I walk past her without another word, ignoring her offended gasp, and push open the restaurant door. The inside is nothing like the quiet streets outside. It is vibrant. Loud in color and noise. Even though I have never stepped inside before, it feels exactly like a paradise.

Blue Hour.

Fairy lights cascade from the ceiling in soft strands, glowing like fallen stars. The walls are painted in gentle swirls of sky blue and white. Near the counter, a whole corner is covered in handprints of different sizes and colors. 

The place is packed. Conversations vibrate in the air in the form of gossip that never ends. Laughter bursts from tables. Glasses clink against each other. Something sizzles loudly…probably in the kitchen.

Before I can take another step, Kira grabs my wrist and drags me across the floor, “There!” she declares as she takes me to the only available spot which is a small table near the glass overlooking the street at the very end of the restaurant. We slid into our seats, her sitting across from me. 

“Man, if this isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is” She preaches and I give her a look to which I believe speaks volume as she just scrolls through her phone and starts taking pics of our surroundings.

A waitress approaches our table, a carefree smile on her face. She looks about our age, her wavy black hair ending at her shoulder with a hairband and a tiny silver clip shaped like a crescent moon.

“Good evening,” she says, “First time at Blue Hour?”

Kira answers as she pockets her phone, “Is it that obvious?”

The waitress laughs, “A little. Here are the menus. Our house special tonight is citrus glazed salmon with honey thyme reduction and our most popular drink is the Blue Ember. It changes color when you stir it.”

Kira asks more about the drink while I read the name clipped to her shirt. Maxie. To be honest, I feel like I have seen her before but I can’t exactly point it out… 

The waitress places the menus in front of us. The paper is thin, edges tinted pale blue, “If you need recommendations, just let me know,” she says before stepping away to another table.

Kira opens the menu and looks at me over the top of it, “This,” she sighs, “is what life is supposed to feel like.”

Before I can reply, a shadow falls over our table. Kira and I both look up and I swear every drop of blood drains from my face. There, standing right in front of me, is Mikhael.

He looks different from when we were “forced” to meet at the hospital. His brown hair is slicked back, exposing his forehead, and he’s dressed in a white shirt tucked into fitted black pants. The sleeves are rolled just enough to reveal his forearms.

His eyes find mine instantly but just as quickly, he smooths his expression into politeness like he doesn’t know me. The déjà vu is hitting me so hard.

“Good evening. I’ll be your waiter tonight. Have you decided what you’d like?” His voice is calm, so different from the hospital where he was doubtful of me but when he leans forward slightly, I catch the faint scent of cigarettes on his breath.

I instinctively cover my nose and look away. Under the table, Kira kicks my shin. I stiffen and glance at her. She’s studying me with narrowed eyes, clearly concerned. I give her a small wave, silently telling her to just order whatever. She ends up choosing the special and the color-changing drink without hesitation.

When Mikhael walks away with our order, I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I look down at my lap. She kicks me again.

I jerk my head up, glaring. “What?”

“What’s with you—?” She pauses, then gasps, “Oh! Did that guy take your breath away?”

I shake my head, “No, Kira. No. We are not doing this here.”

“I mean,” she lowers her sunglasses from her bucket hat and blatantly watches him across the room, “he’s not exactly your type, but…” she continues, completely shameless, “you have to appreciate that ass. Those pants are perfectly cupping it.”

Heat rushes to my face, “Don’t be a creep,” I hiss, lowering my voice so only she can hear, “Please…”

“What? That’s a double standard,” Kira scoffs, “You used to talk like that about Ryder all the time.” She shrugs lazily, “I appreciate a man’s ass for two seconds and suddenly you’re on my back? Can’t a woman admire what she sees?”

“We are not having this conversation again,” I mutter, “And no Ryder comparisons. We broke up two weeks ago. Let a man grieve, would you?”

Even as I say it, I risk another glance around the restaurant. Mikhael is at the counter, speaking to an elderly man. There’s a gentle smile on his face. He leans in slightly to hear him better, nodding with patience.

“Still,” Kira continues, oblivious to my spiraling thoughts, “it’s a real tragedy that Ryder cheated on you and on Halloween! Absolute culture pooper.”

I snort despite myself, “We weren’t even official. It was more of a situationship.” I pour myself a glass of water, staring at the ripples, “Though…he was good in bed.”

“Under you, you mean?” Kira finally pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and wiggles her eyebrows, “Your skin used to glow when you’d—” She curls her left hand and inserts her right index finger in. 

“Can you go one minute,” I cut in, heat crawling up my neck, “without being explicit about my love life?”

“Nope!” she chirps without shame then her eyes flick back toward the dining floor, “But seriously, the waiter kinda looks like Ryder. Taller, though. How are you planning to top that?”

“I have a better question.” I grab her hand and squeeze it in warning, “How about we stop shipping me with men I have zero interest in?”

“But he looked at you like he knew you!” She removes her hand and makes a heart with them.

“You’re reading too much into it,” I insist, as I take a sip of the water.

“Hmph!” She crosses her arm when I don’t give her much of a reaction.

After twenty minutes of mindless scrolling and pretending I am not hyper aware of one particular waiter, our food finally arrives. Of course it is Mikhael who brings it. He sets the plates down and says: “Enjoy your meals.” and walks back to his place.

The salmon smells incredible. Citrus and thyme rise with the steam, the glaze catching the light from the fairy strands above. The first bite melts against my tongue, sweet and savory with a slight char at the edges.

Kira lets out a moan at the first bite and though I am close to doing that as well, I control myself.

“Oh Lord, Thank you for letting me exist” she declares.

We stir our drinks. The liquid shifts from pale blue to a deep midnight shade whenever the straw circles through it. It feels childish and fascinating at the same time.

“So,” she says casually, “what’s your thesis about?”

I swallow, “Symbiotic relationships.”

“Symbiotic relationships?” She bursts out laughing, “What is this? Is Venom and Eddie Brock your academic inspiration?”

I roll my eyes and give her a splintered look, “Very funny. But no, I am studying the shadow stealers and how their attachment to hosts affects the human mind.”

Her teasing expression fades, “Do you even have case studies for that?” she asks, sipping her drink.

“Honestly? Not many.” I hesitate, “The closest viable subject is a patient admitted at Skyline Hospital.”

“A patient?” She leans forward, “I thought anyone affected by shadow stealers ends up taken by the government. Never to be seen again. Isn’t that how it works?”

“That is usually how it works,” I admit. I glance, against my better judgment, toward Mikhael, “But this time they have a stubborn son on their hands.”

She follows my gaze, but doesn’t ask anything, “Checks out.” A beat passes, “But seriously,” she says, pointing her straw at me, “if this falls apart, just write about Venom. Professors love pop culture relevance.”

I laugh despite the nerves. Her Professors are nothing like mine but she knows how to lighten the mood. We finish our food. After washing up in the restroom, we return to our table to finish the last of our drinks and that is when Kira gets that look. The one that means trouble. She pulls a napkin from the holder, grabs a pen from her bag, and starts scribbling.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“I am about to improve your night by ten times. Watch and learn.”

“Kira—”

She struts to the counter where Mikhael is speaking with the earlier waitress. I watch, horror blooming in my chest, as she hands him the folded napkin with a wink. Before she can even walk back, Mikhael unfolds the napkin. He reads it. His expression doesn’t change. He takes a pen. Write something. Fold it again. Hand it back to her.

Kira returns, confused but excited. She drops into her seat and opens the napkin. Her mouth falls open. I snatch it from her before she can speak.

“Help my friend,” I read under my breath. “He is a lonely bean…” My eyes drop to the next line. My phone number. My actual phone number.

“What the hell, Kira?” I whisper shout at her.

She ignores me, “Read the next line.”

I look down again. In a different handwriting is written: “No, thank you.”

“He rejected you,” she breathes, stunned.

“There was nothing to reject,” I snap, crumpling the napkin in my fist and letting it fall to the table. My face burns, “Nothing was happening.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and drag her up with me. At the counter, I pay quickly, avoiding eye contact but as we turn to leave, I look at him one last time before steadying myself and leaving the place behind me.

“Ugh!” Kira groans beside me, “We are never coming back here. How dare he reject you?”

“You gave him my number without my consent,” I remind her.

“But Optimo—”

“No,” I cut her off, “You don’t get to be offended on my behalf when you created the situation.”

She throws her hands up in surrender, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I open it to find a message from Asren. He has sent a pic of his pc setup with a message underneath it,

Asren :
Up for a game night?

Optimo :

Can’t. Have to work on my thesis…and help a friend.

“Who is it?” Kira asks as we walk toward the bus stop, the cold night air brushing against my cheeks.

“Asren. He wanted to know if I’m free to play.”

“Bummer,” she pouts, stretching her arms behind her head, “If I didn’t have assignments, I would’ve totally joined. I need to bully strangers online.”

The phone vibrates again with another message from Asren.

Asren : 

Np. Just have to convince my fans that their “CoolKnight” is busy for a show.

Optimo :

What a lifesaver

Asren :
Don’t die, alright? Especially not by academic pressure.

Ciao!

Another notification vibrates through the phone and this time, it’s from the dating app. I open it and it’s a photo of the napkin that I have crumpled and left at the table with a message: 

Mikhael : 

Still going to act like you don’t know me?

I quickly close the app, leaving him on seen and sit down beside Kira at the bus stop. She just give me a look, before putting her head down on my shoulder and snuggling herself to my right arm. While here I am, with nerves going haywire but it’s alright. It’s not like I will meet him again…except at the hospital, right?