“Thank you,” I say instead.
“For what?”
“For not pushing. For being... you.”
He kisses my forehead. “Anytime. Though I do have one demand.”
“What’s that?”
“This bench? This spot? It’s yours now. No more avoiding it. No more letting him have it.”
“That’s a big ask.”
“I’ll help.” He stands suddenly, pulling me up. “Starting with new memories. Better memories. Memories that don’t involve discrete math or complications or secrets.”
“Like what?”
He spins me around, then dips me dramatically. “Like dancing badly to no music.”
“Ethan!”
“Like seeing how many computer science puns I can make before you hit me.”
“None. The answer is none.”
“Like...” He pulls me close, voice dropping. “Making out on this bench until you forget anyone else ever existed.”
My breath catches. “That’s a lot of making out.”
“I’m very dedicated to memory replacement therapy.”
And then he’s kissing me, right there in the spot where my heart broke over and over. But this kiss doesn’t taste like secrets or shame or 2 AM desperation. It tastes like sunshine and possibility and someone who wants me in daylight.
When we break apart, I’m dizzy.
“Better?” he asks.
“Getting there.”
“Just getting there?” He kisses me again. “How about now?”
“Marginally improved.”
“Marginally?” He tickles my sides. “Take it back.”
“Never!” I’m laughing, trying to escape, but not really.
“Admit it, this is now your favorite spot on campus.”
“It’s adequate!”
We end up on the bench, me on his lap, both breathless from laughing. The sun is warm, the valley is beautiful, and for the first time in a long time, this place doesn’t hurt.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“For what?”
“For making this just a place again. Not a monument to my bad decisions.”
