Page 158 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

That was the plan, one perfect, disastrous date, and then a clean break before I remembered what Damon looked like when he was trying not to smile.

But two days later, he appeared outside my building, holding two iced coffees like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I wasn’t meeting you,” I said, taking the coffee anyway.

He grinned, slow and triumphant. “Exactly.”

After that, things blurred. There wasn’t a decision. There were just small, stupid moments that turned into habits. Damon waiting for me after class, me pretending it annoyed me, both of us pretending not to check the time when the other one didn’t show.

We weren’t dating. Dating was what normal people did. People who didn’t have brothers who could ruin everything with one glance. We were just filling time before the semester swallowed us whole. That was all.

Except, sometimes, it didn’t feel like time at all. It felt like standing still in a pocket of light, the rest of the world politely turning away.

One evening, we ended up on a sofa in his team house, half watching a preseason game, half doing whatever it was we did when pretending we weren’t together. Damon sprawled across most of the space, socked feet in my lap. He kept making commentary like a coach with a death wish.

“See that pass? That’s what happens when you let biology majors near strategy.”

“I’m a biology major,” I said.

“Exactly my point.”

I jabbed his calf, hard enough to make him flinch. He laughed without moving his eyes from the screen.

“Keep touching me like that,” he said, “and people will start thinking we like each other.”

I said, “I’d rather die,” but I didn’t push his feet away.

The next morning, sunlight sliced through his blinds and found us tangled together like we hadn’t moved all night. I woke first. The room smelled like coffee grounds and Damon’s shampoo. His roommate had been nice enough to surrender the room to Damon.

I told myself I should leave before he woke up. That’s how it should have worked. I’d go, he’d text later, we’d start the loop again. But there was a mug on the nightstand already, mine, not his, with steam curling from the rim.

A sticky note clung to the handle.

Drink this before you overthink. D.

I hated how well he knew me.

I drank the coffee anyway.

Later that week, we found ourselves in the campus gardens after dark. He’d stolen one of the forbidden pathway lanterns from the fence and carried it around like we were in some sort of fairy-tale trespass.

“Walk this way,” he said and hunched, dragging one leg after him like Igor from Young Frankenstein, and laughter burst from me so quickly that I scared the owls.

“This is definitely illegal,” I said.

“So’s everything that feels good,” he answered.

He crouched to set the lantern down between us. The light painted him gold again, the same shade as that night outside the restaurant. He looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to memorize something.

I told myself to look away. I didn’t.

Sometimes we fought about nothing. I accused him of being reckless. He accused me of being afraid. We both won, which meant we both lost.

After every argument, he’d appear with something strange: a tiny framed photo of a dead moth, a pressed leaf sealed in glass, a fortune cookie note that read better luck next time. He claimed he found them all by accident. I knew he was lying, but I liked the lie. It was almost tender.

The night it rained, we stayed in at my place after Silas announced he’d stay out. Damon cooked, if you could call it that, something with noodles and too much garlic. Kissing was impossible afterward. The window fogged, thunder rolling somewhere far off, and he wore an apron that made me feel things no apron ever should evoke.