We stop outside a tiny storefront crammed between a bookstore and a vintage clothing shop. The windows are cluttered with old cameras, records, strange little trinkets, and handwritten signs advertising tarot readings in the back.
Korie slows immediately.
“Oh no,” I mutter.
Their eyes brighten. “Holden.”
“No.”
“There could be cursed objects in there!”
“What is with you and cursed objects?” Korie has a whole collection of knick-knacks on a shelf in their living room. Some of them downright scare me.
“Maybe I’m hoping one of them is my good luck charm.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s… what? That doesn’t even make sense.”
They laugh and grab my sleeve, physically tugging me toward the door. “Come on. We’re looking.”
“Fine. But no tarot readings.”
Korie tosses me a look over their shoulder. “Iknow.”
The bell above the shop jingles as we step inside. The place smells like old paper and incense. Shelves lean under the weightof mismatched junk and antique collectibles, and Korie lights up like someone plugged them directly into a power source.
There they are.
The version of Korie I haven’t seen in a while. The one who gets fascinated by weird little things nobody else notices. Korie can get so caught up in their head sometimes that they forget about everything else.
They drift from shelf to shelf, picking up objects with reverent curiosity. A cracked porcelain fox. A rusted compass. An ancient-looking Polaroid camera that probably hasn’t worked since the nineties.
“This place is incredible,” they breathe, standing close enough that I can feel their body heat through their shirt.
“I think you mean terrifying.”
Korie grins and bumps their shoulder against mine. They surprise me when their fingers hook around mine for a brief second.
That’s new too.
Not the touching—we’ve always touched—but how easily they reach for me now. It’s different. Intentional. Like they’re testing something.
We turn down another aisle, and I cringe at the weird figurines and paper fans. I don’t notice when Korie stops short in front of me and I crash into their back. My hands fly to their hips to steady us.
Korie doesn’t pull away. “Look at this.”
I don’t see what they’re trying to show me because all I can focus on is Korie’s sudden nearness, my fingers grazing the bare skin under their crop top, and I instinctively pull them closer.
Korie notices, looking over their shoulder at me. I brush a thumb along their skin, jaw clenching.
“You okay there?” they ask, voice teasing.
“Nope.”
I catch a hint of a smile before they walk away.
Asshole.
I follow them deeper into the store. At the back, Korie finds a basket full of old records.
