The plan was simple.

Qinny arrives first.

Dorian arrives ten minutes later.

They end up near each other naturally — two people who’ve met before, nothing remarkable about it.

Simple.

Foolproof.

Qinny arrived fourteen minutes late.

It wasn’t entirely her fault.

Maya had noticed things.

Specifically Maya had noticed that Qinny had changed her outfit twice, checked her phone three times in twenty minutes, and was now leaving at 3:46pm on a Friday with her hair actually done.

“Where are you going,” Maya said, from her bed, in the tone of someone who already knew and wanted to hear Qinny lie about it anyway.

“Watching Brennen’s practice.”

Maya gasped, “You never watch Brennen’s practice.”

“Hey, I’m being supportive... just for today.”

“Yeah sure. You once said football was a prolonged excuse for men to run into each other.”

“Well, people can change and this shows that I’ve grown.”

Maya put her phone down. Sat up. Tilted her head with the specific energy of someone about to enjoy themselves.

“Wait a damn minute, young lady. 

Qinny turned to look at a curious-faced Maya.

"Is he going to be there?” Maya asked.

To which Qinny raised a brow, “Brennen? Yes, it’s his—”

“Qinny.”

Silence.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Qinny scoffed.

“You changed your outfit twice.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“You’re wearing the good earrings.”

“These are normal earrings.”

“Those are the ones you wear when you want to look like you’re not trying but you are absolutely trying. The ones you wear to the club to get hotties to notice you.”

Qinny snorted, and opened the door.

“I’ll be back by seven.”

“You’re going to do something stupid!” Maya called after her.

“I’m going to watch football!”

“SAME THING—”

She closed the door.

So that was why she was late.

And now Dorian was already there.

Sitting in the third row of the open seating area beside the training field, bag at his feet, looking for all the world like a person who had simply arrived somewhere and sat down in it. 

Unhurried. 

Unremarkable.

He was also the only person in the seating area.

Qinny slowed as she approached.

This was not the plan.

The plan was she arrives first. Settles in. Looks like she belongs there. Dorian finds her, sits nearby, organic and unremarkable.

Instead she was going to have to walk up to him in full view of a training field containing both their partners and choose to sit near him.

Which was fine.

Completely fine.

Just the plan in a slightly different order.

She kept walking.

Dorian looked up when she was about six feet away. His expression did the thing — not quite surprise, more like a person quietly noting that a variable had changed.

“You were supposed to be here first,” he said, low enough that it didn’t carry.

“I was delayed.”

“By what.”

“Maya.”

“What did she want.”

“To know if you’d be here.”

A pause.

“What did you tell her.”

“That I was going to watch football.”

Dorian looked at her steadily. “She didn’t believe you.”

“She said watching football and doing something stupid were the same thing.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Whose side are you on.”

“The plan’s.”

Qinny dropped into the seat one away from him. “The plan is fine. We’re fine. Everything is completely normal.”

Dorian looked back at the field.

“You’re wearing different earrings than usual,” he said.

Qinny turned to stare at him.

“…How do you know what earrings I usually wear.”

“I’m observant.”

“That’s giving stalker.”

“It’s me being aware of my surroundings.”

“It’s CONCERNING.”

“Lower your voice,” he said calmly. “We’re in public.”

Qinny lowered her voice. “It’s concerning,” she repeated, quieter but no less emphatic.

“You always say that anyway.” He looked at the field. “Practice started eight minutes ago.”

She looked at the field too.

Found Brennen immediately — middle of a passing drill, focused, completely in his element. Yris on the far end with the women’s squad. Neither of them looking toward the stands yet.

Good.

A beat passed.

Then Qinny said, almost casually, “The other night was fun.”

Dorian didn’t look at her. “Which part.”

She gestured vaguely at the general concept of everything.

“All of it.”

He considered this. “…Yeah.”

“The soju was bad, though.”

“You grabbed it confidently.”

“I thought I could adapt.”

“You coughed for forty seconds.”

“It tasted like betrayal.”

“You’ve said that.”

“It bears repeating.” She paused. “The chips were good though.”

“The chips were good,” he agreed.

Silence.

Then Qinny said, quieter: “I genuinely had fun. Really.”

Dorian was quiet for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

It landed simply. 

Qinny looked at the field so she had somewhere to put her face.

“Turns out you’re not completely insufferable company,” she said.

“High praise.”

“It’s the highest I’ve got right now.”

“I’ll take it.” A beat. “You’re also — “ He paused, like he was choosing words with his usual precision. “Easier to talk to than expected.”

Qinny looked at him. “Expected based on what.”

“First impressions.”

“I gave you a great first impression.”

“Your tears infected me with the flu.”

“That was emotional solidarity.”

“You didn’t even know my name.”

“I felt your good vibe.”

He snorted, “That’s not a real thing.”

“It absolutely is.” She turned to face him slightly. “Okay what was your first impression of me. Honestly.”

Dorian appeared to consider this with genuine seriousness, which was somehow more nerve-wracking than if he’d answered immediately.

“...Expressive,” he said finally.

“That sounded rude.”

“Honest.”

She blinked. “…Uhuh.”

"A guinea-pig kidnapper."

“Hey!” She backslapped playfully on the side of his knee, narrowing her eyes. “I told you that in confidence!”

“And completely incapable of keeping your voice down in public.”

“That’s — okay the last one is fair.” She narrowed her eyes. “What else.”

“That’s all.”

“That’s not all.”

“That’s all I’m saying.”

“Dorian—”

“What was your first impression of me,” he said, turning it back with the smoothness of someone who had been waiting to do exactly that.

Qinny opened her mouth.

“Honestly,” he added.

She closed it again.

Thought about it.

“Mysterious,” she said.

He blinked. Just once. “…Right.”

“Not like mysterious weird. More like.” She searched for it. “Like a closed book that looks interesting but you’re not sure you’re allowed to open it because you know you're gonna get sucked into it if you get to know it.”

Silence.

Dorian looked at her for a moment.

Then said, completely deadpan: “Hmm... Nobody's described me like that before.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You need better people in your life.”

“I’m working on it.”

Something about the way he said it — quiet, unhurried, not quite looking at her — made her brain snag on it for half a second longer than she intended.

She looked back at the field quickly.

“Anyway,” she said, “the point is you seemed unapproachable.”

“And now?”

“Now I know you define me by my past crime, and we're here because of spreadsheets.” She paused. “Still a little mysterious. But like. Understandable.”

Dorian chuckled softly, then looked at her.

“Is that so,” he repeated.

“Understandably mysterious,” she confirmed.

“That’s—”

“A compliment. You’re welcome.”

He shook his head once.

“You’re something else, Qinnara.”

“I know,” she said pleasantly.

And then he almost smiled. Not the controlled almost-smile she’d catalogued by now, but something slightly more unguarded, like it had slipped through before he could file it away properly — and Qinny laughed at the specific expression on his face, the one that said I walked directly into that and I know it, and Dorian made a sound that was absolutely a laugh even though he immediately looked away—

Water break.

Players dispersing toward the sidelines.

And across thirty meters of turf, completely independently of each other—

Brennen looked up toward the stands.

Yris looked up from the far end of the pitch.

Both of them found the seating area at the same moment.

Both of them saw the same thing.

Qinny, laughing.

Dorian, beside her, the corner of his mouth doing something that on anyone else would be called a smile.

The two of them completely unaware of being watched.

Completely at ease.

The specific kind of ease that didn’t come from one combined lecture and a handful of accidental encounters.

Brennen’s wave to Qinny came a beat slower than usual.

She caught it, smiled back, warm and normal.

He smiled too. Easy. Bright. Said nothing.

But his eyes moved back to Dorian once.

Just once.

And on the far end of the field, Yris had gone very still in a way that had nothing to do with the drill.

Dorian didn’t look toward her.

He was eating a cracker.

At some point Dorian had produced the packet from his bag and set it on the seat between them without comment.

Qinny looked at the crackers.

Then at him.

“Why— no, how many crackers did you bring to a football field.”

“Just enough. I wanted to be prepared.”

“That’s either very prepared or—.”

“Mysterious? That, I am.”

She rolled her eyes at him as he took another cracker. “You planned for snacks but didn’t plan for me being late.”

“I plan for most things.” A pause. “You’re occasionally unpredictable.”

“Occasionally?”

“Frequently,” he corrected. “But manageably so.”

Qinny stared at him. “‘Manageably so.’ That’s a horrible thing to say about a person.”

“Would you prefer delightfully so?”

“YES actually—”

“Manageably,” he said, and moved the packet closer.

She took three crackers at once.

He moved the packet closer again without looking at her.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely know what I mean.”

“Eat the cracker, Qinny.”

She ate the cracker.

Practice ended at half five.

Brennen jogged over first, sweaty and bright, arm going around Qinny’s shoulders the way it always did.

“You finally came,” he said.

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you.” Qinny said convincingly.

He grinned, clearly satisfied at her reply. 

Then looked over at Dorian casually. “Hey man.”

“Hey,” Dorian said.

“You two were talking?” Brennen asked. Light. Conversational. The specific tone of someone asking a question they already know the answer to and are deciding what to do with it.

“We’ve met before,” Qinny said easily. “First day of lecture. You introduced us, remember?”

“Oh right, yeah.” He nodded. Smiled. “Cool.”

One beat longer than necessary.

Then Yris appeared, sliding her hand into Dorian’s arm with the ease of someone reestablishing a claim.

“You could've waited in the car,” she said.

“I wanted to watch this time,” he said.

Yris looked at Qinny. Qinny looked at Yris. Both of them smiled the specific smile of people who were being very careful and very pleasant about it.

“Good practice?” Qinny asked.

“Always,” Yris said.

Four people. Late afternoon sun. Two couples.

Completely normal.

Absolutely nothing to explain.

In the car afterward, Brennen was quieter than usual.

Not obviously. Not enough to point to. He asked about her day. She answered. He talked about practice. She listened.

At a red light he reached over and took her hand.

She let him.

And said nothing.

Qinny watched the city move past thinking about how Dorian had moved the cracker packet closer without being asked, how he'd laughed and then immediately looked away like it had surprised him too, how he'd said I know about their night at the Mix Store like he'd been paying attention the whole time.

She was thinking about all of it.

Very much examining all of it actually.

Phase One, she thought. They'd barely done anything. Just sat together. Just talked. Just laughed at the wrong moment in front of the wrong people.

And somehow that felt like the most honest ninety minutes she'd had in a while.

Which meant one thing very clearly.

Their plan was working.