Softly, he says, “Oh my—” and swears. His eyes track back up to mine, and he says, “You’re afan.”
I go cold and pale.
“Aproperfan.”
Terrified, I…glance…down.
At Kyran’s face. On my breasts. For thesecondtime in as many horrible days.
He covers his mouth with his hand. Eyes wide, he whispers, “You’re obsessed with me.”
“No—” I fight for a breath. “I’m not— I—”
He takes an aggressive step forward, into my house, and I let him, because I am retreating while my brain shuts itself down.Delighted, he says, “Where’s a marker? I’ll sign it for you.”
Oh mercy. Oh goodness. Ohswearing word.
I squeeze my eyes shut as waves of shame and embarrassment smack me in the face like a raw tortilla.
He stops, eyes wide with boyish bliss, as he…locates the scribble already on my shirt. Because I…already bought the signed version.
He twists his hand, pressing his knuckles to his lips.
“Please…” I croak.
“Oh my—” Swear. “You’reproperobsessedwith me.”
I…am. Unfortunately.
Wrapping my arms around myself in a futile effort to cover more of this travesty, I cut into Kyran’s monologue of determiningwhichmerch drop this was in and how long I’ve beenobsessed with himto ask, “Whatare you doing here?”
“Hm?” He remembers himself and lifts a tote bag. “I’ve been printing off couple’s quizzes throughout the day. Compatibility tests. Who knows who best. Favorites lists. Those sorts of things. And I also brought some snacks. PB&J. Turkey swiss. Egg salad.” He peeks into his bag, perusing the selection before his attention catches on my dining room table and the mess covering it. The cardboard town steals his every thought, then holds him captive.
I find myself rather on the end of defeated.
“Is that…” he begins, trailing further into my home uninvited.
It’s my own fault. I know it’s my own fault.
Kyran ishonest. To a fault. To the point of being considered crass or rude. He says what he thinks, believes, or intends, no holds barred.
And earlier today, he saidbulldozeandboundariesin the same breath. He saidstop me, and I didn’t. And now? Now I face the consequences.
Unbidden, Kyran’s expression melts into a smile so warm and full I find myself struck to the core by it. “Wow,” he says, gentleness incarnate. He looks at me—turns the full glory of his smile on me even though I have zero protection against it. “You made all this?”
My lips part, but I can’t speak. I can’t say,yeah, I made all that, I had to make all that to strong-arm my stupid brain into doing stupid tasks, even basic self care cards are strewn in that city, because, if left to my own devices, I don’t shower or shave or anything, and it’s worse now without Maelin. So much worse. And I think I’m falling apart. And I’m barely an adult. And…
“It’s incredible.”
It isn’t.
“Is that a mechanic shop?” A thread of never-before-heard excitement flirts with his voice.
Weakly, I say, “Car tasks.” Maintenance. Oil changes. Those sorts of very important things, which I won’t do, unless I get points that I turn into colorful printed money and can use on childish rewards.
“I’m obsessed with this,” Kyran states, opting for humoron top ofthe smile when he looks at me. The combination turns him practically smug. “Just like you’re obsessed with me.”
My heart was not briefed on how to handle this level of cool confidence.
