“Did you go to school for it, or are you self-taught?” asked Mr. Reynolds, serving himself another plateful of steamed broccoli.

“I-I guess I'm self-taught?” Simon said, his eyes trying to be on everyone at once, though lingering on Mr. Reynolds dipping steamed broccoli into a small bowl of mayonnaise with confused, bewildered interest. “E-everything I've learned was through, trial and error?”

“Are you any good?”

I could feel the secondhand embarrassment, or discomfort, radiating off of Simon without needing to be near him. “You said you'd be nice, David.”

“I asked a question.”

“A subjective one, and he's great.”

Simon flushed red.

Mrs. Reynolds put down her fist, smirking. “Overruled. The evidence you've presented is tainted by personal feelings.”

“It's still evidence!”

Mr. Reynolds turned up his nose, grinning. “I'm going to allow it.”

Mrs. Reynolds nudged his arm. “Softie.”

“Micah has that power, sometimes,” he said.

“You did say we could interrogate him, too, Micah,” Mrs. Reynolds pointed out. “I believe your exact words were, 'If he does come next week, I'll bring him over and you can interrogate him all you want'. That was the deal.”

I flushed red. I grabbed Simon's hand under the table. “I-I didn't mean, like, ruthlessly interrogate.”

“Is this ruthless?” asked Mrs. Reynolds. “Sorry, Simon, if it's coming off as ruthless. We don't mean it.”

Simon's only able to force out a stilted chuckle.

“Cheryl, I think we're making the boy uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Oh! I am sorry, Simon. We don't mean it.” Mrs. Reynolds reaches across the table and touches his shoulder. “David, lets interrogate Micah, instead.”

“What.”

“Why are you so particular about your burgers?”

“Wha – ”

“Do you know how to make your bed, sweet child?”

“Why do you enjoy unpacking groceries?”

“Simon, jump in if you want. Are you ever tired of reading the same books over and over?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“How does it feel being graduated?”

This was not the turn of events I was expecting. But I suddenly laughed and said, “I hate it. I don't miss anyone.”

They could both see though the obvious lie. “Not even Harley? Fran? Georgina, Oscar, Michael, Marie?”

“Nnnnnnope.”

“What a little liar,” Mrs. Reynolds sneered. “You need a better poker face.”

“You basically inducted them into our family against their will.”

“They're good people. I like them.”

“You miss the lunch food, too?”

Their chicken sandwiches were surprisingly good, and it had literally no reason to be. “Of coooouuuuurse I miss it.”

“You miss Mr. Werner?”

“Yes, I do. He was the greatest math teacher in history and you can't convince me otherwise.”

“No, Micah, he let things slide with you because you were a goofball.”

“And he said you reminded him of his own son when he was 4.”

Simon sat forward, propping his head up in his hand. His eyes were on me.

I could feel them on me. I never thought someone staring at me could be so distracting.

“But he was great!

“How were your math grades?”

“How were your English grades?”

I stuck out my tongue. “You're just jealous because I had a fun math teacher. And Mr. Blumberg definitely had it out for me no matter how many gluten-free cookies I made for him.”

Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds exchanged glances. “Micah, a teacher doesn't have to like you.”

“Blasphemy!”

“My math teacher was pretty strict, all things considered,” she said. “Ms. Norman.”

“Mine were alright, though I can only really remember one who I didn't like. He shouted at us whenever we answered correctly. I don't remember his name, but I didn't like him.”

I snorted.

From under the table, Simon traced his thumb over the side of my hand.

I didn't know how, but he always made me so distracted by a single touch. “Stop roasting Mr. Werner,” I fumbled, turning red. “You're just jealous you couldn't have him as a teacher.” I stood, legs wobbling. “I need to...use the pee. Toilet. God – !”

Mrs. Reynolds smirked. “Don't fall in!” she called after me.

I rolled my eyes, wishing they could, at least, try to cool it a little more. If I'd known they were going to embarrass me like this, I wouldn't have brought Simon over. I was more than capable of making a fool of myself.

I wasn't even to the bathroom when I heard Mr. Reynolds ask, “Are you all right, Simon? We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I could hold it. I closed the bathroom door and slid back towards the kitchen.

“...yeah,” he forced out. “I'm fine.”

Someone licked their lips, and it made that smacking sound. “Can we first, off, just say that we trust Micah.”

I swallowed, and nearly barged back in.

“Oh. Yeah, no, I get it,” Simon said. “You...probably have a lot of concerns.”

“Questions,” Mr. Reynolds clarified.

“...and more concerns,” Simon said, with such assurance it made my heart break a little.

“We didn't mean it like that,” Mr. Reynolds said.

“No, it's okay. I get it.”

“You don't sound very...enthusiastic.”

“Micah's enthusiastic for the both of us.”

Us. Us. Us. It made me dizzy.

“Can't argue with that,” Mr. Reynolds sighed, “but you seem – ”

“Micah might not like it, but I'm just being realistic,” Simon said. “I've learned that some things aren't always as good as they are. That – no, that isn't to say I don't like Micah – I-I do, I really, really...really do. To an...embarrassing degree, if I'm honest.”

“Between the both of you, you're the one acting normal.”

I took offense to that.

“I, just...don't want to mess this up. I know I'm lucky and Micah's a mess and great – ”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

“ – but it's...easy. To feel like you're messing up someone's life.” Simon pauses. “I want to take this seriously...for however long Micah wants me around. Which means no pushing him, pretty much him leading the way. The age difference doesn't help, especially with those concerns – ”

“We didn't say that.”

“I want to play this safe. For...however long Micah wants me around.”

“That's...very reasonable thinking.”

Simon cleared his throat.

I slipped into the bathroom, flushed, and came back out. “You weren't giving him the third degree while I was gone, were you?”

“You were in there for centuries,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Did you fall in?”

“That was once, and to my credit, it was 3 AM and someone left the toilet seat up.”

Mr. Reynolds smirked. He popped another piece of broccoli and mayo into his mouth.

“Not surprising,” Simon whispered, smirking at me.

“No. You're not throwing me under the bus like this.”

“Micah, you live under our roof, and we watched you be a teenager. We get the right.”

“You're not my parents,” slipped to the tip of my tongue, like some cheesy melodramatic teenager, and I swallowed it back. It felt wrong. It felt like all their efforts and everything was being thrown back into their faces. “Wh – if you're doing that, I'm throwing you under the bus for your gross love of peanut butter and pickles – ”

“Eeeeeeh,” Mr. Reynolds said. “They're an acquired taste.”

“'Acquired' is a very strong way of saying, 'I eat like a pregnant person',” I said, leaning over to Simon.

Mrs. Reynolds laughed at that.

I pressed my hand into Simon's under the table.

It felt awkward leading him to the front door, especially when I was expressly forbidden to leave the house or ask him to stay over. God, did I want him to stay over. “Sorry if they gave you too much of the third degree,” I laughed, running my hands down my sides. “I told them that you're self-taught, and how impressive that was. I made notes about you for them so they didn't ask any stupid questions.”

“You're insane.” Simon smiled.

“But no third-degree?”

“No. Only second.”

I breathlessly laughed at that. I glanced down, ready to prod at whatever I could peel of my nails.

“Micah.”

I met his stare.

Simon glanced me over, his smirk slowly growing solemn and worn the longer the silence stretched. “...how much of that did you hear?”

“What?”

He doesn't say anything.

I shuffled from 1 foot to another before I crossed my arms. A balloon of frustration inflated in my gut, and I ignored it. “I'm, just...what do I have to do to let you know I'm all in this?”

Simon frowned. He stepped forward. “Micah, you need to understand that my life has been...immeasurably disappointing up to this point. You learn after a while to stop expecting anything good, because you're used to the onslaught of bad happening. Not everyone can dive headfirst like you.”

“...I wish you'd let yourself.”

He laced his fingers through mine. “Some people can't, and I'm really sorry. I wish I could. For you, I really, really wish I could. But you've never heard a thousand voices in your head telling you, at the same time, that it won't work. That...'How dare you think this good thing is happening to you.' That you should expect this to blow up in your face, no matter how badly you want it.”

“Simon – !”

“You said we're 1 in a million, and I get that. Do you think I've ever fallen in love with someone who made me feel the world suddenly stop – ”

“You did?”

“Yes, but...I...just...want to be careful. At least. Regardless of how old I am, or that I'm a guy, or all that. I just want you to be happy. If you're in, I'm in. And I won't tell you it's going to be easy, or things would be better if you – ”

“If you say 'if I fell for a girl', I'm going to hit you.” I patted his arm hard.

He scoffed, smirking. “I love you. Okay? Right now, this is good. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to. I'm good with just this. I...just, of all things, I just hope that I can be...a person you can rely on. I don't want to feel like I'm weighing you down.”

I sighed, and it was a giddy, wavy sound. “You love me?”

Simon sighed, face growing red. “Micah.”

“I-I'm sorry! I just – you love me?”

“Yes.”

I started bouncing. I did a happy dance.

“Micah, I'm serious. I don't want to feel like I'm weighing you down.”

“I know.” I touched his arm. “...that's the most romantic, not-romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“Micah.”

“I love you, too. And I'm in, for as long as you want me.” I kissed him. “I love you.”

“God, I hate being so cheesy.”

“That isn't cheesy. This is. Can I see you tomorrow? I miss you already.”

“You mean after work?”

“No, but yes.”

“Okay.” He backed away, but didn't let go of our hands. “I'm sorry, Micah.”

“I know.”

He kissed me back. “I'm really sorry.”

I hugged him. “Go, before you make me miss you.”

“You say that like you're not missing me already.” He held me a little tighter.

I grinned, pressing my face into his shoulder. “Simon, don't go.”

“I have to.”

“Then go, but I won't like it.”

We kissed 2 more times. 3 more times. Pulled back in 5 or 6 more times before he forced himself out the front door.

I turned, giggling for a second, before calling into the house, “Isn't he cute?”

They were in the kitchen sitting at the table, pretty much staring straight ahead into the off TV. “We weren't listening.”

“Yes you were.”

“Just Cheryl was.”

She hit his chest. “David.”

I sat down at my spot. “Thoughts? And for the record, I don't care what you think.”

“He seems...nice,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“Grounding,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Stable.”

Mrs. Reynolds turned to me. “He's sweet, Micah. And, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you didn't care, you wouldn't have invited him over. Or asked that.”

I grumbled, crossing my arms.

“Thank you for bringing him, Micah. We appreciate it.” Mr. Reynolds reached over his wife and patted my leg.

Honestly, I don't know why I organized this. I felt obligated to, but the reason was almost completely lost on me. I sat forward, glancing towards the front door. “...he's cute, isn't he?”

“Yes, and you were right about the freckles,” she said.

Mr. Reynolds rolled his eyes. “I'm sorry I don't have freckles, Cheryl.”

She laughed. “You have that 1 on your low back – ”

“Cheryl.”

She grinned.

I laughed.

“I'm more surprised he wasn't scared off by your broccoli and mayo. Or your chicken and vinegar.”

“The boy has a strong stomach. I can't fault him on that.”

I tried settling my stomach. “...he's the 1.”

We all could feel the air still a little.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I giggled.

They both exchanged a look – I didn't know how to describe it – and asked, “It isn't something taken lightly, Micah. I hope you know that.”

I nodded, smirking. “I know.” A warm chill ran through me, and I glanced to the door again. “He's the 1. I just know it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds met eyes again, lingering, before sighing. “Okay, you're obviously dying to visit Simon, so go. Text us if you're staying over, okay?”

I hugged her tight and then waved Mr. Reynolds back to hug him, too. A second later, I catapulted myself towards the front door.