He grins, and it’s the most honest expression I’ve ever seen on his face.
“We can hang out,” he says. “But nothing else.”
“Like friends,” I say.
He tilts his head, considering. “Better than friends.”
“Best friends with a secret,” I say.
His hand squeezes mine, just a little, and then he lets go.
We sit like that for a while, the space between us still humming with whatever it is we just built.
I watch the gulls dive for scraps, the boats crawl across the bay, the city crawl toward noon. At some point, my leg goes numb, but I don’t move.
After a while, he says, “You hungry?”
I shrug. “I could eat.”
He stands, stretches, shakes out his hands like he’s about to face off against a heavyweight. “Piroshki on 3rd?”
I laugh, because of course he remembers. The first time he dragged me there, I nearly died from the butter, but kept going back. It’s the only place in the city I actually crave.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We walk side by side up the hill, careful not to touch, but every so often our shoulders brush, just for a second, like the universe is reminding us it’s still allowed.
The streets are busier now, the coffee shops overflowing, the city’s population of lost souls all jostling for sidewalk space. Nobody notices us. Nobody cares.
For the first time in months, I feel normal, or at least like I could be, if I tried hard enough.
We get our food to go, and eat it sitting on a curb, watching the foot traffic.
He tells me about growing up in Oakland, the fights he got into, the teachers who hated him, the way his mom used to sneak him candy bars in his backpack before big games.
I tell him about the time my dad shaved off one eyebrow as a “life lesson,” and we both agree that’s grounds for calling CPS.
He laughs. I laugh. We finish our food, and neither of us wants to leave.
“Tomorrow?” he says, voice low.
“Tomorrow,” I promise.
We walk back to the waterfront, side by side, close enough that our fingers almost brush with every step. Almost. Neither of us reaches.
The pact is barely an hour old and already it's the hardest thing I've ever done.
At the split where he goes north and I go south, we stop. He looks at me, and I can see his hand twitch at his side, the same way mine does.
"Tomorrow?" he says.
"Tomorrow," I promise.
He walks away. I watch until he turns the corner.
Then I walk the last mile alone, holding the book against my chest like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
When I get home, my phone is buzzing. I ignore it.
