It is the day of Wallace’s nineteenth birthday, and Mikhael is unsure of what to bring to his party. He still cannot shake his surprise from the invitation. After all, they barely talk, and whenever they do— Wallace always seems to look away; it gets Mikhael every time, that foreign feeling of him not being the first to do so during a conversation.

His timer rings—an indication to retrieve the cake from his oven. Mikhael bends down to take it out and lets the sweet waft of blueberries fill the living room with its scent. His attention is on the counter itself now, more specifically, on the highly detailed pop art styled glasses he drew on the card—meant to accompany the desert—earlier on today.

As Mikhael remembers last week, the awkward glance they had exchanged once he had given Wallace the articles he needed, he bites his lip, still all too well aware that his computer had managed to move on its own that day. Although whatever it was that Wallace saw, it doesn’t seem like his classmate had any plans to bring it up; and neither did Mikhael for that matter.

Mikhael entertains the brief thought that Wallace probably doesn’t feel like he can say anything since they caught him with handcuffs a few days back. And it’s good, he thinks, for he would not want Logan to find out about his preferences either.

Another one of his alarms rings. It elicits a groan from the depths of his throat as he wraps the cake into a box, he specifically bought for this, with the remainder of his paycheck from a painting he sold a few months back. Despite their strange interactions, Mikhael still carries the hopes that Wallace will like it, whilst walking out his front door.

The trip to Logan’s house is a short one, and before he has managed to count the colors in the sky, Mikhael is already ringing his doorbell.

Logan comes out not a second later. It is as if the young man had been waiting in his doorway all this time. But Mikhael shakes the thought from his mind, thinking it ridiculous, why in the world would he do that?

With him, Logan carries a huge box wrapped in flashy, purple paper, topped by an enormous ribbon that shines bright. “Yeah, you don’t need to make that face,” he says with a snicker. “I know you hate this color.”

“It’s really quite… something, at least,” is the only thing Mikhael finds to say as they fall into their usual pace whilst making their way over to the station.

"I... wanted to make this big,” Logan tells him. “You know, since it’ll probably be the last time at all.” His cheeks turn a darker shade of pink, and Mikhael is soon rewarded with one of Logan’s signature smiles. He doesn’t know whether he likes it or not, for every single one of Logan’s expressions hold power over him. And sometimes, just like today, they turn his heart into something akin to repulsive putty that sticks to him like his unrequited feelings of love.

Logan tilts his head. He says something again, but Mikhael doesn’t register the words, only Logan’s tone—modest and pure, like morning birdsong is etched within his voice. What this does to Mikhael catches him off guard; for he suddenly finds himself yearning to tear Logan apart, covered in the desire to hear how each of those syllables would sound if Logan were under him, and—

"Mikhael?" Logan—not the one from his fantasies—but the real Logan, pulls him out of his thoughts. “Is everything all right?” he asks Mikhael, his eyebrow lifted in what Mikhael guesses is mild confusion. “You looked kinda out of it.”

“I was wondering if I’d left the oven on,” Mikhael tells him, deadpan, doing his best to keep his features as straight as he thought he was during the beginning of high-school.

“Uh…” Logan pauses. His expression is a moderately sheepish one now as his fingers tense around the giant purple block snug tight in his arms. “Should we go check on that, or—”

“It’s probably fine,” Mikhael says. “Let’s go?”

The light summer breeze dashes past them. It makes the hair on Mikhael’s arms raise. He gulps, prays once again that Logan hasn’t seen right through him.

“Okay,” Logan mutters after a moment, as he takes a step forward. “If you say so.”

And Mikhael can finally breathe again.