Both. Definitely both.
It just continues a trend that I can’t quite get a handle on. I’m supposed to be good at reading people. It’s literally what I do for a living: work out who’s worth betting on and who’s full of shit, what people are hiding behind their smiles.
But Archie’s been running circles around me since day one, and I’m only just starting to see the track marks.
There have been all these snippets that don’t quite add up. The books he reads. The way he keeps solving every mystery we watch together.
And on top of that is the interaction with the dad at the party yesterday.
I’d only witnessed the end of it, but something weird had happened while I was changing.
The guy, whom I’d observed earlier as the living embodiment of “do you know who I am?” was acting almost…deferential to Archie. Which doesn’t make any sense.
I carry my bowl to the sofa.
Archie shifts his cast to make room for me, and I sit closer than I need to. I don’t examine why.
The first bite tastes like a memory I didn’t know I was missing.
“This is really good,” I say.
“I know.” He’s watching me eat with an expression I can’t quite read. “I figured after a long day of meetings you’d need something good to come home to.”
Something good to come home to.
Fuck.
Home.
I don’t want to think about how this sterile apartment has actually started to feel more like home than my apartment in San Francisco.
Because Archie is here.
I’m sure it’s just the novelty of sharing a space with someone. Even if it is someone who spends a lot of their time plotting the optimum way to embarrass me.
And as soon as that thought enters my head, I squint down at the bowl on my lap with different eyes.
“This isn’t laced with laxatives, is it?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that! What a good idea.”
I snap my head up to stare suspiciously at him.
“Oh, relax. We’ve got a party tomorrow, and I’ve got a new costume for you that definitely doesn’t lend itself to frequent restroom visits. I haven’t done anything to the food, I promise.”
I believe him. It probably seems stupid given the prank war we’re currently engaging in, but I know Archie well enough now to tell when Archie is playing versus when he’s being genuine.
I shovel in another mouthful of food.
The dumplings are exactly right. They’re dense and pillowy, not the gluey kind you get at diners that are trying too hard. The broth is the kind of rich that only comes from someone simmering bones for hours.
“So, what’s the new costume you have planned for me?” I ask.
Archie gives me a wicked smile. “How do you feel about Lycra?”
“Strongly opposed.”
“That’s a shame. Because you’re going to be a superhero sidekick tomorrow.”
