but I was wondering..." He closed the book and lightly smiled up at Shane. "Would it be alright if I took it home with me to read it?"

Shane nodded, a surprised smile spreading over his face. "Of course. You can hold on to it as long as you'd like."

"Thank you. I won't keep it long." Alan went over by his bag next to the door, deciding to tuck it away sooner rather than later. He placed it in his bag, tucking it between his music folders so it wouldn't get crushed by anything. He returned by Shane's side with a brighter smile. "Alright, what else is your favorite? Or at least, books you're continually drawn to, since I don't want to point any more guns to your head."

With a matching bright smile, Shane went through a few more poetry books, describing what he liked about each one or found interesting about the poet. Like with Van Gogh, he seemed to have a biographical idea of most of the poets' backgrounds, and he often made connections about their lives to the poems they wrote. After telling Alan that one of these poets was from the Pacific Northwest, Shane paused, setting the book back on the shelf and turning around to point at something on the desk behind them.

"She comes from somewhere a lot like that," he said with a laugh.

Alan followed his gaze, although it took him a few moments to realize Shane was talking about a small watercolor painting that was on display. "Oh, the painting?" he said with a smile, peeling away from the bookcase to get a better look.

It was a small canvas painting with a splash of warm and cool colors. The brushstrokes were careful and deliberate, blending the colors to display a beautiful cloudy sunrise or sunset over a body of water. Mountains were faded in the distance while dark trees stood towards the front perspective.

"Yeah," Shane said with a laugh, following him over. "It's of the Puget Sound. My friend painted it as a birthday gift a couple years ago."

"It's beautiful. Your friend is a talented painter. I love how they blended the colors. It's not easy to make this kind of color palette work well, but they pulled it off nicely," Alan said, still admiring the painting.

"I think it's impressive too-- she's a very impressive artist. It means a lot that I get to have it," Shane said, smiling softly. "She's got an eye for color."

Alan's gaze naturally fell to the framed picture propped up beside the painting. It was immediately obvious it was of Shane and his friends, although he didn't recognize anyone else in the photo. There were four people in the picture besides him, and it looked to have been at wintertime in a pine forest. Going from left to right, Alan scanned the other people-- a tall athletic girl with pale blonde hair and a sharp smirk; a short Asian girl with long black hair, a bright grin, and a snowball in hand; a boy wearing a Santa hat with curly hair that was dyed red and light brown skin, making a playful face to the camera; Shane, with a joyful smile that showed his dimples and his arm over the shoulders of the friend to his left; and a Black girl with purple streaks in her braided hair, leaning in shyly with a gentle smile. There was an almost tangible merriness to the photo, and there was no doubt it had been taken in a happy moment.

"Is she in that photo?" Alan asked.

Shane turned his head to it, smiling softly. "Yeah, that's all my Seattle friends. Her name's Dawn, she's on my right."

Alan studied Dawn in the picture, putting the face to the name. His eyes drifted to the others on Shane's left. "Are Leilan and Kasumi here as well?"

Shane nodded. "Leilan's the one with the red hair, and Kasumi's on his left. The far left person is Kaja, I don't think I've mentioned her yet."

Now that he had a face and name for each of Shane's friends, Alan was sure he could more easily remember them, even if he hadn't met them yet. He studied each of them before his attention finally turned to the background of the photo, noting the snow and the wintergreen trees. He tore his gaze away to softly smile at Shane.

"It's lovely that you were all able to capture this moment in time together. You have good friends," he said.

Shane kept smiling softly for a moment, but then his expression turned teasing when he looked back to Alan. "Oh, this was a nice moment, but the next one was better. Right after the photo was taken, Kasumi hit Kaja with that snowball."

Alan let out a breathy laugh, imagining it play out. "Now that would have also been a lovely moment to capture. And chaotic."

"I wish we had a photo of that too," Shane said, laughing as well. "I'd probably frame them side by side."

Naturally, Alan looked over at the space next to picture of his friends, which was another picture, but it didn't have the same people except for Shane again. He was standing between two other older people, and they appeared to be on a mountain with a view of a green valley behind them. Shane had his head on the shoulder of a taller man with dark hair and green eyes that lit up with his smile, while he gave a side hug to a woman slightly shorter than him, with the same dark hair as the other two and warm, tanned skin. Her dark eyes were soft like her smile, but Shane's grin matched the other person's more.

Shane followed Alan's gaze, humming. "Oh, and those are my parents. That's from the summer before last one."

Alan took in the picture, smiling softly as he compared Shane to his parents. It was nice to see them all happy.

"I see the resemblance, but you definitely look more like your dad. It's in the eyes and smile," he said, smiling himself.

Shane laughed, in a way that almost sounded self-conscious. "I hear that a fair amount, I don't know why."

Alan softly hummed, taking another second to compare their two smiles. "Well... your smile isn't exactly the same as your dad's." He looked back at Shane with a smile, lifting his hand to where his smiling dimples appeared on his cheeks, softly and slowly grazing the back of his forefinger over the two spots. "He's missing your dimples."

Shane's laugh was soft and shy, and he dropped his gaze for a brief moment before he met Alan's eyes again. "Yeah, I'm not sure who I got those from," he said, the dimples becoming more visible as he smiled wider.

"Well, I'm glad you have them. They're cute," Alan said, matching his smile. "I admit, it's what caught my attention when I first saw you, even before we talked. It's hard to forget a smile like yours."

That smile turned into a grin, as Shane kept watching him. "Quite honestly, I thought the same of your smile right away," he said sincerely. "I'm glad you inherited it from somewhere. Do you look more like one of your parents than the other?"

"You know, it's funny. People say I look more like my dad while my brother looks more like my mom, but that I share my mom's eyes and smile," Alan said as he finally tore his gaze away from the picture, smiling back at Shane. "It seems we're opposite, yet still similar."

Shane met his gaze, eyes sparkling as he nodded. "That's interesting. If or when I see your brother, I'll try to look for it."

Alan's smile grew. "When you see my brother," he corrected, "he'll wonder how you know we're related, since it's not that obvious from appearance. But I give you permission to say that you're an astute observer. That wouldn't be a lie, anyways."

Shane laughed, shaking his head slightly in amusement. "I'll try not to confuse him, but it would be good to meet him. I look forward to that." He watched Alan for a while longer, still smiling, before he glanced at something over his shoulder and laughed again. "I think our pasta water is boiling."

"Do you want some help? Really, I insist," Alan said.

"I had the feeling you might insist," Shane said, with a huff of laughter. "Well, I guess it'll mean dinner gets ready faster. Just please don't go around telling people that I'm a bad host."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Quite the opposite, actually. Thank you for letting me scour through your bookcase and showing me the important people in your life. It means a lot to me," Alan said sincerely with a smile.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Shane said, smiling brightly. "And touched that you wanted to see. Now I've just got to make sure everything goes alright with dinner to suitably impress you."

Alan let out a quiet laugh. "You don't need to do that, because you've impressed me on day one. Your whole presence impresses me. I'd be happy with whatever we cook together."

Shane hummed, shooting him a playful look as he started moving to the kitchen. "You impress me too, but I also get the impression," he said, emphasizing the final syllable, "that you'd be a good cook. I could definitely benefit from your help."

Alan huffed a laugh, following behind. "I'll do my best."



Dinner went by quickly between the two of them cooking, and Alan was glad to have the time to sit down and eat with Shane. They had eaten together a few times now, but this was the first time they'd eaten a home cooked meal together at an apartment, and it felt just as intimate and special.

But as always, all good things come to an end.

It was getting late, and natural conversation was dying down. Alan didn't offer to leave quite yet, but Shane asked him if he needed to get back by a certain time, so he took the opportunity to segue into his exit, saying he should probably leave since he had to get up early.

"Thanks again for the food and for having me over in general. This night turned into a nice surprise," he said with a smile to Shane, standing by the door, ready to go.

"It did, and it was a lot better with you here," Shane said, matching his smile. "It's something you do, I think. You make everything better."

"The same could be said about you, you know. I meant it when I said that just your mere presence is impressive enough," Alan said sincerely, meeting his eyes.

Shane kept watching him, as the corners of his lips turned a little further. "You do a lot more than impress me, Alan," he admitted. "You seem to bring a shine to every moment. This night wasn't anything big-- just some books, photos and food-- but you made it much more. I'm glad you don't believe in coincidences, because I'm glad we got to have our surprise."

Alan's smile softened as he took in every word, appreciating them. "I hope for both of our sakes, more coincidences happen. I'd love to spend each one with you, no matter how mundane it may feel. Every moment with you is special. I wish I had an explanation of why that is, but it's just a feeling right now. And not all feelings are meant to be translated into words just yet, but right now, they seem to be taking place in the forms of surprises, promises, and hauntings."

"We can keep calling them by that," Shane said with a soft laugh. "I think we both understand it. If you notice any other coincidences, consider it an invitation to make something of it."

"I will. I can promise you that," Alan said with a bigger smile, then paused as he glanced back at the door. "Also, going back on an older topic... I really don't mind you meeting my brother or even showing you my apartment, for that matter. I know we keep passing yours, but I promise that I'm not hiding any dead bodies in there. My brother and I live together, so we don't bring back too many visitors. But I'd be happy to show you around sometimes. I don't mind."

"If there's a time Alistair doesn't mind, I'd love that," Shane said, nodding with a smile. "If there are dead bodies, I'm leaving, but I'd do it politely. Besides, I have faith that there aren't."

Alan was impressed that Shane remembered Alistair's name since he only mentioned it once briefly in passing a few weeks ago, but at this point, he shouldn't be surprised. Shane seemed to remember every small detail, no matter if it came up only once some time ago.

"Good, I'm glad," he said with a laugh, pausing again. "Are we still set to meet tomorrow morning at the cafe downstairs?"

"What, like I've had enough of you or something?" Shane asked with a soft laugh. "That could never happen."

"Are you sure?" Alan teased. "This is only a preview, after all. What if, say, my presence shines too bright for the moment? Would you be tempted to look away?"

Shane seemed to stifle a laugh. "I don't think that could happen, either. What could too bright even mean when I've decided I want all of you?"

Alan hummed. "You'll find out, I'm sure. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps this weekend. There's a lot to look forward to."

"This weekend?" Shane echoed, raising an eyebrow playfully. "No, wait, don't tell me. It sounds like another surprise."

"That is the closest word to describe it, yes," Alan said with a smile. "I'll fill you in on the details later. Or maybe we'll wait for more coincidence. We'll see."

Shane smiled yet again. "Why is it that I feel like I'm a patient sort of person until it's you planning something?"

"Apologies. Consider it a consequence for being a sleep thief."

Shane grinned. "I should probably let you sleep for once, shouldn't I? I can't in good conscience be selfish and keep you any longer."

"Not selfish," Alan said with a gentle smile. "I think it's the opposite. I can't in good conscience be selfish and keep you up any longer."

"Oh, so do you admit to stealing my sleep then?" Shane asked teasingly, tilting his head to the side like he was thinking. "If I don't have it and you don't have it, where's all this lost sleep going?"

"I don't know," Alan said casually, still watching Shane but acting deep in thought. "But it's a shame that we're not spending that lost time together."

Shane shook his head amusedly. "We're being robbed."

"And we only have ourselves to blame." Alan's smile began to fade as he glanced back at the door. They'd stood here for some time now, but saying goodbye was always hard. "I really should get going, though. Unless you wanted more company for the night. If that's the case... I could stay longer, if you wanted me to."

That seemed to actually surprise Shane, and he watched his lips purse slightly as he gave it thought. "Well," he started hesitantly, "what is it you want to do?"

Alan hesitated as well, only using the brief silence to think of a more reasonable answer. He kind of wished that Shane said a yes or no, since he didn't exactly have a clear answer himself, nor had much time to think of a neutral answer. Then again, perhaps this was his fault for not clearly thinking through a bold suggestion.

He decided to interpret the answer as more of a no than a question.

"What I want more of is to see you, but I'll see you in the morning downstairs, hopefully awake enough to see me, but tired enough that you'll want to drink coffee. How does that sound?" he said instead.

After a moment, Shane smiled softly again. "That sounds good to me. But so does anything-- if you want to be here, you're welcome to stay, but I won't ask you to if you want to head back. Either way, I'll be seeing you in the morning."

"Shane," Alan said with a stifled laugh, hand on his shoulder for a couple of seconds. "I know. You're really easy-going when it comes to reaching a consensus, but I don't want to always be the one calling the shots. I value your opinion, and this isn't my apartment, anyways. It's alright. Really. I'm sorry if I made this awkward, but I wanted to offer as a gentle suggestion, especially since I'll be coming back in the morning anyways. No need to overthink it."

Shane laughed softly, running a hand back through his hair. "Not awkward, no. You know I love your company, but since I'm seeing you in less than twelve hours, I'm thinking you're good to go home. Nothing to do with my apartment-- you're welcome here, but I get the feeling you're mostly offering for my sake, and I should probably let you get back to your brother. I'll miss those lost hours, but I feel better knowing we're just moving them to tomorrow morning." He smiled a little brighter. "I know I'll be so happy to see you then."

"Alright," Alan said with a small smile. "I'll be happy to see you then as well."

Alan paused here, although he realized that he actually didn't have anything else to add to this topic. He felt the pressure quickly build inside his head and decided to just change the subject, but he must have taken too long to think of something, because Shane spoke up before he could.

"There might be an option for the best of both worlds, actually," Shane suggested. "If you wanted, I could walk with you to your place. I get a while longer in your company tonight. You get back to your place and your brother. It could be a win-win."

"Oh, I can't ask you to do that. It's a fifteen minute walk from here, and you'd have to walk back by yourself. I really appreciate it, but I'll be alright," Alan said quickly.

Shane smiled reassuringly. "I really wouldn't mind, but that's okay. It's up to you. You seem a little on-edge, though, so I want to make sure you leave here feeling alright in that case. Everything's okay-- it's been a great night, and nothing that you said has gotten in the way of that for me. I want it to end on a good note for you too. So, are you alright?"

"Um..." Alan drew out quietly, but then let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the side of his neck, now completely blanking. "Sorry. Yes. I don't even..." He faltered, not even knowing how to complete that sentence.

Well, at least now he could admit to himself that this was a train wreck. And it was his own damn fault.

Maybe he was just tired, but then again, he always was.

"I'm alright," Alan said more confidently this time, deciding to start over. "Thank you. I'd like you to join me, if you don't mind. I want to end the day with a good note for you too."

Shane looked faintly relieved, and his smile spread again. "I'd love to. Ending the day after seeing you for a little longer seems like a great way to do that."

It took Shane longer than usual for him to lock the door behind them, since his thoughts weren't focusing on him turning the key. In fact, all his thoughts felt a little hazy as he led Alan down the stairs and to the street again, and it was a challenge to sort through all of them to get to the relevant ones.

Had he said the wrong thing when Alan had made the suggestion? Shane had wanted to make sure whether Alan actually wanted it, but it seemed as though that part hadn't mattered to him. Even more, it looked like Alan had hoped Shane wouldn't take his opinion into consideration at all. And then having the decision placed in his hands had only made him more worried he'd done something wrong.

If he told Alan yes without knowing for sure whether it was what he actually wanted to do, wasn't he trapping him in an uncomfortable situation? And if he told him no out of concern for that, but Alan did in fact want to stay, wasn't he turning him down for something he had no problem with?

Maybe he'd made too much of a mess of this. Maybe Alan didn't even want him along and he was trespassing even further into error.

There's too much to worry about, Shane thought as the door to the building closed behind them. But he was trying to keep it under wraps as much as he could, since Alan was already clearly anxious, and if Shane showed it made him nervous that he'd made Alan anxious, he knew they'd end up in a feedback loop of internal panic.

So Shane settled for an expression that only showed he was thinking-- not necessarily anxious-- as he looked back at Alan.

"Where to?" he asked gently.

"This way," Alan said as he headed towards the greenspace, glancing back and and making sure that Shane was following.

Shane nodded, staring ahead to where they were going as they walked. He realized for his plan of ending things on a good note, he'd actually need to start talking about something pleasant, but he felt too anxious about all the things he could've said normally to talk about them. He was just starting to internally panic about how he didn't have anything before Alan spoke again.

"For what it's worth, Shane... I didn't mean for my offer to stay over to come across as a pity suggestion," Alan finally said as they walked, breaking the tense silence. "And I'm sorry that I came across as being on-edge. It wasn't my intention to cause you to worry. Like you said, it's been a great night so far, so I'd hate for my brashness to get in the way. I hope we can start over, at least from the last few minutes."

Shane's expression softened as he searched Alan's face. "You weren't being brash, don't worry," he said gently. "Everything's alright. I'm just worried I told you the wrong thing."

"Oh, no, not at all, Shane," Alan said assuredly. "You didn't say anything wrong at all. You have nothing to worry about. I have no negative feelings on my end. I promise."

Shane hesitated, flicking his gaze to the green lawn of campus, now near-black in the dark, and back to Alan. "I didn't mean for it to seem like I didn't want you around. There couldn't be anything further from the truth."

"I know. It's alright, I feel the same way. Really, it's not a big deal. I don't feel rejected, if that's what you're worried about. Far from it, actually. I really appreciate you, Shane," Alan said gently as they continued to walk past the lawn, heading towards the path that went through the middle of campus.

Shane softly let out a deep breath, easing some of the tightness in his lungs. "I really appreciate you too, Alan. Thanks for understanding," he said quietly, though he still wasn't sure either of them did understand right now.

"Thank you for understanding," Alan echoed with a small smile. "I also want to make sure you end on a good note too. So, are you alright?"

Shane wasn't completely sure. He had the feeling his heart would be racing with anxiety on the way back, and who knew how much he'd be sleeping tonight. But admitting that would probably only make Alan feel worse, and therefore more likely that his worry would linger.

"I'm alright," Shane said softly, giving Alan a small smile as well. "As long as you are. I'm really glad we had tonight."

"I am too. You've been in my mind a lot, so any free moment I have, I'd love to spend with you," Alan said as he gazed over the dark, quiet campus. "Including night walks like this. There's a certain peace in walking through a quiet path outside, alone with the night sky. Turns out it's just as peaceful with someone by your side."

Shane felt his smile widen slightly, and some of the tension in his shoulders loosened. "It doesn't feel so different from the waterfront, either, even though that was more scenic. I think I must've had all my attention on you then, just like now."

Alan's smile turned warm as he lingered his glance at Shane, letting out a quiet laugh. "Please. I'm far less interesting than the Atlantic Ocean under the night sky, but I know what you mean. Maybe it's lack of lighting in our surroundings, but the way your face brightens up forces my attention. You have that effect. Maybe it's your lovable smile, or maybe it's your dreamy green eyes. Maybe it's both, or maybe it's just you. I wish I had the answers."

Shane smiled again, wondering why he was hearing all this today, but Alan went on before he could say anything.

"Well, maybe I do have some answers. Your smile is lovable, yes-- but so are you. There's so much love and beauty inside you, Shane, and I'm so lucky that you are allowing me to explore it. Every day I get the joy of discovering you, and I wasn't kidding when I say you're like a lost treasure. I'm so glad I found you, but most of all, I'm so glad I can cherish you and all our time spent together," Alan said, eyes on Shane as he talked and walked, saying each word with sincerity. "Thank you for letting me in your life, Shane. I really mean it."

Shane felt a soft, rosy warmth spreading over his cheeks, and his thoughts were coming to a standstill. How did he mean it? As much as it was hard to believe it, it... it felt good to hear. He didn't know how he could think these weren't words he deserved and still want to cling on to each one.

"I should thank you," he said softly, still feeling himself blushing. "Because I think I know why I can't get you off my mind. You know, a moment by the Atlantic Ocean under the night sky is only as good as how it haunts you. And now that we've been there, I'm not thinking about whether the sky was more blue or black, or how far away the horizon was, or where those ships on the water were headed next." He took a deep breath. "I'm thinking about someone who can make everything better just by sharing from the heart. A favorite song that touched you, a beautiful philosophy on music, a brilliant opinion on art-- and this outpouring of passion you have for so many things. People think and feel these things, but not as boldly as you-- and you're one of the only people I see sharing it with others. I can't get enough of what's in your heart, Alan."

Alan listened with gentle surprise, but after Shane finished, he smiled almost bashfully and looked forward again, leading them through the path that divided campus from the green space. Dim lights lit the area, and the crickets chirped their song around them.

"You know... if it's my heart that you want... you can have it," he said with a gentle voice. "I want you to have it, and everyday I'd like you to hold it in your hands, taking in the passion that you adore. But I'd argue it's the opposite. My heart is only passionate because it has someone to adore. That someone is you."

Shane kept smiling, watching Alan's face. "I don't think I've said it, but you already have mine."

"If that's the case, then it seems your heart is beating in my chest, and mine in yours. I promise that I'll take good care of it-- because we're united now. My happiness is your happiness. And nothing makes me more happy than seeing you happy," Alan said, still with the gentle voice as he finally looked back at Shane, this time with a hidden softness he hadn't quite seen from Alan before. It was like he truly was speaking from the heart with raw, quiet passion.

And Shane loved it in a way he hadn't thought he could.

"I promise as well," he said softly, slowly raising a hand to press against the left side of his chest, under his collarbone. A pulse was racing under his fingers. "See? I'd never let anything happen to it."

"I believe you," Alan said with a soft smile. His gaze was stuck on his hand over his heart, but he tore it away, keeping focused on the path in front of them. "Do you mind if I hold your hand?" he suddenly asked softly, almost shyly.

Shane kept smiling gently, watching the side of his face. "Please," he said softly. "Go ahead."

Alan glanced down and hesitantly reached for Shane's free hand, his palm touching has as he wrapped his fingers around his hand. Alan's hand was cool like the night, and he gently rubbed his thumb over Shane's.

Alan briefly met Shane's eyes, and he gave the same soft, bashful smile again before he tore his gaze away. It seemed that Alan was okay with embracing the silence as they walked, since he didn't comment further.

Shane embraced it, too. The night only felt like more of a dream now, and he let Alan lead him through it.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, hand in hand. Alan took him past campus and towards the southern residential side, crossing a few streets to get there. It was a weekday night, and the sidewalks were mostly empty, with only a few other busy students passing by with their backpacks. Finally, Alan stopped by a small residential complex that was three stories tall, with two winding staircases on both sides of the building's open entrance. Alan silently led him towards the outside ground floor, and they also passed the parked motorcycle that Shane recognized from their meteor shower date.

"Here it is. My apartment is at the top," Alan said when they reached the base of the staircase. He lightly smiled and let go of Shane's hand. "It's not anything too special, since I mostly live here out of convenience, but it's home." He paused, meeting Shane's eyes. "Thank you for walking me here. I'm glad you came with me."

Shane smiled softly back, letting his hand fall back to his side. "Of course. I'm glad I went along with you-- we are ending on a good note."

Alan watched him for a moment, his smile growing as he then extended his arms out, pulling Shane in for a hug. He had hugged him before, out of comfort or saying goodbye, but this felt tender, bashful, and gentle. Alan seemed to put not only all his weight into the hug, but his whole heart. Shane let out a soft, deep breath, hugging him back and letting his head rest on his shoulder.

"If we one day stayed together until the night sky turns into the day, would you recognize the dawn?" Alan asked softly in his ear.

Shane blinked, confused by what he meant until he recognized the last part. Alan must have read his annotation on Here I Love You in more depth than he'd expected-- he'd thought his focus was on the poem.

"I might," Shane whispered back. "I really might."

Alan let out a quiet, deep sigh. "I'll keep that in mind," he said as he pulled away. His gaze rested on Shane for a moment before he tilted his head up towards the sky. "Well, until then... the night is young." He smiled, attention back towards Shane. "I hope you get some rest tonight. Like you said, I'll see you in less than twelve hours."

Shane met his gaze, his smile brightening. "We'll see what I can do about getting rest. Someone's been stealing my sleep and that makes such things hard."

"I'd apologize, but I don't think it'd be sincere. Maybe one day I'll give it all back," Alan said with a growing smile.

Shane laughed. "On second thought... maybe I'd like to keep you on my mind. I think it'll make me even more excited to see you tomorrow morning."

"If that's the case, I can't complain. But I do hope that the version of me in your head at least encourages you to sleep and have sweet dreams," Alan said, still smiling.

"No promises, for once," Shane said, with a soft grin. "But if one of us can rest, I hope it's you. I'll see you soon."

"I'd say the same to you, but you already know that," Alan said, glancing at the stairs and turning towards it. He looked back his shoulder one last time. "Good night, Shane. I'll see you in the morning."

Shane gave him one last soft smile. "Good night, Alan. I trust you to find me."

Alan gave him one last smile before he went up the stairs, giving a final glance and smile to Shane as he winded up the corner before fully disappearing. When he was gone, Shane watched the last step he'd been on for a few moments before he turned around and started to walk back the way he'd came, letting out a quiet sigh.

Tonight... It hadn't been grand, but it had been new. He knew that much, but he could only hope it was all in the good way.

In fact, Shane could only hope at all.

The crosswalk ahead started flashing red, and Shane walked quicker to get through it in time, his footsteps much slower compared to his thoughts. Everything so far had been going wonderful. He wanted Alan with an intensity he never could've predicted for anyone, and if he was to take Alan at his word and behavior, he seemed to want Shane too. And yet. And yet. It didn't make sense that he did, and he didn't think he could believe him until it made sense.

A pale speck of white light flew through the sky overhead, and Shane looked up to watch it. He knew it was a plane or satellite, of course-- it was rare he was able to see a constellation other than Orion and maybe the Big Dipper in the Boston sky-- but it still brought back the memory of a shooting star.

I hope the two of us work out.

He'd made that wish, and if for some reason this plane was one of the Perseid meteors, he'd wish the exact same thing. It was getting close to a month since Shane had started dating Alan, and it thrilled him that the two of them only held even more promise now than they had back then. But even though that hope had gotten stronger, it wasn't enough to drive out the dread that had also been building in the back of his mind, now taking form in the shape of a fearful thought.

I'm running out of time before he sees the truth and decides he doesn't want me.

Shane knew that even though Alan truly did make every moment brighter, he couldn't go forever without his grief slipping through. Alan had to be aware he felt it-- he'd heard about his dad, after all-- but he didn't know what it looked like in him. And Shane couldn't shake the feeling that once Alan did see it, he'd change his mind about everything he said he saw in him right now.

How did it feel this way? To be filled with the first real hope in months-- maybe even years, if he was being honest-- and to be holding the gloomy certainty that everything would fall apart at the same time? But somehow it wasn't impossible. The more Shane found himself looking forward to the future ahead with Alan, the more he knew the inevitable ending would hurt. His heart already hurt thinking of it.

God, Alan had better look after his heart.

Shane was on autopilot for the rest of his way back, punching in the doorcode to his building, walking up the stairs, and unlocking his apartment while hardly looking. He registered the sound of the door closing heavily behind him with a strange finality to it, and he felt his shoulders sinking as he looked around his apartment. He could still smell the tomatoes, garlic and pepper from dinner, the scent hanging in the air. Besides that-- and the gap on his bookshelf-- everything was exactly the same in the lonely place he called "home".

What was it he'd written that Alan must have seen? Something about how he felt stuck where he was, with no change?

This was the only positive change he'd seen in so long. Shane knew it still had the potential to tear him apart, but... he still wanted to believe in that wish he'd made. He wanted to believe in them.

He reached for the light switch, finding it without looking, and the living room fell into darkness. With a quick glance at the window-- just to see if there were any stars out-- Shane made his way to his room, already thinking about the morning.

With heavy footsteps, Alan retreated back to his apartment door, fumbling for the keys in the dark as he opened the door. He came in with a sigh, feeling distracted as he closed and locked the door behind him, taking off his shoes and backpack.

"Damn. And here I thought you couldn't look any more stressed," Alistair said behind him.

Alan glanced up, not even realizing until now that his brother was in the kitchen, eating a microwaved burrito with his phone in front of him. Alan scoffed with a smile, running his hand through his hair as he stared at the burrito.

"I don't even know why you eat that. It probably tastes like carcinogens," he said blandly.

Alistair took a bit silent bite, talking with his mouth full. "You know what it tastes like? Cheap."

Alan half-rolled his eyes with a smile, walking over to the couch before he crashed on the couch, falling flat on his back as he stared up at the ceiling, mind feeling a bit hazy.

"That bad, huh? And to think I almost offered you one," Alistair said, still watching him from the kitchen.

"Do I really look that stressed?" Alan asked instead.

Alistair was silent for some time, crinkling the burrito wrapper. "I mean, you sleep for like two hours every day and go to the Ivy League school. Of course you look stressed."

Alan weakly laughed. "Yeah. It's been a tough semester. I think I need to start dropping commitments. More and more new things are coming up, and I thought I could do it all, but I don't think I can."

"Yeah. You're kind of overly ambitious, bro. You need to relax."

Alan sighed. Deeply. "Yeah."

There was another lingering pause, but Alan didn't look up despite Alistair shuffling around the kitchen, presumably to clean up.

"Are we still good for next weekend?" Alistair suddenly asked, bringing Alan out of the hazy void that collected in his head after staring up at the ceiling for who knows how long.

"Hm?"

Next weekend... what was next weekend?

"Oh, god. You forgot my birthday. I'm so offended," Alistair dead-panned with a laugh in his voice.

Right. October 7th was the next weekend, and both of them were turning twenty-one. He vaguely recalled making loose plans with Alistair that they'd throw a house party to commemorate the weekend and also meet each other's friends, but Alan had been so caught up with current events, that hadn't even crossed his mind.

"The house party. Are we still good for that? Andy wants to know," Alistair went on in the silence that passed.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Alan said quickly with a wave of his hand. "I'm still good for that. I... yeah, okay, I forgot this. But I'll start telling people soon."

Alistair hummed. "Alright. I'd ask you who you're inviting, but you look so out of it. You good?"

"I'm good," Alan echoed. "Just tired."

"Right," he said with a slight laugh, voice getting father away as he went down the hall. "Get some rest, man. Even thought you're a crazy insomniac."

"Not an insomniac," Alan said defensively even louder so that Alistair would hear.

"Sure you aren't," Alistair yelled back.

Alan sighed, closing his eyes as he let out a soft groan and rubbed his eyes, hand lifting his glasses out of the way.

God, he didn't know what hurt. Was it his head or his heart? Or was he confusing love with pain? Sometimes it felt like the two were synonymous words.

Tonight was... something. He didn't really know what happened at the end there with Shane. Before their walk, Alan did his best to not show the panic that was threatening to come out, but maybe panic was not the best word. He was usually pretty good at reading people and predicting what they wanted, but he badly misread Shane, and Alan didn't know how to answer when Shane threw the same question back at him.

And what was up with their walk? It was like Alan felt like he could lose all his filters and just... well... he didn't even know. He tried to think back on what Shane said to him that just made sense and felt right. And, god, nothing had felt so right for so long.

I can't get enough of what's in your heart.

It was that line that deeply resonated with Alan, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Then again, maybe there was no explanation. The heart made decisions with complex emotions, after all.

All of it was one big confusing scribble, but Alan was patient. He didn't think he needed to know all the answers or felt like he needed any answer anyways. All he knew was that he was going to get coffee with Shane tomorrow morning, and he'd continue to enjoy his company and see where this took them.

Alan didn't know how long he'd been staring up at the ceiling, lost in the chasm of his mind. Finally, he sat up, suddenly feeling drawn to the book he borrowed from Shane that sat in his backpack. He stared at his bag, feeling inspired to rip the book out and read all the poems and annotations so he could write some of his own, but he felt like if he did that, he'd have to prepare for a deep, aching sadness that was imprinted within the ink on the pages.

This was a lot to process.

But Alan didn't need answers, and he, too, wanted to end the night on a happy note.

Finally, Alan got off the couch, bounding towards their room.

If he was going to end the night on a happy note, then he'd go to sleep earlier and be well-rested so he can go through with tomorrow with a clearer, fresher mind.

It was midnight, and everything was quiet. Evaline was distractedly drawing on her tablet, listening to the same song on repeat for the last hour.


She was used to working late into the hours, and although she was no longer taking any art classes, she still had projects she wanted to work on and develop. She didn't usually draw digital art, but she had to use this medium since she was working on an animation. It wasn't anything too special, and it was rushed since she was only working on this in her free time, but she was determined to finish before the end of the year so she could submit it to a few competitions.

It didn't really matter, in the end. She wasn't trying to win anything.

For once in her life, she just wanted to put her art out in the world. She wanted to be seen, even if anonymous, and share a piece of her story without words.

Evaline was focused, carefully drawing each stroke deliberately with her pen, getting lost in the music as she drew. Time melted away, and it only felt like minutes had passed, but when she looked at the time again, it was 1am.

With a sigh, she tucked her pen away in the nook of the tablet, turning it off and mindlessly tapping the black screen with her finger. The song still gently played in her ears, and she wished she could be tired, but she was still feeling quite awake.

She glanced up, realizing the only light in the room was the digital photo album that Oliver had set up last year, dimly lighting up the counter on the kitchen with bright blue light. The picture that glared across the screen was a selfie she took of them when they vacationed in Croatia two years ago. She was smiling while Oliver cannon balled from the cliff to the shimmering blue-green waters.

With a sigh, Evaline took out her phone, dimming the bright light to not blind her eyes in the darkness. She didn't have any notifications, but she scrolled through Instagram, finally going through her notifications.

A few days ago, she posted a black and white picture of her standing tall with one arm crossed and one arm to her chin, dressed in sheer white as she looked off camera in thought. It was from an older photo shoot she did last year, and side-by-side was a sketched self-portrait of the same image, but in pencil. She captioned the image: Am I just a drawing to you?

It had hundreds of likes, and Evaline scrolled through the comments.

Stunning! 😍

mais qu'est-ce t'es belle 🥰

Just as beautiful on paper ❤️

Evaline couldn't be bothered to look at all of them nor respond. With another sigh, she left the app, instead going to her messages. She found herself face-to-face with her texts with Connie. She hadn't responded to him in two days, although to be fair, he only sent her one word.

Well, one word and a picture.

Connie wrote:Thoughts?

Connie wrote:

Evaline opened the picture, studying it some more even though she had already zoomed in to every spot imaginable in this picture, imagining how he made every brush stroke while he stared over the Italian Riviera. It made her miss the days when she saw him every summer when they were teenagers, but regardless, she was glad that they kept in touch despite the time and distance.

Although, both of them could be better at answering each other's texts. It didn't help that Connie was a terrible texter and hardly ever sent her more than a simple sentence. Then again, he was never really a people person. But neither was she.

It was early morning hours in Italy right now, but she didn't think he'd even notice she sent a text until he looked at his phone hours later. She had plenty of time to compose a message.

Looks good. As usual.

Evaline didn't quite hit send, staring at the message. Suddenly hating it, she deleted all of it and took another minute to try again.

Bellissimo. You always make Italia look like a dream.

No... she didn't like that either. Delete. It took her another minute to slowly type another response, but her head was blanking. She decided to keep it simple, carefully selecting each letter to type.

Evaline wrote:I love the colors.

And send.

Evaline stared at the text for a whole minute, but nothing happened-- although she didn't expect him to reply. He'd probably take another week to reply... or not reply at all. She didn't really know with him, sometimes.

She clicked her phone away and stared at the digital photo album across the room again. This time, it showed a picture of her and Oliver as teenagers, back when they were attending an international school in Paris. A laughing candid photo was taken of them at the plaza in front of Notre Dame, with her half-hugging him and playfully getting him to pay attention to her even though he was looking off camera somewhere else.

It was funny. This used to be a core memory of hers, but Evaline could hardly even remember what it was he was even looking at that made the memory feel silly. This felt like a lifetime ago, now. They were both so different.

Evaline wasn't too tired, and she was tempted to take out her homework or even go to the apartment gym at this hour, but she decided against it, figuring she should rest well now so she could have a more productive day tomorrow.

She paused her music and put her earbuds away before setting her feet flat against the cold wooden floors, slinking down the hall to join Oliver in the bedroom. He was fast asleep, although she didn't have to see him to notice that since she heard him softly snoring from the living room.

Maybe tomorrow she would do something different.



It was 9:30am, and Evaline was on the move. She already felt relaxed since she went on a morning jog and also followed through with her routine of stopping by the local cafe nearby she liked to support. Although, she was tempted to one day cut them off and go to another cafe, because it had been years, and they still write Evelyn on her cup. Then again, she never quite corrected them, and at this point, it was too awkward to say anything.

She went to the Museum of Fine Arts every Saturday morning, and if she left her apartment at 9:30am, she'd be able to walk there and arrive by 10am. Oliver had already left and distractedly kissed her goodbye after she showered from her jog, and although he didn't tell her where he was going, she figured he was either spending time with his friends or going to campus.

He knew she'd be at the museum, though. She had been going weekly for the same time for the last four months, after all.

With only a tote bag holding her drawing supplies, Evaline locked the door behind her and left her apartment building complex, going down the elevator so she could be greeted by Boston's streets in the morning. The same song from last night played in her Bluetooth earbuds again, on repeat as she walked down the sidewalks, lost in her own thoughts.

Evaline didn't mind long walks, especially when there were many other people nearby. Sometimes she paused her music to listen to nearby conversations, feeling absorbed in their lives. Most of the time, though, she people watched and looked for anything of interest. It could be as simple as observing a person with unusual characteristics, or as complex as figuring out why a person looked somber and unhappy. Sometimes she spun make-believe stories in her head, and with each new detail she observed, it would change.

She did often wonder if anyone ever did this for her, though. What would they say about her?

The half hour walk went by quickly as she entered the museum just as they opened, scanning in her annual pass. She noticed early on that the MFA must have their employees working a rigid schedule, because she often saw the same people working there every Saturday morning. The woman letting her in gave her a smile as she recognized her, welcoming her back.

Evaline spent the first thirty minutes to one hour every morning looking at a specific gallery before she sat down on a bench and sketched other people that admired the paintings. She never liked the idea of spending a whole day looking at everything, so she looked at one gallery at a time every week, giving each work the time and attention they deserved. Of course, since she had been going here weekly for the past four months, she had already seen all the galleries by then.

But Evaline was also someone who liked familiarity. She didn't mind seeing the same galleries more than once, especially if she was fond of it to begin with.

This month, she sat and sketched at the Impressionist gallery, and she wanted to do the same today. She wanted to do something different, but... there weren't many other options to choose from. Plus, it seemed Connie's painting had impacted her more than she thought.

It didn't matter. She enjoyed the paintings, and that was all that mattered. At least, that was what her therapist would say, but more eloquently. Evaline was trying to not overthink things and accept that there didn't need to be a reason for everything.

Evaline stood in front of Monet's artwork for quite some time, once again being absorbed in the soft colors and dreamlike atmosphere. It took her some moments to notice that there was a family who was trying to better see the painting, so she quietly apologized and stepped out of the way, glancing around. A small crowd was coming through, so it would be a perfect time to start sketching.

Fortunately, the bench closest to Monet's artwork was open. Evaline gingerly sat down and set her tote nearby, pulling out her sketchpad and pencil and then flipping to a new page.

She went to the MFA every week to not only get inspired by other artists, but to feel inspired watching others admire art. She liked people watching, observing from a silent distance and only having a minute to remember all the characteristics that made the person unique. She loved to capture it on paper, making it feel like she was getting them to come alive in a two-dimensional world.

Evaline went on to draw a curious kid who was jumping around excitedly with bright eyes and being warned to not touch the exhibits, and when finished, she looked around to see who else she could capture. She thought about the child's family, but before she could commit on it, she noticed from the corner of her eye a familiar worker walking across from one side of the room to the other, passing through.

Evaline had a feeling he'd be coming by since he came by last week. Now, she felt more prepared than the previous weeks.

The worker-- Shane, as it said on his badge-- noticed Evaline again and gave her a friendly wave as he passed by. She made eye contact with him and meekly waved back by lifting her hand up as he went by. She stared at the back of his head, watching him disappear down the hall.

Evaline was good at remembering faces, so even if they weren't wearing badges, it was easy to remember who worked here. She took mental notes of who worked where and what everyone's schedules were, and Shane was no different, even though she never talked to him. That didn't seem to stop him from waving at her, though.

Two weeks ago was so embarrassing. She first noticed that he was hanging around the gallery, answering questions and even taking some time to admire the artwork. She liked to organize her sketchpad, so she had a section of her pad devoted to just employees at the museum. She hadn't drawn him yet, so naturally, it was a perfect time to do so. She was usually careful over who she picked to draw since she didn't want to creep anyone out, but Shane seemed to be too preoccupied with answering questions to notice her.

At least, that was what she thought. At the time, she had stared at him for a whole minute, devoting his face to memory before she glanced down at her sketchpad, beginning the outlines of the pose she had in mind. Just as she glanced up for one more frame of reference, though, he looked right at her and offered a smile and a friendly wave.

That was two weeks ago, and she couldn't help but hide under her sketchpad in embarrassment before quickly leaving. Last week, she stayed at the Impressionist gallery again, and as Shane went by at the same time, she could feel him looking her way to catch her attention with another wave, but she pretended to be absorbed in her work, not paying attention. She did this when he returned as well.

Evaline went to therapy every two weeks-- really, a new development to help with her anxiety and to help figure out what she wanted in life-- and she usually used the time to talk about the mundane in life. She had mentioned the embarrassing moment with the MFA employee, and her therapist tilted her head and asked her, "Why not give him the drawings?"

Now that she waved at Shane, the question ate at her. Maybe she should. After all, she said she was going to do something different today.

...

Alright...

She could do that.

Evaline knew that she had about an hour before he returned. She flipped to the section of the page where she finished sketches of him, mostly smiling and in thought. There was a half-finished sketch of him laughing while holding a cup of coffee, highlighting his dimples and the softness in his eyes. She never actually seen him laugh and mostly used her imagination on this one based on the little context she was given. If she ever did see him laugh, though, she'd take note on what was different and make the appropriate changes.

She glanced at the notes on the side of the page, which she often made for everyone she sketched regularly.

- badge: "Shane"
- impressionist 11am entry, 12pm exit
- not wearing uniform. (desk employee?)
- college aged (?)
- flannel shirt (patterned. habit?)
- coffee cup (a lot)
- short brown hair, (?) eyes, tan
- sharp jawline
- dimples, smile lines
- waves at me?
- friendly
- enthusiastic
- patient (answers annoying questions)
- thoughtful

It seemed that her notes were still fairly accurate. She hadn't drawn him enough to make notes on specific sketches yet, and she hadn't seen him enough to be able to fill in on more notes or change anything. Evaline already felt her heart race at the thought of giving him any of this since she felt like she may die of embarrassment, but she pushed through the anxiety and focused on finishing the laughing sketch.

Time went by quickly, as as she glanced at her phone to note the time, she realized she only had another minute before he may come by. Unnecessary panic surged through her as she froze at the thought, suddenly not wanting to do this at all, but she swallowed it down and took a deep breath.

Evaline didn't know how she was able to summon the courage needed to carefully rip the page out of her sketchpad. She ignored the beating of her pulse against her ears as she pulled out a sticky note from her tote, writing a note on top before sticking it on the paper and placing it on the bench. Just as she finished, she looked up and noticed Shane already coming back from the other side.

Evaline didn't know what got into her, but the panic went through her veins as she scrambled to her feet and quickly rushed out of the room, leaving the paper behind on the bench. Her legs moved fast, not quite running but not quite walking as she fearfully bolted out of the building as if she was being chased out of there.

When she finally stepped outside, she took a deep breath, letting the crisp air enter her lungs. She had to take a few deep breaths outside before she realized she was in the way again, to which she took some steps to the side so she could regain her composure by herself.

Through it all, Evaline let out a smile, feeling a spark of giddiness from the thrill of the random act of novelty she pulled. It felt stupid, but also pretty good.

Maybe she should do more things out of the ordinary.

It was Saturday morning, and Shane had woken up to texts from Seattle.

He'd learned to interpret that as a bit of an omen. With Boston being three hours ahead of Seattle, seeing a text in the morning meant someone back home had sent it either quite late or early in their time-- which also meant it was usually news of some kind. Sometimes it was good news, and sometimes it was bad, but he always opened those messages with a sense of trepidation.

Today, those messages were from Leilan and his mom, both sent at about 6am in his time. Shane had wanted to read them when he'd first woken up, but he had the feeling this could mean he'd spend time agonizing over sending a reply when he needed to get ready for work, so he forced himself to wait until he got on the train. Now, with one hand on the metal pole for support and the other one holding his phone, he opened the text from his mom first.

Mom wrote:Do you know if you're coming back for Thanksgiving? There won't be turkey, of course, we don't do that here. I'm thinking it's a lamb year.

Shane wasn't sure if he was smiling or frowning while he read it. He'd called her at lunch yesterday and she hadn't mentioned this then, so he was glad to have the chance to hear from her again, but it worried him that she'd been up at 3am thinking of this. And while it was true it would be a lamb year, the reason why pained him. His family operated on a two-year cycle on dinner choices for Thanksgiving, since while his mom liked lamb meat most, his dad preferred venison. The year before had been a lamb year too, and Shane knew why they weren't following schedule this time around. It'd feel worse to plan a meal for his dad's preferences, knowing he wouldn't be showing up.

Shane wrote:I'll come back over break, but only if there's baklava too.

It was a bit of an obvious reply-- both in that of course he'd be coming back no matter what, and that of course there would be baklava. With that, Shane switched over to the texts from Leilan.

This time, it appeared to be news-- in the literal sense.

Leilan wrote:https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/law-justice/nearly-8-months-after-seattleite-disappearance-police-close-case/

Leilan wrote:We're thinking about you, Shane. Let us know if we can do anything.

This time, Shane was definitely frowning. He couldn't bring himself to click the link to the article just yet, but... he knew his mom must have read it around the same late night time Leilan had sent it to him. He didn't want to reply before he'd read it either, though, so he took a deep breath and tucked his phone back in his pocket. His hand around the pole was gripping it almost painfully tight now, and he saw his knuckles screaming white through his skin. It took effort to unpry himself from it and leave the train when he got to his stop.

Shane tried to push the messages out of his mind when he got to work at the museum. It was set up to be a fairly normal Saturday, besides the surprise plans Alan had told him he had for that afternoon over their coffee the other morning, and he just had to focus on getting through everything before then. When there was nothing out of the usual to do, Shane found himself settling into a regular rotation of tasks: spend the morning researching in the museum office or archival library, leave to assist in one of the galleries for an hour-- it tended to be the Impressionist gallery-- return to the office for lunch, and then research for the rest of his time. He was happy to do that today. It went by faster the more mechanical it felt to go through the motions, even if it also felt more numb. But he already felt numb this morning.

So when Shane got up from his laptop and left the office to walk through the exhibits, he followed the same habits as ever. He greeted the security guard at the entrance to the Impressionist gallery. He gave the girl who sat by the Monet paintings with her sketchbook at the same time every Saturday a friendly smile and wave. He stood by the wall of Renoir paintings and eagerly answered questions for those who asked. He kept a polite smile for the man who angrily asked why they didn't have this one specific painting by Dalí-- never mind that he wasn't even an Impressionist-- and patiently explained that it had been in Spain for the last several decades. He tried not to wish he'd had a second cup of coffee that morning when the man muttered something furious under his breath before turning away and shaking his head.

Nothing went strongly out of the ordinary, until Shane was on his way out of the gallery for his lunch break, when he saw the regular who drew by the Monet paintings suddenly rushing out of the exhibit. He frowned in confusion and concern, searching the room for anything happening, before his gaze landed on the bench she always sat on. There was some paper next to her spot, and for a moment, he worried he'd left her sketchpad behind in her hurry. But then he spotted a yellow sticky note sitting on top of it, and something told him it wasn't an accident.

Shane glanced at the exit the artist had rushed through, then back at the bench uncertainly. Was it for everyone to see, or just someone in particular? It felt like a strange coincidence that she'd left so suddenly at the exact time he always made his way back, leaving something behind-- still, he wasn't sure if he was reading into her intentions too much. Why would she time it that way on purpose, after all?

After a glance around the gallery, Shane saw that no one else seemed to headed for whatever she'd left behind, and he decided he needed to at least tell what it was. If it didn't concern him, he'd leave it there. If he had to do something about it as a staff member, he'd act-- though he couldn't even think of what she might want from him.

Shane moved towards the bench, taking a seat next to the paper and lifting it up to see better. He looked at the sticky note first, reading the short message. The handwriting was an elegant, curly scrawl, and if it was the artist's, it seemed to fit her from what little he knew about her. He furrowed his brow as he read it: Thought you'd like this.

Shane turned his attention on the paper it was stuck to, peeling back the note to see that it was a set of portrait sketches, drawn in pencil. His first thought was that they looked very well done-- his second thought was that they were of him.

He blinked, pulling the paper closer in surprise and disbelief. To the left of the page, his own face smiled back at him, tiredly and almost timidly. It was a headshot that went to his shoulders, carefully sketched and shaded, and there were notes scrawled next to his head. Shane had to squint to read that the artist had written: fake smile? He had to admit, it did look fake, just a clenching of muscles in the face-- the lines on the paper seemed to have a heavy weariness in their very shape. Shane stared at it for a moment longer, feeling a strange feeling coming over him.

This... He didn't know what to do about this. Someone had not only seen him, but taken notice of him? And then made art? Without him even noticing?

Taking a deep breath, Shane flicked his gaze to the other drawing on the page. It was also a headshot that went to his shoulders before the pencil markings faded into the white of the paper, but it was of a different expression. His face in this one seemed focused, like he was looking at something intently, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the expression he made when he was examining a painting. The note to the side only served to confirm this-- Landscape at Pontoise, 1874, Pissarro. Above the two sketches, the artist had made a list, seemingly notes on his appearance and behavior that she'd noticed. Shane read through it a few times, finding himself smiling slightly even though he didn't know why. It felt so strange to see a stranger's unfiltered observations about him in writing, and yet... touching. He hadn't thought he was being watched, let alone interpreted.

He saw more pencil markings on the other side of the paper, and he flipped it around. This time, the sketch of him was full body against a museum background, with him holding a cup of coffee in one hand and waving with the other. Despite the extra detail elsewhere, there was even more effort going into his expression on this one, and Shane realized the portrait of him was laughing. Joyfully, happily laughing. He couldn't recall truly laughing at his job, at least not during the times she regularly visited, and if he didn't remember it then it had probably never happened. And yet, she'd perfectly captured the way that he knew he did laugh-- right down to a shine in his eyes.

Shane didn't take his eyes off the drawing for a long time before he realized he'd lost track of time, and his head snapped up. He had to thank the artist for this-- but he knew he shouldn't follow, and it had been too long anyway. But she always sat here. Maybe he could leave a thank you note on the bench, just before she got there, and leave her to find it. He had the feeling she was too timid to give him the page in person, and he felt a little shy about thanking her himself, so this felt like a good way to share his thanks.

Because she was right. He did like this.

Still smiling, Shane took the paper with him and left the exhibit, careful not to fold or damage it as he went back to the museum office.

The rest of his time at the museum went by quickly, and Shane stayed in a pleasant mood for almost all of it, save for a few somber moments when he texted Leilan back. One of his coworkers, Helen, commented that it looked like he was having a good day today, and he didn't find it hard-- or dishonest-- to smile at her and say, yes, it was a good day.

Just as he was clearing his desk and getting ready to leave, Helen came up to him again, smiling. "Got any plans this afternoon?" she asked politely.

Shane smiled slightly, tucking his laptop away in his bag, next to the page of sketches. "I'll be seeing someone later today, I think. What about you?"

Helen nodded, her smile brightening. "Oh, you know, just fun weekend stuff. I think I'll take the kids on a drive through New England to see the autumn leaves tomorrow-- have you done that since coming to college? It's a sight you can't miss."

"I haven't," Shane admitted, thinking how lovely that sounded. "I'll have to do it sometime."

They made casual conversation from there for a few minutes, before Helen wished him a good afternoon and left. Shane finished packing up his belongings, but when he scanned the surface of his desk one last time, he noticed something new. Where Helen had been standing, there was a slip of printer paper on the edge of the desk, with a single line printed on it. Frowning thoughtfully, Shane slowly reached over, picking it up to read it.

I don't believe in coincidences.
X

Shane grinned when he finished reading, looking up and tucking it in his bag. He knew he'd be hearing from Alan today about this evening-- he just hadn't been expecting this to be the first way that he did. The smile didn't leave his face even as he left the museum.



While he waited for more information from Alan, Shane decided to follow schedule as usual and get coffee from the cafe below his apartment. It was the place he always went for an afternoon cup on Saturdays, which he'd told Alan about when they'd gone there the other morning. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the familiar sound of the bell tied to the handle ringing as he did.

The barista who usually worked at this time, Fabian, looked up at the sound and watched him enter intently. Shane smiled in a friendly way as usual, but Fabian seemed to grin wider than normal, flashing their teeth. He found it a little strange, especially when they bolted for the ordering station, but decided not to think much of it. Maybe Fabian had just been waiting for him, for some reason.

"Ah, it's our main source of revenue," Fabian greeted him, drumming their fingers on the counter. "Welcome back to the best coffee in Boston."

"Thanks, Fabian. I like your hair," Shane said with a laugh, reaching in his wallet for the right amount of cash for his usual drink, tax and tip.

"Why, thank you." Fabian shook their head from side to side, tossing their now-green hair playfully. "I thought I'd try something new. But as for you, you're getting your usual for this time, right?"

Shane nodded. "Nothing new."

At that, Fabian reached below the counter, setting out a prepared drink in front of him. "Iced caramel latte, with coconut milk," they said, still grinning. "Have a great day."

"Oh, thank you," Shane said, impressed, holding the cash out. "You too--"

Fabian waved their hand dismissively. "Oh, someone's paid for it already. You don't need to do that."

Shane blinked, his gaze falling to the drink. Someone had already paid for it?

Filled with a nagging feeling, he spun the cup around to see the far side. His name was written in hasty shorthand Sharpie marker over the clear plastic-- it had taken most of his regular coffee shops a couple times to remember the spelling, though those days were long past. Below his name, there was much more careful writing, something that didn't usually appear on a cup.

Clue 1: 101.F.2

Shane laughed, looking up and down between the drink and Fabian-- before he closed his hand around it and threw the cash in his hand in the tip jar.

Fabian grinned. "Okay, I won't ask you not to do that. Have a splendid day."

"You too," Shane said again, returning the grin as he hurried out of the cafe with his coffee. It looked like he wouldn't have to be texting Alan-- he was hearing from him already.



Shane rushed to campus, taking quick sips of his coffee without pausing. He was glad it was an iced drink, because if it were a hot one, he would be taking a bit of a risk-- but this thought was in the far back of his mind. He was on a treasure hunt.

He'd understood the meaning of the clue immediately; he'd recognized it as the library coordinates for the rare books section, where he always worked. Considering it was the first place Shane had directed him to, it felt fitting that it was also the place Alan gave him a first clue for.

A first clue. Which meant this could be more elaborate than what he'd been giving Alan so far.

Shane got to the library, beelining quietly for the rare books section. There wasn't anyone around to see him search, so he started by checking the table and chair he always sat at first. Nothing, which meant Alan was probably going for something a little less obvious.

Luckily, Shane was here so often that he knew the place pretty well. He could tell when students had been badly reshelving books themselves by the colors of the spines on the shelves.

And so it wasn't that hard to recognize the flash of white tucked between two books on the nearest shelf as an anormaly.

Shane walked over to it, pulling it off the shelf to discover that it was a sealed envelope. With an excited grin, Shane carefully opened it and unfolded the paper within, moving it to the luminous window nearby to read it better.

08/27

I didn't think that a simple conversation could feel so life changing.

We exchanged only mere sentences, but the spark we shared was palpable.

This was the beginning of us.

Shane read it a few times, mostly to absorb Alan's words and let them bring a smile to his face, because it wasn't hard to figure out where to go next. The date on the letter was the Sunday of the award ceremony-- or, the day he and Alan had met, which the letter also seemed to refer to. From that, he figured it was best to visit the theater next. He hurried on excitedly.

On his way there, he had to worry about whether the theater was in use currently, but he was relieved to push open the door and see that it was empty with the lights on. He hurried down the aisle, casting glances around as he went. He found nothing on the stage where they'd stood-- and where Shane had technically first spoken to him-- but a turn around and a glance at the front row seats they'd sat in showed him that there was a single red rose sitting in Alan's seat, covering another letter.

With another smile, Shane went over to read it.

09/01

I asked for your favorite place in the world.

We saw the world, and I knew that you may become my world.

This is the place we dined before I wanted to take you to the stars.

Shane picked up the rose, smiling at it before carefully tucking it and the letter in his bag. This hint was clear as well: Alan's question about his favorite countries had led to them eating at Elysium Palace. The Greek restaurant was more of a walk than the last two places, but Shane remembered the direction Alan had led him in, and he figured he could make quick work of it. Excitement made him walk faster, after all.

He then hurried to where he thought the restaurant was, going past his apartment and following the clues in the urban landscape that he remembered seeing on the way there. There were fewer that he'd noticed and remembered than usual for a walk, but then again, he'd been paying much more attention to Alan than the city around him.

When he got there, Shane paused at the restaurant door, wondering where he'd have to look this time. The restaurant was just starting to open for dinner, with customers and waiters already inside, and he wondered if he'd have to go talk to someone. He hoped he didn't, on the off chance that Alan hadn't gone to them and they had no idea what he was talking about when he asked for a letter.

Shane took a step back from the door, turning around and scanning the area outside first. It seemed a little futile to look, since he doubted Alan would leave a letter lying around in a public area, but then his eyes landed on a Little Free Library near the curb, just across the sidewalk from the restaurant. His neighborhood in Seattle had had dozens of those, and they looked about the same as they did here-- a compartment sitting on a stand, with glass doors protecting the one or two shelves of books from the elements. Thinking of how many times the topic of bookshelves and libraries had come up around the two of them, Shane scanned the books inside through the doors.

The books inside were typical of these libraries, all slightly unusual and niche titles that had often ended up there because someone didn't want them anymore, but there was one book of poetry. Love Poems, by Pablo Neruda. The book had what appeared to be an envelope sticking out the top of it.

Excited-- and feeling relieved that it seemed he wouldn't have embrass himself by asking about a letter-- Shane opened the doors and took out the book, slipping the envelope out. This one was sealed with a glow in the dark star sticker, a detail that made him laugh softly as he carefully peeled it open and read the next letter.

09/22

I held your hand. I never wanted to let go.

You touched my heart, and all you did was see me.

I wonder if it really was coincidence that we met.

Shane hummed, thinking this one over more. The date was for the day he'd made them theater reservations, and they had also held hands then, but the way the word coincidence was underlined was making him think back to the first note in his bag-- I don't believe in coincidences.

He'd go back to that spot they'd met by surprise, then, and if there was no sign of Alan or another clue he'd check the theater next.

Shane tucked the letter and star sticker in his bag with the others, then looked at the book. The letter had been tucked between the pages of the poem Here I Love You, and he realized there were annotations on the page-- notes like the ones he’d written.

With a grin, Shane tucked the book in his bag as well. He wanted to read all of Alan's notes right now, but he'd have to wait until he could sit down and read it. He made his way back to campus, finishing his coffee and recycling the cup on the way.

The spot they ran into each other would've been a little harder to pinpoint exactly, given that it was an otherwise random spot on a lawn pathway, but Shane was helped out by a blue chalk X on the sidewalk, not far from where they'd run into each other. He thought about the way the first note had been signed with an X, and he laughed, thinking about how Alan had technically given him the clue to show up here and skip everything in between. But he'd liked finding them, and he was glad the shortcut hadn't revealed itself to him.

Shane stood on the X, getting himself a few curious looks from students in the area, but he didn't mind as he scanned the area. He didn't see anything at eye level or on the ground, but a look up at the tree in front of him showed him that there was a letter tied to a branch by a white ribbon, swaying gently in the breeze. A red heart sticker sealed this one.

Well, Alan seemed to have more faith in his climbing abilities than Shane did, but he'd make this work.

Shane walked over to the tree, gauging the distance up and across, before he dug one foot against the trunk, pushed himself up, and caught a branch above his hand. Keeping his first foothold, Shane kicked his other foot up and pressed it higher like he was walking vertically up the trunk, which allowed him to reach over and snag the letter when it fluttered his way. There was a bit of a strain in his limbs while he attempted to tug it loose, but he found himself laughing softly at himself rather than grunting at the effort. When the ribbon came loose, he kept the letter in hand and jumped down in what was a safe, if not exactly graceful, way. Shane absent-mindedly brushed himself off while he opened the letter.

09/27

This felt different, somehow.

We held hands. I felt your pulse against mine.

I gave you my heart, you gave me yours.

"I can't get enough of what's in your heart," you said.

That line kept me up for days.

It's still repeating in my head, even now as I wait for you at home.

I can't wait to see you again.

Shane smiled softly, rubbing his thumb over the heart sticker before he tucked the letter away. It appeared to be the last one, one that would actually lead him to Alan. The destination was clear-- he was going to Alan's apartment for the first time, or the second if he counted their walk there.

He had to give some thought to how to get there from here, so he went to the first familiar point they'd walked through a few blocks away and then followed the same route he remembered. When he got to the street, Shane wondered if he should call, but he still had a little more information to go on since Alan had told him he lived at the top. Deciding to follow this treasure hunt to the end, Shane took the stairs all the way up.

It was a slightly tiring experience that made him glad he only lived on a second floor, but excitement kept him going. Once he got there, there were a few apartments on the same level, but Alan was again helping him out with a taped paper marked with an X on one of the doors. As yet another clue, there was a mat on the floor that read Bienvenido!, which Shane recognized as welcome in Spanish. With a smile, he moved to the door, knocking and stepping back.

It didn't take long for the door to swing open, revealing Alan smiling brightly, dressed in a more casual floral-patterned button down. Soft jazz played in the background, and the smell of freshly baked salmon instantly wafted through the air.

"You made it," Alan exclaimed with relief and joy, stepping to the side and grandly gesturing him in. "Come on in. I've been waiting for you."

Shane laughed softly, stepping in. "Thanks for your patience. I took the long way around to get here."

Alan closed the door, and Shane glanced around. The apartment was fairly spacious for being a one-bedroom. The living room was to their left, with a sofa and extra arm chair lining the wall, a TV on the other side, and a coffee table between them. A window and balcony entrance door covered almost the entirety of the other side of the wall. A ladder bookshelf was perched between the window and the the balcony as the only furniture piece on that wall, complete with plants, a few books, and decor. A thick floating bookshelf was against the other wall near the TV, and this one seemed to only hold music-related books, which was fitting since it was over an electric keyboard. Hand-written sheet music was perched on the keyboard stand. An acoustic guitar sat between the sofas, perched on its stand. Soft string lights lined the living room wall, casting a warm glow in the room, illuminating the large picture board of photos on the wall.

The kitchen was closer to the entrance and was smaller in comparison due to how the apartment walls warped to accommodate room, their fridge tucked into a more confined space, but their counters more open and inviting. There was a short hallway further in, presumably to the bedroom and bathroom.

There was a small two-person dining table between the living room and kitchen. Food wasn't on the table yet, but a candle was lit next to folded cloth napkins, small glass vase with a single red rose, and a small wooden carved figurine of a bear.

It felt strangely homelike, and Shane had to think of why. His dad played smooth jazz around their house. His dad loved making salmon for dinner. Even amidst his excitement to be here, his eyes pricked a little.

"I like your place," Shane told Alan, smiling admiratively. "It's like a musical haven."

Alan grinned. "Thanks. That was unintended, but it seems that it seeps out of me." Still smiling, he took Shane's hand and led him in, stopping by the table. "You came in a little earlier than I anticipated, so please, sit and relax-- or explore, if you'd like. I put you to work to get you here, so putting together dinner is the least I can do for you. It's almost ready."

"I told you I liked salmon, didn't I?" Shane said, smiling down at their hands, then back up at Alan as he took out the rose from his bag and dropped it in the vase so it would last longer. "I'm touched you remembered."

"Of course. I try to remember every detail of you." Alan smiled warmly, lifting their hands up and kissing the back of Shane's hand. He smiled again, letting go and stepping back to the kitchen. "But really. Please. Relax and let me host you. It really is the least I could do after having you run around all day."

"After I was a bad host and had you making your own dinner?" Shane pretended to give it thought, then laughed. "Only because you're insisting."

Alan chuckled, back to stirring roasted vegetables over a pan. "I've been told that I do have a way with words sometimes. It's my greatest weapon. And today, I use it on you to tell you to relax and enjoy the musical haven."

Shane hummed, taking a seat at the table where he could still see him. "It is very enjoyable," he said, looking around the space. His gaze landed on a calendar on the wall near the piano, already flipped to October. Leaning forward slightly, Shane could see the 7th was circled in pen, labeled as "Birthday".

"Who's got their birthday on the 7th?" Shane asked curiously, glancing back to the kitchen.

Alan glanced back as well, looking amused. "Oh," he said casually. "It's my brother's."

Shane simply nodded, looking back at the calendar for a moment before he frowned and turned back rapidly to Alan, rolling his eyes playfully. "Alan," he exclaimed. "You almost had me fooled there."

Alan laughed. "And for a second, I thought you wouldn't question it. I should've known better, considering you managed to crack my elababorate scavenger hunt riddles."

"Imagine if I'd gone home without realizing it and never thought of it again," Shane said with a shake of his head and a laugh. "I could've missed your birthday and it would've flown right over my head. Can't have that."

Alan looked back with a smile, turning off the stovetop and opening a cabinet, pulling out two plates. "Well, since we're talking about it, I've been meaning to ask you. What are your plans on Friday?"

Shane smiled slightly. "Nothing you wouldn't take full priority over."

Alan chuckled and shook his head, beginning to fill the plate with food, although Shane couldn't quite see with what just yet.

"My brother and I are planning on throwing a house party here. He's inviting all his friends, and I'll invite mine. We haven't really done anything like this before, so I plan on keeping it more tame, but I'd like you to come, if you're free." Alan paused. "Although, I have a feeling it won't be tame at all. Just a fair warning."

"Of course I'll come," Shane said, smiling brighter. "Even if it's not all that tame."

Alan glanced back, grinning. "Ah, excuse me. I didn't take you as a party animal," he teased.

"I'm not exactly," Shane said, laughing. "But a bit of liveliness is to be expected from a 21st birthday party. Besides, you'll be there, so I don't see how I could have the heart to not go."

"Well, now you're tempting me to throw out all the verbal invitations and just keep this between you and me. There's no one else I'd rather spend it with, anyways," Alan said as he seemed strangely focused on adding something on both plates, but his back was turned and out of Shane's view.

Shane chuckled. "I'm looking forward to meeting your brother and friends, though, so I hope you don't scrap your plans for me."

"Hope, granted. I'd like for you to meet them too." With that, Alan turned back around with the two plates, walking over with a smile. "Alright. Finally done. Enjoy."

He placed both plates in front of their chairs. Both of them had a pyramid-shaped mound of rice on it with a sauce drizzled on it as well as herbs and garnishes. A slab of salmon basted in butter and rosemary sat next to the rice, along with as assortment of roasted vegetables, including carrots, green beans, and asparagus.

Shane let out an awed, surprised laugh as Alan set the plate down, unable to believe it. "Alan, this looks amazing," he gushed. "I give it five stars and I haven't even had a bite yet."

Alan grinned, sitting down on the chair across from him, now finally able to keep his full attention on him. "I'll accept your compliments after you eat it. No--" he lifted his finger to correct himself, "--after you finish all of it."

"Oh, you'll be hearing it," Shane said, grinning back. "This plate will be so clean when I'm finished that you won't even have to put it in the dishwasher."

"My, my. That's some high praise," Alan said with a stifled laugh. "But really. Thank you for everything. I try to always speak from the heart, but I think sincerity can sometimes get lost in translation. It's easy to say a lot of words, but harder to mean them. I hope my scheme to get you here can express my gratitude for you just as-- if not more-- effectively than my words can."

"It was lovely, Alan," Shane said, smiling gently across the table. "I enjoyed it. Thank you for setting it all up."

"It's my pleasure," Alan said, smiling as he met his eyes, only breaking their gaze to glance down at the food. "Now, let's eat. You must be so hungry after a long day."

They dug in, and despite his instructions, Shane didn't wait long at all to praise the food. The salmon was perfectly tender, coming apart perfectly with a fork, and it was just the way he liked it. They talked over their meal, and even though the food was delicious, Shane found himself getting distracted from it in conversation. When they were close to done, Alan asked how his day at work had been, and while Shane told him how he'd gotten his first note by way of Helen, he suddenly remembered the other unusual event of the day.

"Something happened before I got your clue, though," Shane said, reaching into the bag on the floor at his side. "Someone left this for me." He set the paper of sketches down on the table for Alan to see, making sure it was clean first. "It's kind of interesting."

With a raised brow, Alan picked up the paper and studied it, slightly frowning. "Huh," he said with some confusion and intrigue. "You said a stranger left this for you?"

"I know who they are, but I don't know them," Shane explained. "It's this regular who sits by the Monet every Saturday morning. She takes her sketchpad and draws people, but she's always kept to herself."

"She's good. The notes are also pretty... detailed." He flipped the page around, examining the sketch of Shane laughing.

"Yeah. I didn't know she was paying attention to the times I passed through, I've only waved at her," Shane remarked, humming. "I was thinking I'd leave her a thank you note next week. It's a nice gesture. If it turns out to be a flirty intention, I'll find some way to let her down gently while remaining grateful for the art. A certain dear musician's already got my heart."

Alan smiled softly, setting the drawing back down on the table. "You don't have to defend yourself to me. I trust you. But I appreciate it anyways. It is rather intriguing, and she seems to have a gift of art and observation. Maybe she left if for you because she's too shy to say hi. I think leaving a thank you note would be sweet. Who knows, it could be the start of an unlikely friendship."

"It could," Shane agreed, looking down at the drawings with a bit of a laugh before putting the paper back carefully. "I'll have to see. Anyway, that's been my day."

They finished up, with Shane's plate looking quite clean, and he shared the last of his praise with Alan. Alan yet again insisted on doing the work for cleaning up and invited Shane to look around, so he went over to the photo board. It looked like a constellation of memories-- family, friends, his band. Shane smiled softly, a few with familiar faces catching his eye: Alan and Rowan hanging out in a room, the two of them plus Lucas and someone who must have been Rose performing their band, a picture of this very apartment filled with boxes where Alan was grinning at a man their age dressed in all black wearing a snapback hat, rolling his eyes while holding a box-- which Shane tentatively guessed was Alistair. He could see the resemblance in their faces.

"It's been a couple of months since I've updated that board," Alan said as he walked over, noticing Shane peering over the pictures. He stood next to him with a smile, his gaze resting over the collection of memories as well. "My mom first gave this to me when I moved here. As you can imagine, they were filled with cheesy old family pictures. I've been updating it with new pictures here and there, but haven't gotten around to it for a while."

"It looks like quite the collection for two years," Shane said, with a smile as well. "Which ones are your favorites?"

Alan hummed. "It's hard to answer that, since I only put my favorites up here. It might be easier to tell you what's not particularly my favorite. As in, if I had to make room for another picture, these would be first to go." He searched through the display, then pointed at an older picture of himself, holding an American flag with a huge laughing smile. "This one, probably. I took the citizenship test and got naturalized the day after I turned eighteen. My mom wanted to take a picture-- she always did. And I was only laughing because my brother said the dumbest jokes to get a candid picture. At least it worked, though."

Shane laughed, examining the photo. "It is a very nice candid. Your brother must be funny."

"I'd like to think so. Here's a prime example of Alistair and all his glory," Alan said with a smile as he tapped at the picture of his family all wearing Christmas hats. Everyone was smiling, except for Alistair, who stared at the camera straight-faced. Alan was standing next to him, grinning and giving Alistair a playful elbow shove.

Shane chuckled at it. "He looks amused," he joked, his gaze going over every family member-- there were quite a few of them in the photo. "Which year is this from?"

"Last year. But..." Alan reached over and unpinned the picture, revealing another picture behind it. He offered it to Shane. It was another picture of everyone dressed up in Santa hats again, but this time Alan and Alistair looked younger, and they were both smiling. "It's kind of a silly tradition at our household. This one was two years ago."

"I like it," Shane said, still smiling. "It's very merry."

"It is, isn't it?" Alan placed the picture back on the board, carefully tucking the older picture behind the newer photo again. "I have a couple pictures of my family here," he said, pointing to a picture of two toddlers smiling, holding hands with each other and, presumably, their parents. "This is an old one, obviously. It's of my mom and dad. We don't really have too many photos of all four of us, so I cherish this one."

The resemblance of Alan in his younger mom and dad was striking. Alan had previously mentioned that people said he looked more like his dad than his mom, with the exception of his smile and eyes-- and Shane could now understand that. His dad had a similar strong jawline, sharp facial features, and glasses. He was also dressed well, wearing a collared coat with his hair combed back. His mother smiled warmly, her long wavy hair falling across her shoulders. She had a shine to her eyes, and she looked to be overjoyed. She also looked to be quite young-- not far from their current age.

"It's a good picture," Shane said, tearing his gaze away from the photo to smile at Alan. "You do look like your dad, but you've definitely got your mom's smile. I see why people say it."

"Don't tell my mother that. I'll never hear the end of it from her," he said with a grin, then tapped on another picture of him and his mom.

It was a candid picture of him playing piano while his mom appeared to be singing. They were both dressed up in formal attire, presumably for an event. The photographer caught them right as they made eye contact, smiling. Under that photo was a picture of the iconic landmark of Ivy where the big lettering of the university was spelled out in front of the student union building. Alan was standing next to his mom, smiling. It was an older picture, presumably when Alan first came to Ivy his freshman year.

"All in good fun, of course. I'm pretty close to my mom. I'm lucky in that regard," he said with a smile.

"It looks like it. I'm glad," Shane said, still smiling as he tapped the Ivy picture. "I've got a picture just like that of my mom and I as well. It's a bit of an obligatory thing to do when you get here."

"It is, isn't it?" Alan smiled, shaking his head. "We took this when I first visited campus and was deciding between schools. So, it's pretty old. It's one of the pictures my mom sent me with the photo board. It does have a bit of a cliche factor, so it's up there with the flag photo in terms of being up next on the chopping block."

Shane laughed. "Doesn't stop it from being a good picture, though."

Alan smiled in agreement, moving on. "The rest of the photo are of friends, though. There's one in high school, some with a couple of my band mates, and a few others. It's a random collection."

Shane pointed to a larger picture of about fifty people standing on stage, all looking excited and striking some kind of pose. They also appeared to be in costume. "Is that from West Side Story?"

Alan let out a faint laugh. "Yup, that's the high school one. I was... what? Sixteen? It was a highlight of my teenage life at the time, though."

"It looks pretty momentous," Shane said with a smile, scanning the picture and trying to find Alan's place in crowd. It was a little difficult among the many faces and uplifted hands, especially since everyone was pretty small in the photo, but he eventually spotted someone that looked like Alan. "Is that you in the middle?"

"Yeah, that's me. Good eye. I played Tony." He paused. "That probably doesn't surprise you."

Shane let out an amused laugh. "It does not," he said, shooting a smile to Alan before moving on to other pictures. "And then there's you with your band."

Alan nodded. "Yup. You recognize Rowan and Lucas. The girl here is Rose-- Rowan's sister. Funnily enough, I knew Rowan first and met Rose separately in symphony. Anyways, it made for an entertaining exchange and start of friendship. The band isn't anything serious-- just a way to play music and experiment. We only sometimes make money, so it's a time commitment, but I do like spending time with them."

Shane nodded, looking them over again: the performance one with all four of them again, and then one of Alan and Rose dressed fancily, with Alan taking a silly selfie while Rose hauled an emormous cello upstairs behind him, which made him chuckle. He went looking for other ones of the band, but paused at what he saw instead. All the other photos seemed connected by another person who he knew very well by appearance. He saw their face so often on suggested news articles and magazines at grocery store checkout aisles that it felt jarring to see them in... well, regular selfies.

"Alan," he started, stifling a slight laugh.

"Took you long enough to notice," Alan said with a playful smile.

Shane actually laughed this time. "Are you... friends with Cyrin Bridger?"

It certainly appeared he was, from the pictures. It was one thing to snap a picture with a celebrity, but the photos on the board where nothing like that. There was one of both of them grinning at the camera, with blue teeth and tongues, both acting goofy. More than that were three others that looked to have been taken close together. One was a selfie taken on a grassy plain with Cyrin in the foreground and Alan further out standing by a bison, that both of them were excitedly pointing at. A mountain loomed in the background. Another featured the two of them standing in front of a geyser, smiling wildly side by side with their arms up. The last one didn't feature Cyrin, which was a candid picture of Alan reading in a hammock against the backdrop of the plains and mountains, but it was probably taken by them. It all felt surreal to see.

"I did mention him already, just not by name," Alan said casually. "They're the friend who feels like a sibling to me."

Shane shook his head in awe. "I never would've guessed," he said. "That's so amazing. They've always seemed like a genuinely cool person."

"That's because they are. And you'll meet him, by the way. I want you to." Alan smiled warmly at Shane. "He's going to the party on Friday too."

Shane... probably needed some time to turn this over in his head. Not only that, but he'd have to make sure he didn't look like a bashful idiot to Cyrin when they met. A celebrity in the room? God, he hoped he wouldn't be awkward.

"Don't worry," Alan said with a gentle smile, hand on Shane's back for reassurance. "Cyrin is so easy to talk to. I really do love him like family, and so of course, he wants to meet you too. I actually already told them about you. Only good things, of course. You only have to be yourself."

Shane let out a quiet burst of laughter that was somewhere between excitement and nervousness. "I'll do my best. I would love to meet him, but you might have to help introduce me."

"Of course. That's a given. I plan on introducing you to everyone. I wouldn't let you roam free in a party with people you're unfamiliar with-- at least, without me being by your side," Alan said with a smile.

Shane smiled softly. "I appreciate it. Thanks. I'm really looking forward to it."

For a moment, they shared another gaze, but it was shortly interrupted with phone vibrating on the coffee table. A loud rattle sound echoed throughout the room as the phone began to skid across a few inches. Alan smiled apologetically, reaching back to pick it up, dimissing the call.

"Sorry--" he said with a little laugh, beginning to place it back down on the table, but then the phone rattled again. He sighed, pursing his lips as he stared down at it. "You know what... maybe I should take this. It's actually my mom. Funny coincidence." He looked up at Shane for confirmation. "Do you mind...?"

"Of course, go ahead," Shane said with a laugh, gesturing around. "Take your time. I'll hang around over here."

Alan nodded, dipping down the hall towards his room. "Feel free to look around. I don't mind."

Shane nodded, turning around to the rest of the room. He'd shown Alan his own bookshelf, which meant the one on the wall seemed like a good first thing to check out. He made his way there curiously.

Alan's (and Alistair's, technically) bookshelf held some other decorations besides books. There was an ivy plant on the top shelf draping down, which he saw with delight, and other decorations like a sign that said "BE KIND" on different shelves. There were some non-fiction books-- Shane recognized Atomic Habits, a self-help book-- and the fiction books seemed to be older in age. There was a weathered copy of James and the Giant Peach, which he was reasonably sure neither twin had read in a long time.

Shane went through the spines, pausing when he came to one bound in leather. It didn't look like a published book, and the spine read The Story of Us. Intrigued and wondering what he was looking at, Shane carefully took it off the shelf, taking a look at the cover. There were no words-- just a picture.

It was of Alan and a girl. They were standing face-to-face, looking into each other's eyes and smiling, noses almost touching. The quality indicated that it came from a photograph session, especially since the lighting was soft and they were both wearing white.

Shane didn't recognize her, but he had a feeling this was his ex. She was of Asian descent and was shorter than Alan, hands on his chest as she looked up at him longingly. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun, with a few strands hanging around her face.

The longer he looked-- and he found himself looking for a while-- Shane felt a strange, heavy feeling he couldn't quite label falling over him. It had the weight of slight dread, but he didn't know what it was he might be dreading. With a feeling that he couldn't justify this decision, he flipped the book open.

The first spread of pages seemed to be of exchanged letters, and Shane didn't want to read too closely, but the prose seemed to flow in a heartfelt, swooning way in each one. He quickly turned his attention to the details. The dates were from the fall of 2021-- two years ago, or their freshman year-- and while half the letters were in a messy cursive signed by Alan, the others were written in neat print signed with the name Emily. Shane's gaze flicked over the letters, nothing quite sinking in, before he decided this was enough and flipped until he didn't see anymore letters, now biting his lip.

It didn't get better, though. Next came the photographs, and it sunk in what Shane was holding and going through. It was a photo album of what appeared to be fifty pages full of mementos and memories, and he had the feeling he'd made a terrible mistake-- but he also couldn't look away from the pages.

The pages were full of Polaroid photos of Alan and Emily tinted with a dreamy, purple-pink hazy filter, making him feel like he was seeing the captured memories through rose tinted lenses. A lot were of Alan: him smiling softly, trying to block the camera playfully, reading on a dorm couch, playing violin or piano. There were also selfies, and they looked happy in all of them. Alan hugging Emily from behind. Alan kissing Emily's cheek. Alan and Emily laughing together. Alan and Emily dancing. Some of just Emily, dancing ballet alone on a stage, seeming to leap through violet haze.

The heavy feeling got worse, more oppressive, and it stung in a way that just dread didn't. Shane knew he should stop here, close the book, put it back on the shelf and forget he ever saw it. But he couldn't, and he hated himself when he turned the page anyway.

The next picture had a page all to itself. It was a mirror selfie, with Emily holding up a vintage camera. She was wearing a long sleeve button up shirt that Shane recognized as Alan's, which swallowed her thin and dainty frame and hung loose on her, especially with most of the buttons undone. Alan stood behind her without a shirt on-- he'd obviously given this one to her-- with his arms around her waist, pulling her in a hug. He had his lips pressed to her cheek in a soft kiss, and the beaming smile on Emily's face, only partly obscured by the camera, made Shane's heart sink further.

God, what had he been thinking? He'd been told Alan had past serious relationships, he'd gathered this was one of them from the cover, and he'd looked anyway. Worse, he felt terrible for feeling terrible. It wasn't like Alan wasn't allowed to treasure this still. Shane didn't get to be the judge of how much Emily got to mean to him. And even though he knew this, it didn't make it hurt any less.

The page next to the picture was another written part that took up all the availiable space. Emily's print handwriting was at the top, writing What do you see in me? He saw the messy cursive replying in lengthy, poetic lines, sweet words scattered over the page, and-- No. No. Shane closed his eyes, turning the page without looking. It was harder now that his hands were slightly shaky.

He didn't spend long on any page after that, flipping through photos, letters and poetry that he didn't care to see but couldn't look away from either. Every turn of the page only revealed another wildly romantic moment, another dreamy snapshot of the two of them, another idyllic scene that felt like a stabbing pain in the chest. He got to the end, where photos of Alan against a beautiful California beach landscape filled out the last page, and he'd really seen enough by now, but he still couldn't set it down. He stood there, staring at the pictures for he didn't know how long.

Alan was happy in every single frame. On the photoboard, he'd loved the pictures of him with bright smiles and grins, but over here, they only hurt. Shane hated that they hurt.

Because he didn't see himself making Alan happy like this.

Shane had been hearing Alan speak in soft Spanish with his mom the whole time, but it didn't register to him when they stopped. It didn't register to him when Alan's bedroom door opened and closed, and it didn't register to him when Alan froze in place at the sight of Shane going through the book. At least, not immediately. Shane knew he should snap the photo album shut and pretend he hadn't seen anything, but he was frozen too, and he couldn't do anything to move. It was too late, anyway.

"Shane..." Alan said quietly, reaching in and taking the book off his hands, closing it shut. He held it with both hands, a sudden heavy sadness present in his eyes as he knitted his eyebrows together with concern and sorrow. "Have you been going through this the whole time?"

Shane's throat felt dry.

"I shouldn't have looked," he said quietly, not meeting his gaze. "It's on me. I'm sorry."

Alan stared down at the photo album, the implications settling in slowly. "You don't need to apologize," he said softly, then abruptly turned around headed towards the kitchen, stopping in front of the trash can. He opened the lid with the lever on the bottom with his foot, hesitating as he hovered the book over it, but then placing it in and not giving it another second glance, walking back over.

The guilt hit Shane suddenly, and he felt even more sick. "You don't have to do that," he said hurriedly. "I didn't-- I didn't want--"

"Already done," Alan cut in, standing next to his side again, brows still knitted together with sorrow. "I'm sorry you had to see that. That has been on my shelf for the last year, and I'm already beating myself up that I didn't throw it out sooner. I didn't have to do that, but I want to do that, because I don't want that book anymore. I'm so sorry you saw that, Shane. It was all so..." He crossed his arms, looking off to the side with his lips pressed together. "...fake. What you saw wasn't real."

Shane swallowed, pressing his lips together as he averted his gaze to stare at the spot on the shelf where the album had been. He didn't know what to say about what he had seen. He didn't know what to say at all. He wanted to ask why it looked so real and vibrant and dreamy if it was truly all fake, but the words weren't coming and his throat felt choked up anyway.

"Let's sit," Alan said softly, trying to meet his eyes again. "Can we sit?"

It took Shane a long moment to form his reply, even though his reply was just a hollow, quiet "Okay."

"Alright." Alan stood in place for another moment, evaluating where to move as he glanced at the couch and the dining chairs.

He made up his mind when he moved towards the dining chairs, pulling them out so that they could sit across from one another closely. He looked up at Shane silently, hand on top of the chair as he stood over it, his eyes silently inviting him over to sit. Mindlessly, Shane followed him over, sinking into the one meant for him. Alan sat across from him, scooting in until their knees were nearly touching. He sat up straight, still wearing the same sorrowful expression as he kept his gaze on Shane. There were a few seconds of silence as they sat like this.

"I broke up with her. Twice. And that meant my heart was broken twice by her," Alan began softly, his gaze unwavering. "Of course, you didn't see any of that in the book. You didn't see our fights. Our disagreements. Our different paths in life. You didn't see how we were blinded by romance as reality set us back, and each passing day, we grew more and more unhappy, but we changed face for the camera. That book was a peace offering, given to me a month before we got back together. And when we did, we didn't last long-- because I realized I was only fooling myself. The book contained memories and snapshots in time that felt happy and real, but it just-- it wasn't. It was unsustainable. I couldn't force a relationship to work based on bursts of passion. That doesn't work, even for someone like me. I needed... stability. Someone who listened, and complemented me, and wanted all of me. I needed someone who wanted to receive the endless love I was ready to give, but already knew how to properly love back, so I'm not left to pick up all the pieces. I say all this, but to be perfectly honest, Shane-- I'm still figuring out what I want and need in a relationship. I don't think it's an easy path to figure out... The heart doesn't always know what it wants. And I've been battling a lot of thoughts, figuring out why I wasn't happy and why it feels fake..."

Alan sat at the edge of his seat, scooping up Shane's hands as he looked at him with more deep, but hopeful sadness, meeting his eyes again.

"And then I met you," he continued. "It happened all at the same time, and I just can't shake the feeling that this-- what we have-- is so, so real. It feels like life. It has soul and two beating hearts. And I want you to know that, against the chaos of noise rattling in my head, you've been the constant this whole month. My heart is leading me to you in search of answers, and I apologize that you had to find out this way-- but it's the truth."

Shane nodded, a little less numbly as he took a deep, shuddering breath, dropping his gaze to their hands again. He still had questions he couldn't ask, couldn't let out of his head. If she broke your heart twice, does that mean you weren't over her that whole time? What if you're wrong and this doesn't turn out to be real for you either? What if you realize it's not me that you want?

Still. His heart hurt. But at least it hurt a little less.

"Thanks," he said quietly at first, then sighed softly, sitting up a little. "I'm sorry I let it get to my head. It shouldn't have. I know every relationship is different, and the past ones are still allowed to mean something. Even if they weren't as good as they seemed." He swallowed, flexing his hands slightly to chase out a tremor. "I want what we have, because it feels so real to me too. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But I worry it's not what you want, and seeing that..."

It felt like I couldn't live up to that.

"I don't know," he finished quietly. "I guess it gave me the wrong idea of what it is you do want."

Alan took a deep breath. "First, you really don't need to apologize to me. You're completely valid in feeling hurt after seeing that... I know I would be too. I'm not casting blame or judgement. If I had to cast it to anyone, it'd be myself-- because I had planned for you to visit me, yet I didn't do the due diligence of completely purging my apartment. I'm sorry, Shane. I really am. It wasn't my intention to hurt you, but now that we're here, I don't want to leave your side. I want to comfort you and be here for you, answering questions and being by your side-- even if it takes all day, and even if it takes all week."

Alan paused, glancing towards the window as he pressed his lips together, thinking. He returned his attention back to Shane, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. Shane gave him the barest hint of a sad smile.

"I know I'm a romantic, and I know you know this. Yet just because I'm a romantic... it doesn't mean I have all the answers when it comes to love. Honestly... I barely have any answers. I can't even tell you what I want, because I mean it when I say that this is something I'm figuring out day by day," Alan said softly, setting his hands on his lap, looking down at it with a sad gaze. "I wish I did have answers. I wish it every day. I wish love were easy, and I wish it was obvious enough that I can tell you in plain words what I want. But I-- I really don't. I've spent the last several years figuring it out, and sometimes it feels like I'm going in circles. After I broke up with Emily, I spent the majority of last year meeting new people, going on dates, but not committing to many of them because I'm afraid of making the same mistakes. The heart can only take so many fractures until it becomes heartbroken, after all. I'm trying to be more careful, and I'm holding myself at a distance in doing so. I'm sorry if it feels like I'm giving you mixed messages, or that I'm unsure of what we have-- it's not my intention. I don't have the knowledge for the question you asked, so I'm only going by a feeling."

Shane's heart clenched in an entirely different way, and he felt sadness slipping onto his features as he looked back up at Alan.

"I'm so sorry other people haven't been so careful with your heart," he said softly. "I really, really want to be. It'd break mine to know I hurt you." He took another deep breath, forcing some of the tension in his chest to ease. "It's okay if you don't have the answers. I'm willing to help you figure this out, for your sake. The feeling matters, even if it isn't clear or defined."

It might kill him inside if he helped Alan find the answers and none of them had him in it. But Alan still deserved to find them after all this, and Shane wanted him to.

"Shane," Alan said with an appreciative but sad smile, rubbing his thumb against Shane's fingers. "I appreciate it. You're always so thoughtful and quick to help others. It's one of the many qualities I admire of you." He took a deep breath, meeting his eyes again. "But this isn't about me. This is about you. I told you all this so that you can have context behind what happened the last two years. I know you find that valuable, and I also find it necessary. I didn't mean to dump my own personal problems on you... but I really am perfectly happy with the path we're on now. I wouldn't be on it if I didn't think it would make me happy."

"It's okay," Shane whispered, giving him a trembling smile, but he wasn't sure he had decided everything was fine yet. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Are you sure?" Alan pressed. "It would tear me up inside if you're only saying that for my sake."

Shane faltered for a moment, his eyes flicking down to the table. It wasn't difficult to say he was okay. It was harder to say he was sure that he was okay when asked.

"It's okay if you're still hurt. You don't have to filter your thoughts. You can let me know what you're thinking. It's alright. I want to help and be here for you, especially because this is mostly my fault. I can't do that if you shut me out," Alan said softly.

Shane opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a bit until he sighed softly. "It's not your fault. I'm sure it's me," he said quietly. "Just... overthinking, I guess. Overthinking things that you didn't even communicate to me, not even unintentionally. I saw all that and I saw a happiness that I didn't think could come from my company. That's not you telling me that you don't feel happy with me. That's me thinking I'm not good enough to do it."

Alan kept his gaze on him the whole time, even when a few moments of silence passed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Shane murmured, dropping his gaze suddenly as he felt his face warm.

Alan suddenly got up on his chair, letting go of his hands and leaning forward to give him a hug. He wrapped his arms around his back, keeping one hand against his head as he brought Shane to his chest. Shane hugged him back and moved close, taking another shuddering breath against him.

"Don't apologize for being you," Alan said softly, giving him a gentle squeeze. "All I want is you. I don't want you to hold back, even if what you're saying is sad or heavy. You are worthy of many things, Shane-- and you are so worthy and deserving of love. I'm not looking for happiness. I'm looking to be. You don't have to worry about whether I'm happy with you or not-- you'll know, because you hold my heart, and you'll feel if it's sad. I promise you: you are more than good enough, and being yourself is all I'll ever ask of you."

Shane nodded slightly, staying close to him with his head against Alan's shoulder. "I do want you to be happy," he whispered. "I'll still be trying, even if that's not what you're asking for."

"Luckily for you, you don't have to try very hard, because I'm already plenty happy," Alan said softly in his ear. "It goes both ways, though. Are you happy?"

Shane nodded again. "Yeah," he said softly, squeezing him a little tighter. "I am happy."

"Are you sure?" Alan asked.

Shane smiled faintly, even though Alan couldn't really see. "Certain," he confirmed.

Alan slowly pulled away with a soft smile, but it still had a hint of sorrow behind it. Still crouching on one knee, he cupped Shane's face with his hand, his thumb grazing his cheek.

"I've told you this before," he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper as he gazed into his eyes. "Words without meaning is noise-- and I prefer music." Alan faintly smiled, dropping his hand to rest on Shane's knee. "I'm a musician, Shane. My life is a song, and I want you in it. You have a place in it, whether it's the melody, harmony, lyrics, or something else. The song isn't always happy, but it's not always sad either. What is constant, however, is the beat of the drum." Alan reached up and gently placed his hand over the left side of Shane's chest, meeting his eyes again. "A heartbeat. The most important part of the song, which you control." He dropped his hand, softly smiling again. "There's a give and take in everything. In songs, in dating-- there's an ebb and a flow. Even if it wasn't intentional... I've hurt you, and I'm committed to doing whatever it takes to undo the damage I've caused. I always want you to be honest with me, and I always want you to be comfortable expressing your needs and wants. And... I really try not to ask you for much. Oftentimes, I ask for nothing at all. But, if just this one time..."

Alan scooped up Shane's hands again, sandwiching them between his as he looked up with a fiercer determination.

"I ask you to tell me any doubts you have. I want to talk about them, because I don't want you to simmer with them until it eats you up inside. And more importantly, I ask you to tell me what you want. I want to know, because I don't want either of us to feel heartache in pretending to be someone we aren't," he finished.

Shane did his best to smile softly, meeting Alan's gaze sincerely.

"I'd tell you what I want, but it'd all start to sound familiar, like déjà vu," he said. "It's you. As yourself, and all of you. Those words I said the other day, the ones you said you couldn't get out of your head-- I meant them. I really did. I would hate for you to get heartache from pretending when it is exactly your heart that I want, free of hurt and with all the beauty inside of it."

Alan kept his gaze on Shane the whole time, unwavering, but turning softer and more tender with each passing word. Even when Shane finished, he didn't move or speak, still keeping his attention on him. A few seconds passed, but Shane was patient.

Alan opened his mouth, quietly taking in a shuddered deep breath before softly saying, "Can I kiss you?"

Shane felt breathless for a moment, the air trapped in his lungs. His thoughts were starting to pick up and spin, like they were caught in a wind, and it was all he could do to keep looking straight ahead at Alan, still meeting his gaze.

"Yes," he said softly.

Alan moved slowly, never once tearing his gaze away. He cupped his hand around Shane's cheek again, caressing it gently as he leaned closer, his other hand cupping his jaw, next to his chin. Alan was slow and deliberate, a little shy, but also tender and sincere as he leaned in, their noses touching. He hovered there for a moment before softly kissing his lips. It felt longer than it lasted, with Shane barely having the time to kiss him back with the same shy softness, but a gentle feeling of peace fell over him and seemed to stretch out the moments, quieting and settling all the spinning thoughts.

Finally, Alan pulled away, hovering by his face again, grazing his finger over his cheek before he fully pulled out with a soft smile, still keeping his tender gaze on Shane. Shane smiled back softly, happy to just look at him in the gentle silence.

Alan's smile widened with each passing second, but there was a hint of bashfulness, especially as he looked away, towards his hand resting on top of Shane's knee. He gently rubbed it was his thumb.

"Do you want to ask again what I want?" he said softly.

Shane nodded, just barely moving his head as he kept meeting his gaze gently. "What is it that you want?" he whispered.

"I want you. I want us," Alan said with the same gentleness as he placed his hand over Shane's, meeting his gaze again. "I want us to be together. I want us to be serious. I want to adore you. I want to call you mine."

If Shane had felt breathless earlier, it was nothing like the way his chest tightened now while his heart swelled, and he felt both compressed and overflowing at the same time. All he could do for a long moment was smile wider and wider while his expression stayed gentle, giving Alan a longing, adoring look.

"I want that too," he said softly. "Every part of that."

"Do you want to ask me what I want most of all?" Alan asked, still keeping his gaze on him.

Shane smiled wider again, without looking away. "What is it you want most of all?"

Alan smile grew, and he rubbed his thumb over Shane's hand. "Right now, more than anything, I want you to be my boyfriend." He paused. "If you'll have me."

Shane was unable to keep from grinning softly, or to tear his gaze away. "I'd love to be," he said. "I'd love for you to be mine too."

"Then it's official," Alan said as his smile also turned to a grin that reached his eyes. "Now we have each other's hearts."

Shane laughed softly, gently taking Alan's hand that was over his. "I'm excited for every moment that follows this one."

It felt almost like a dream, but Alan didn't want this to be a dream, because if it were, it meant he'd wake up from it.

Alan didn't think the events of today would culminate in this moment, but life had a funny way of surprising him sometimes. He wanted to cherish every minute of it.

He admitted to Shane that he didn't have specific plans today, but now that they were on more official terms now, he felt like he should have made the day more special.

"It is special," Shane said in response, with a soft laugh. "In the most precious of ways. This day means more to me than I can describe."

This only made Alan like him even more, which he didn't think was possible. Inspiration seemed to seep out of every pore of his soul, and it combined into an intangible mess that warmed his heart. Shane's heart, since they traded.

He felt the same way.

They ended up talking more, enjoying each other's presence. Alan was still aware that Shane must be battling painful emotions from seeing the book Emily made him, but he didn't dare go back to it-- at least, not yet. He didn't want to ruin the day when it miraculously ended up on this high note organically.

Time melted by, and it surprised Alan when he realized that it was already dark outside. It felt like they had just begun their day. Really, it felt like he only knew Shane for a short while, but he could see their futures stretching forward for years, and years, and years-- and suddenly all their time together felt precious, especially in the beginning moments.

A short silence passed between them as they sat close together on the sofa. Alan looked at his phone, noticing it was nearing 9pm, which was around the time Alistair would be coming back since he figured Shane would be gone by then. But he couldn't find it in his heart to bring up their departure.

All good things came to an end, didn't they?

At least, that was what he used to say.

"I know it's late..." Alan began, settling his gaze back on Shane, gauging his reaction. He knew they were both thinking it.

Shane smiled gently, meeting his gaze. "It's okay if you need to kick me out. I wouldn't want to bother you or Alistair."

"No, no," Alan said quickly with a reassured smile, setting his hand on top of Shane's. "It's not that. Quite the opposite, really." His smile slowly faded as he stared toward the window showing the night sky, thinking. "Today is special. And because it's special... I don't want it to end." Alan turned back to Shane, more serious this time since he didn't want to look like he was doubting or ambivalent. "I was thinking-- wondering, really-- if I could walk you back." He paused. "And not return for the night."

Shane scanned his face, his soft smile still lingering. "I'd like that," he said after a few moments, sincerely and quietly.



Alan finished packing his things, which fit all in a backpack. He thought about what his plans were tomorrow, and he was tempted to stop and consider what he'd have to shuffle around and re-prioritize if he was going to be late for anything tomorrow, but he bit back the urge, figuring he'd cross that bridge when he got there. Right now, what was important was being with Shane.

Just as they were ready to go, Alan stopped to remember that he should leave Alistair a note. He thought about texting him, but then thought better of it, instead going back to stand in front of the magnetized white board on the fridge. He picked up the marker, writing him a short message as Shane stood nearby, watching.

I'll be back in the morning. I'm off saving Gotham for the night.
-A

Alan hummed, crossing off the "A" and instead signing off as Batman.

There.

"You sign as 'A' normally, I take it," Shane said with an amused smile. "Although both of your names start that way."

"It makes for a fun whiteboard, since it looks like we're talking to ourselves," Alan said with a grin, setting the marker back on the fridge. "Alright. Now I'm ready to go."

They both finally left the apartment, with Shane pausing to reclaim his rose, and Alan hurried as he locked the door behind him and skipped down the steps. He strangely felt paranoid that they were going to run into Alistair while they left, and he didn't like that he felt this way.

He knew that Alistair would be accepting. He'd just be... surprised. And ask a lot of questions. And even though he really did want him to meet Shane, Alan would rather avoid that right now.

This sat heavy in his mind as they finally crossed the street, away from his apartment complex. Alan found himself moving instinctively, walking towards music hall like he always did at random night hours. He had to correct himself remembering that they were headed to Shane's apartment. They exchanged light chatter, but a short silence fell between them as Alan navigated them back.

"I was thinking, actually..." he began as he glanced at Shane, saying the words more slowly since he was also thinking out loud. "I wanted to talk about Alistair. I don't have any concrete thoughts yet, but I know I'd like to tell him about us sooner rather than later."

Shane nodded. "Of course. It will go fine, won't it?"

"It'll go fine, yes," Alan assured with a nod. "I think it'll take some time to process, since I'm sure it'll come as a surprise. He'll have a lot of questions. Or maybe... none at all. Alistair's a bit of a dark horse sometimes, but I don't anticipate any negativity. He'd never be unaccepting to me, or anyone really."

Shane nodded again, smiling. "That's good. It's a big conversation to have, and it makes sense that you've been holding off on it, but I'm sure it will go well then."

"I'll tell him before next Friday. I'd like him to be aware before the party." Alan paused as he focused on the path ahead of them, the implications seeping in now that he was thinking out loud. "My closest friends already know, but not of you. Yet. I'll let them know beforehand. And there's some others I'll be inviting I'd have to tell as well. I actually haven't gotten around to even telling them about the party plans, so I'll weave it in together. It shouldn't be too difficult to bring up."

Shane looked over his face, still smiling gently. "It somehow seems like you're overthinking while not worrying about it too much either," he teased.

"Does it?" Alan mused. "I suppose you're right. I'm not really worried-- I just know I have to do it. Hence, the overthinking."

Shane laughed quietly. "Your planning sounds good. I believe in you." He paused for a moment before adding, "It didn't really worry me ahead of time when I told people either. It's often treated as a big deal, and for a lot of people it is, but in a better world, I feel like it should be allowed to be more of a casual thing."

It took Alan a few moments to realize that Shane was referencing being gay in general, rather than simply dating a man. He slowly nodded.

"To be perfectly honest, I only want to tell people because I don't want to have to lie or pretend that you're not anything more than a friend to me," Alan said with a small smile as he kept his gaze on him. "That feels like a bigger deal to me."

Shane's expression turned softer, touched. "I'd tell you that you don't have to do it for my sake," he said with another quiet laugh. "But it seems you want for yourself."

"Oh, you can tell me-- beg me, even-- to not do this. But I'm still going to shout it from the rooftops, letting the world know that we're together," Alan said, his smile fading into a grin. "You can't change my mind, even if you wanted to."

Shane grinned back, excitement shining in his eyes. "Oh, I don't want to stop you. I'd like to tell people as well."

Alan watched Shane for a moment, taking in his smile and excitement, which warmed his heart. "Who's the first person you're going to tell?" he asked.

Shane hummed for a moment, considering. "Either my mom, or the rest of my friend group altogether," he said. "I tend not to tell only some of my friends about something or prioritizing news between them, and I want them all to know. They've heard a little, but now I want to tell them everything's gone so well and we're serious now."

"How do you think they'll take it?" Alan asked, although based on what Shane already told him, he was sure it was only good news.

Shane's smile widened. "If it's anything like the time I told them I was first dating you, they'll overwhelm me with excitement."

Alan let out a quiet laugh. "I love that your friends are so supportive. I hope I can meet them one day."

"That would be fun," Shane said, his smile softening again. "I know they'd like you. We're kind of all over the place in terms of location right now. But I will let you know if the opportunity arises."



They kept talking on the walk back, and the time passed quickly. Shane still led the way, but the route to his apartment was starting to seem natural to Alan from all the times they'd gone there before. When they got to the building, up the stairs, and through the door, Shane's apartment felt just as inviting and cozy as before, with the only difference being that the air smelled faintly of vanilla. A candle on the desk with a burnt wick explained that.

"Welcome back," Shane said with a smile, as he closed the door behind them and they took off their shoes.

"It's just as comfortable and cozy as I remembered," Alan said with a smile as he took a look around again. "My only critique? Could use more music."

"Ah, well..." With a grin, Shane moved over to the desk to push the stack of textbooks and the paperweight out of the way, revealing a Bluetooth speaker that he held up. "I do take constructive criticism. Any requests?"

Alan couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head as he set his backpack down by the table. "Always a good host. I may have a song or two later to play, but I'd love to listen to your playlists first."

Shane hummed thoughtfully, pressing and holding a button on his speaker to turn it on while he scrolled through his phone in search of something. "Alright," he said, looking back up with a smile as he selected a song and tucked his phone away. The music began to play, with rhythmic and bright piano chords starting off the song. "Host's choice it is." He then took the rose out of his bag and headed quickly to the kitchen to fill a vase with water and place it in.



Alan nodded along to the beat of the song, his fingers lightly tapping along the edge of the table as he listened along. "Nice choice. Any reason you picked it?" he asked, once Shane had gotten back and set the vase on the coffee table.

Shane laughed softly, walking over to the couch and waving him over. "It's from a hopeful playlist," he said, sitting down and sinking into the sofa in a way that looked very comfortable. "Songs that show the ways in which the world is still beautiful. And I'm feeling very hopeful right now."

Alan didn't move right away, watching Shane the whole time before he forced himself his feet to move, following him to the couch. He gently sat down close to him, setting his arm around Shane's shoulders to bring him in a little closer.

"Why are you feeling hopeful, if you don't mind me asking?" Alan asked with a smile, gazing into his green eyes that shined, even in the dim light.

Shane kept smiling back, settling against him and tipping his head back against the top of the couch, still meeting his gaze. "I can't even describe what you do to me," he said, his voice a gentle whisper. "Or at least, I can't do it justice in words. You bring me a happiness that I can't fathom, let alone have conceived of not long ago. Now that I've felt it, I feel a little braver. A little more ready to see the next day. You are that hope, Alan."

Alan smiled softly, getting lost in his eyes as the words he said floated in the air around them, like music notes on a page. He lightly grazed the back of his knuckles along Shane's cheek, not daring to tear his gaze away. "It's not me, Shane. It's you. It's always been you, inside you, waiting to be seen." He paused, suddenly feeling like everything around them was melting away, and it was just the two of them living and breathing in this moment, together. "But now that I've seen you, I don't think I can look away," he finished softly, still searching his eyes as if it were a window into the universe.

"I don't think I can either," Shane admitted softly, smiling even more gently. "But luckily, I don't want to, either."

If Alan was lost in his eyes, then he must have been lost in time, too. He continued to gently cup Shane's face, still keeping his gaze on him while Shane did the same. Time melted by, and the song swallowed them in this timeless void-- that was, until it came to an end.

Alan smiled, pulling away just a little so he could lean his head against the top of the sofa, head angled up to stare at a nonspecific part of the ceiling. "You have good tastes in music," he commented.

Shane let out a soft laugh, letting his head fall back further to do the same. "Coming from you, that seems like a good thing. I trust your music opinions."

"Please," Alan said with an amused huff. "I'm only a violinist, not an expert in all things music. But I can appreciate a good song, regardless of the genre. You're no different."

Shane chuckled, then paused for a moment. "Only feels like a strange way to define yourself," he said. "When it comes to music, but also everything else about you. You're not only a violinist, you're someone who feels music so deeply that you seem to live within it."

Alan's smile grew in a playful manner, his heart suddenly welling with inspiration. He had a certain message in mind to tell Shane, but if they were talking about how he lived in music...

"Do you mind if I put on a song?" he asked out of the blue.

Shane grinned, reaching for his phone and pulling up his Spotify on the screen. "Take it away," he said, passing it to Alan.

Alan knew right away what to search for, but he stood up and walked to the other side of the room, typing as he did so before he turned back and leaned against the wall. He could feel Shane's confusion and intrigue from the other side of the room, but he paid no mind to it, pulling up the instrumental version of the song he had in mind before he set the volume up to nearly the maximum setting and set the phone down on his desk.



He knew the beginning didn't have an instrumental part, so he was quick to dive into the song, singing the first few lines of the song as focused his attention on to Shane.

"I used to hear a simple song. That was, until you came along. Now in its place is something new. I hear it when I look at you."

Right on time, the piano part started, and Alan smiled wide as he approached Shane again, hands out as an invitation to join him. Shane seemed to realize what was going on, and a delighted grin spread over his face, eyes shining as he hurried up to Alan and took his hands.

Smiling with joy, Alan led him a few steps back as the piano part played, still holding his hands. He stopped by the table, taking a moment to meet his eyes and adore his smile. As the strings started to come in, Alan reached over to the vase on the coffee table where the rose was placed, pulling it out and wrapping Shane's hands around it so he could hold it.

"With simple songs I wanted more," he sang, one hand around Shane's holding the rose, and the other cupping his face, gingerly rubbing his cheek as he gazed into his eyes again. "Perfection is so quick to bore. You are more beautiful, by far. Our flaws are who we really are."

The piano part came in again, and there was a longer instrumental part, and Alan stayed here for a little while, still holding his hand and caressing his face, letting the music wrap them up in a song. Shane beamed, an adoring look brightening his face as he leaned into the touch.

When the song started to swing and sway with volume and emotion, Alan grinned and let go, walking backwards for a few steps before he turned around to step on the wooden coffee table, being careful to not disturb the potted orchid. At an impulsive last second, Alan decided to hop from the table to the couch since it was taller, then quickly turned back around right in time for his next lyrical cue.

With a shine in his eyes, Alan outstretched his arms and sang with his whole heart and stomach, not caring if the neighbors heard. He wanted to sing with passion and love. He didn't want to hold back, and he didn't want to hold himself from a distance. He wanted Shane to be touched by music like he was everyday.

"I used to hear a simple song. That was, until you came along. You took my broken melody. And now I hear a symphony."

Alan stretched on some ooh's and ahh's, singing higher notes as he slowly made his way back on the floor, making his way back to Shane. The strings culminated to climatic end, and when there was silence, Alan was already standing in front of him, hands around his again. He took a deep breath.

"And now I hear... a symphony," he finished singing with a smile, the piano notes closing the song with his final words.

Shane kept beaming, grinning with a shy touch as he clasped Alan's hands tighter, while the last note faded out gently. He kept his gaze locked with Alan's.

"That," he said, softly but excitedly, "is feeling music deeply." His eyes were still shining. "I felt it too."

Alan grinned, standing still. "You told me that I seem to live within music. And I told you that my life is a song, and I want you in it. But you already are, because you are my symphony."

He saw Shane's shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath, his dimples showing more. "I said I was glad to be your muse before. But this means even more to me."

"You're so much more than just my muse, Shane. I hope you know that," Alan said, his smile softening, never once tearing away his gaze or his hands around Shane.

Shane's smile softened as well, turning warmer. "I do," he whispered, taking another deep breath. "I do."

"And we're only just beginning. I'll sing you a thousand songs every day if it means I get to see you smile. And I'd do it again, each time being more worth it than the last," Alan continued on, still smiling as got absorbed into his eyes again, feeling lost in them, like an unexplored land waiting to be discovered.

"I'd say it seems impossible to top that song," Shane said, grinning gently again. "But I believe you could. And I would smile, every time."

"Then I'd make it my life's mission to make you a collection of songs, each one getting you to smile more than the last," Alan went on. "And even then, I wouldn't rest, for I'd have fulfilled my life's purpose. I would only start again, gifting you more songs with ease, because you feed me with infinite inspiration, and I can't stop."

Shane laughed. "I would tell you that you could rest from that, but it seems like you wouldn't want to."

Alan shook his head, gaze unwavering. "Not want. Can't. You've put a spell on me, Shane, and you've consumed every corner of my mind. Of course I won't be able to stop thinking about you with every song I play."

Shane hummed thoughtfully. "Alright," he said, still grinning. "You get to play to your heart's content. And in exchange-- sometime-- I get to write a poem about you."

Alan found himself grinning, letting out a soft laugh. "In that case, I'll play to my heart's content all the time. I'd be thrilled to read anything you write."

Shane laughed again bashfully. "If it goes well the first time, I make the tentative promise that I'll write to my heart's content."

"When it goes well," Alan corrected, still grinning. "I mean it when I say that I'd be thrilled to write anything you write. You can write the cheesiest roses are red, violets are blue poems, and I'd still love them, because it came from you."

"I can make the certain promise that no matter what, at least you'll be seeing more effort than that," Shane said with a stifled laugh.

"Well, then," Alan said, smile never having left his face. "I promise to hold you to it."



Time flew by. Alan spent the new few hours enjoying Shane's company, listening to more music and holding on his every word. When he glanced at his phone, he noticed that it was nearing midnight. Right on cue, Shane seemed to stifle a yawn.

"I know it's getting late. Are you tired?" Alan asked.

"Maybe," Shane admitted, running a hand through his hair as he laughed softly. "Against my best wishes. I don't want this day to end either."

"Don't worry. We'll have plenty of days ahead of us, each better than the last. We should start getting ready for bed," Alan suggested with a small smile.

"We probably should," Shane agreed. "I don't have anything specific to do in the morning, but if you do, I don't want to keep you up too much."

Alan thought back to his schedule. Weekend mornings were never concrete plans, but he was disciplined enough to stick through whatever loose plans he did add on his calendar, which usually involved errands, practicing, or studying-- and sometimes all three.

But he'd make an exception. For Shane.

"I don't have too many plans in the morning, either-- so you're not keeping me up. I'm more worried that I'm keeping you up," he said with a faint laugh.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Shane said, laughing as well. "I'm nearly always up at this time-- every teacher sets their due dates at this hour, and I see a lot of those. We can still rest, though."

Alan nodded, offering a small smile. "Alright."

He hesitated, glancing from the couch they sat down to the hallway where Shane's room was, which he hadn't even seen yet. It occurred to him that he wasn't really sure where he should sleep.

"You can sleep in my room," Shane offered with a smile, seemingly reading his thoughts. "Of course, if you'd prefer the couch, it does fold out and I have plenty of blankets. I'm happy with whatever you'd prefer."

Alan smiled appreciatively. "Your room is fine... if you don't mind. Thank you, though."

"Of course," Shane said gently, still smiling. "I'll start getting dressed-- you're welcome to use the bathroom over there for anything."

They both started to move, with Alan getting his stuff out of his bag and taking it to the bathroom. He went through his usual nightly routine, although it was strange to be doing this outside of his apartment. Strange, and new, yet still a little familiar.

After finishing, Alan stopped by Shane's open bedroom door, arm stretched along the doorframe as he eyed Shane adjusting and fluffing the pillows on his bed. He was dressed in his pajamas, wearing a fleecy gray shirt with a logo of a mountain by the shoulder and, unsurprisingly, flannel pajama pants. Shane looked up at him as he set a pillow back in place, smiling gently again.

"Hey, you," Alan greeted with a smile.

Shane smiled brighter. "You look cozy," he remarked playfully.

"You're one to talk," Alan replied with a faint laugh.

He averted his gaze from Shane, but only because he was seeing his room for the first time. Soft, dim string lights hung by the top of the brick walls of the room, making the room feel even warmer and cozier. All of Shane's furniture was wooden, which Alan was detecting to be a common theme. His twin-sized bed was against the wall and along the window, neatly made with a fluffy comforter. A nightstand sat next to the bed, holding a lamp. Across the room sat a full bookshelf and dresser with another potted orchid on top. On that same wall hung an old world parchment map, which was very Shane.

Shane followed his gaze around the room. "Is everything to your liking? I can get an extra pillow or blanket, adjust the temperature, anything like that," he offered.

"No, no, everything is perfect. Thank you, though," Alan said as he then glanced back, turning off the light in the hallway. He finally invited himself in, drawing closer. He grazed his fingertips along the comforter of the bed as he closed the distance between them, smiling softly. "I just need you."

Shane sat down on the bed, returning the smile. "Good. I'm glad you're here, Alan."

"I am, too," Alan said softly, sitting next to him without tearing his gaze away.

After a few moments of soft smiling and eye contact, Shane did look away, but it was to let his head fall and rest on Alan's shoulder, taking soft deep breaths. It seemed to be the only sound in the stillness. Alan wrapped his arm around him, bringing him in a little closer and gently rubbing his thumb on his shoulder.

"We won't be seeing the dawn tonight," Shane breathed, with the softest of laughs. "But I have you. I think I'm seeing it anyway."

"I'll show you the dawn someday, Shane. If not today, then soon. I promise," Alan said, still talking with a quiet, soft voice. His hand slid from Shane's shoulder to the nape of his neck, rubbing his fingers along his back.

Shane closed his eyes, a peaceful expression falling over his face as he nestled closer to Alan, leaning into the embrace. "I believe you," he whispered. "And I look forward to it."

Alan sat comfortably in the silence that followed. He eventually leaned his head against Shane's, feeling him take in every breath. Alan felt himself matching the pace of his breathing.

After a long, gentle minute, Shane gradually pulled away with another soft deep breath and started slowly leaning back. Alan followed his movements as Shane shifted to lie down on his side so he would be facing Alan. His expression was soft and tender as he rested his head on the pillow, not tearing his gaze from Alan.

Alan smiled back, getting absorbed in the tender moment. He shifted his head on the pillow to get more comfortable, hesitated, then decided he'd sacrifice seeing over his comfort. He propped his elbow on the bed and sat up, taking off his glasses and gently reaching over Shane to set it on the nightstand. He snuggled back on the pillow, bringing his face closer and squinting a little to more clearly see Shane, even in the dim light. Still smiling, he brought his hand to Shane's cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

Shane's eyes lit up softly as he nestled closer, tucking one arm under his head as he continued to watch Alan adoringly. Shyly and hesitantly, he gently wrapped his other arm around Alan's back. Alan inched closer, faces drawing near until they were an inch apart. He could feel Shane's warm breath on his skin. He was warm in general, brightly smiling. It was like he was a sun, or a star, or another fiery unknown planet.

Alan stayed still, matching his soft gaze, with only his hand drifting down Shane's body. Like a pencil outlining its first draft of a drawing, Alan slowly grazed his fingertips along Shane's neck, shoulder, sleeve, and side, resting his hand on his hip, gently rubbing his thumb along the edge of his shirt. Shane seemed to still slightly, motionless except for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Alan let this moment linger a little longer, but then he softly, quietly, slipped his hand under Shane's shirt, his fingers absorbing the warmth that radiated from his skin. He slowly grazed his fingertips along his back, Shane still unmoving. With a deep breath, Alan closed his eyes and burrowed his free hand under Shane to pull him in even closer, inviting him to rest against his chest.

Shane settled into this new embrace comfortably, letting out a deep breath that was almost like a pleasant sigh as he removed his head from his arm and snuggled against him, resting his head on Alan's collarbone and wrapping his other arm around Alan as well. Alan could now feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against his.

They stayed like this for quite some time, Alan holding him tightly, only his hand moving from from his back up to his head where he could lightly tousle Shane's hair. He didn't know how long he stayed like this, the two of them wrapped in each other's embraces, their legs tangled with one another. Alan felt at peace enough to breathe quietly and deeply, and over time, he noticed Shane's gentle breathing becoming deeper, and his embrace weakened. It seemed that he was falling asleep.

It was a nice feeling to have someone fall asleep in his arms. Alan didn't let go of him, gazing off to the other side of the room, which was still dimly lit up by the string lights. He continued to idly play with his hair, wondering if sleep would come as easily as it did for Shane.

Of course it didn't. It hardly ever did when his heart held many unanswered questions and thoughts.

What a day. It started off as an innocent scavenger hunt as a playful way to get Shane to visit his apartment, and then the disaster of Emily's gift being found happened, and it somehow ended up on the high note of their relationship being official.

Alan now had a boyfriend. Officially.

This was a milestone, but strangely, things didn't really feel that different. Then again, these milestones didn't feel much different when he was with women. But shouldn't it feel different if he wasn't attracted to women?

Alan thought back to when he kissed Shane. He had told himself since they dated that he would hold back, only initiating more intimate moves if it felt right, or if Shane initiated first. But the kiss today felt right. He wouldn't have asked to kiss him if it didn't.

But still, it wasn't what he expected.

A slew of other thoughts made a cacophony in his head. There was the thought of feeling like he was moving too fast again and should be more careful. And of course, there was also the thought of wondering how to tell Alistair, his mother, and the rest of the family, not completely sure how they'd take it.

These thoughts pressed against his head, but he didn't care to sink into it. Not when he was happily hugging Shane, asleep in his arms.

Not everything needed answers. Maybe some questions held no answers at all, but that was okay.

This was enough, and he was happy.

Midterms!

... were not that great, actually. But! Mel was more excited about the upcoming fashion showing as part of her class project this year. She loved showing and always went all in. But that also meant that she needed a model.

"Niko!" she chirped excitedly as she entered their apartment, box in hand. Mel grinned, the door closing behind her just as she noticed him on the couch, reading some boring textbook. She moved towards him, setting the box on the coffee table. "It's model time! You said you're down to model a few things for me again, right? I promise you won't go viral again. It's not my fault you've got high cheekbones and a sharp jawline."

Niko let out an uncertain hum, looking up from his textbook in surprise. "I said that? Oh, I mean, I said that. Sure, I can model for you."

"Great!" Mel said excitedly, already going through her box and pulling out articles of clothing and accessories she had put together so far the last month. "So the first draft is due tomorrow, and I was thinking of doing something a little out there, but really, what's not out there for fashion? You have to make a splash! I was thinking we can try out a couple of these new accessories too..."

Niko set the book to the side and stood up, joining her. "Accessories?" he echoed.

"Yeah! You know, like..." She gave him a look up and down to see if he was wearing any examples, and a golden locket he wore around his neck caught her eye. "Oooh!" she exclaimed as she drew closer, inviting herself to scoop the locket in her hand so she could more closely examine this. "This is pretty. So vintage. Since when did you wear lockets? Is it a Russian trend that I don't know about?"

Niko let out a strange, awkward laugh. "It's, uh-- no, it's not a Russian fashion trend. It was given to me about a week ago, but this is my first time wearing it. Is it weird?"

"Nikolai!" Mel scolded, still holding the locket in her palm. "Why didn't you tell me you went necklace shopping?! We could have gone together!"

"Mel, I wouldn't dream of doing that and not telling you," Niko said, stifling another laugh. "I would know you'd tear into me. Two things though-- there wasn't any shopping, since it was a gift, and I didn't tell you I got it right away because right when I got back, you decided we were going to hit a Korean karaoke bar and I forgot all about it."

Mel giggled, letting go of the locket. "Okay, but the watermelon soju cocktail was sooooo good! And they didn't ID. And you sang the Russian anthem so bad while you were drunk. Annnnd I had to carry your butt home."

"It was bad?" Niko asked, pretending to sound stung. "I thought I sounded great to my ears."

"Oh my god. I think we're on some NSA watch list because of that. If I get hacked by Putin, I'm blaming you," she huffed.

Niko shook his head sadly. "Wow, this is like the Red Scare all over again."

"You're such a nerd," Mel said with a giggle. "Okay, but all is forgiven. And the locket isn't weird, by the way. I think it's nice. Where'd you get it?"

"It's kind of a weird story," Niko said, pinching the pendant between his fingers and holding it up. "Remember that I mentioned my favorite professor was leaving Ivy?"

"Oh my gosh, he gave you a locket? Awwwww, that's so cute! Is his face on there? Oh, I wanna see!" Mel said excitedly.

"Well-- yes, he gave it to me, but why would he have a picture of himself in his own locket-- anyway," Niko said hurriedly, "no."

"I don't know, he seems kind of weird anyway," Mel said with a shrug, then exaggerated a surprised gasp. "No. Don't tell me. He gave you the locket with your face in it?"

Niko frowned in confusion. "Actually, the real answer is more weird, but... well, I thought it would be more weird than what you just said. I could be wrong now."

Mel hummed. "Something weirder than that?" she murmured, then paused. "Don't tell me he's creepy and put a picture of your mom in there."

"No!" Niko exclaimed. "Mel, what? Okay, I'll just tell you, this is getting worse." He unclasped the chain and took the locket off so he could hold it up better. "It's-- actually, you just better see it for yourself, I can't explain. You should probably squint, though."

"I swear to god, if it's a picture of Putin, I'm going to scream," Mel said with a stifled giggle.

"Weirder," Niko said, shaking his head with amusement. "Are you squinting?"

"Niko, just open the locket already," she huffed impatiently.

Niko searched her face for a moment before he shrugged. "Alright. I'm going to close my eyes."

Mel didn't know why Niko seemed so cautious, but he really did close his eyes. At the last second, she squinted just moments before he opened the locket, deciding to play it safe since this felt strangely ominous.

The next second went by blindingly fast.

"What the--" she yelped as a ray of light shot out of the locket.

Her vision was filled with white, and Mel panickedly took a few steps back, running into the couch as she fiercely closed her eyes. Whatever she was looking at still shined a light behind her eyelids.

"I did try to warn you!" Niko exclaimed, quickly shutting the locket, and the light went out.

"Wha-- wha?!" Mel sputtered out as she rapidly blinked, only seeing dazzling green spots dancing in her vision. She rubbed her eyes, but it wouldn't go away. "What was that?!"

"That was my exact question," Niko said, now holding the necklace by the chain, a little like he wanted to get it away from him. "And still I have no answers."

"What? So you mean to tell me..." Mel groaned in frustration as she rapidly blinked again and then rubbed her eyes with both her hands, still struggling to see properly. "You mean to tell me that your necklace is an intense flashlight?!"

Niko paused. "Well..." he said uncertainly. "It could be. But apparently, it doesn't do that for everyone."

Mel squinted at him, her vision slowly returning back to normal. He held the necklace so casually, but it was like he was completely ignoring the fact that all of this should be impossible.

But yet. It wasn't.

Interesting!

"What do you mean? Not everyone gets blinded by it, you mean?" she asked.

"No, it doesn't activate for everyone," Niko said, wrapping the chain around his finger distractedly. "Do you know Chloe?"

"That snobby girl who totally disses your art on the side? Yeah, what about her?" Mel asked suspiciously.

Niko frowned. "...She does what?"

Mel dismissively waved her hand in front of her. "We can talk about that later. What's she got to do this that?"

Niko paused, looking a little hurt and like he didn't want to let that go, but he moved on. "She was helping out with Professor Costa the day he was moving out, when I got this. He had her open it as well, but it didn't shine for her. Just when I did it. When Professor Costa opened it, it didn't work either, but he said it once had."

"You really got this from your weird professor. Huh!" Mel pondered this, wondering what this all meant. "So, like, how does it work?"

"I don't know. I tried to ask why he was giving it to me, but he was kind of vague and mysterious. Moved on quickly." Niko paused. "I promise he's not really that weird, okay?"

"Niko, he gave you a funky locket flashlight and was all ominous about it. That's kinda weird," she said with a giggle, now very intrigued. "Hey, can I try opening it? Maybe we should get sunglasses first, though."

Niko held it out, already squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll just do this for now," he said, placing a hand over his eyes as well.

Mel, meanwhile, quickly rummaged through her box, remembering that there were a few chunky sunglasses she threw in here. She pulled out not one, not two, but three sunglasses, stacking them on her face and giggling since Niko couldn't even see how silly she looked right now. Ah well.

She scooped the necklace dangling from his hands, hardly able to see since everything was tinted so dark with the three shades she was wearing. Squinting for extra measure, she carefully pried it open, and another bright shimmering ray of light escapes from the locket.

But now that it didn't blind her, she was able to see it. And it was beautiful.

What she thought was an intense ray of white light was actually a dazzling array of colors, shimmering in her hand. It was like she held a rainbow in her hands, but it glowed and gleamed.

"Wow," she breathed out, totally enthralled by the light as her eyes sparkled. She was grinning ear-to-ear, the sunglasses at risk of falling off. "Niko. It's so beautiful."

Niko slowly peeked from behind his fingers, watching the light. It was still blindly bright for him, from the way he squinted, but his jaw dropped slightly. "Wow," he whispered. "It really is."

Mel shut the locket, giving back his eyesight before he could stare at it for too long. She took off the sunglasses, waiting for him to meet her eyes, her grin growing brighter.

"Niko. You know what this means, right?" she said excitedly.

Niko shook his head uncertainly. "No?"

"We're going on an adventure to see your weird professor!" she said enthusiastically.