PERCY.
The bus ride. Good God! Probably the most dangerous thing I've ever done. It was loud, it smelled faintly of stale coffee and damp wool, and it moved with the jerky, unpredictable rhythm of a startled moose. But seeing Gemini's face light up when I got on? That was worth the slight, lingering anxiety of touching the seat fabric.
He was right to make me leave the Bentley. If I had my car, the focus would be on the speed and the destination. On the bus, the focus was completely on him and the world he grew up in. Every creaking sign, every slightly dilapidated building—it was a piece of his story. And I wanted to absorb all of it.
I couldn't help myself in the stores. Gemini kept calling the things "junks," but they were artifacts! A specific brand of coffee I'd never seen before, a silly little toy that reminded him of a cartoon he watched as a kid—these were data points. These were the things that made him Gemini. My own world is all perfectly curated luxury. His world is real, slightly messy, and infinitely more interesting.
When he complained about the bags, I just had to tease him. He looked adorable when he was exasperated.
"Serves you right for not allowing me to bring the car, Bunny." I love how he tries not to blush anytime I call him that, it's cute.
Gemini immediately pouted, pretending to walk faster because of my teasing. I wasn't trying to sound arrogant, but the words came out like that. My buying a lot of things wasn't a punishment for him either; it was an intentional necessity. I craved the sheer inconvenience. I wanted to haul these ridiculous, silly bags myself because it felt right. It felt like I was earning my place, working for him, simply for his presence beside me.
That's a feeling I've never gotten before.
Then we walked into that little diner, and the shift in the air was immediate. I felt the familiar weight of attention, the sudden change in posture from the people at the big table. He knows them, and I could tell by the way Gemini's shoulders tensed that they were troublemakers.
They were exactly the kind of people I despise: superficial, entitled, and clearly trying to chip away at Gemini's confidence just for sport. I could hear their whispers, even if the words didn't reach me. I knew the game they were playing.
The girls tried to approach. I ignored them completely. Why would I waste my time on them? My attention is a valuable resource, and it is reserved for one person only, him.
I watched Gemini. He was uncomfortable, slightly embarrassed, and trying hard to disappear. My priority wasn't to be polite or charming to strangers; my priority was to be his shield, a safe space for him. I made sure every interaction, every glance, every word I spoke, was directed only at him. I am here because of him after all.
When that girl came over, I didn't even bother acknowledging her presence. I just asked Gemini about the slice of pie he promised me. My message had to be crystal clear, not just to them, but to Gemini: I do not see anyone else but him.
When I finally took his hand to leave, it was a physical declaration of ownership—not a possessive one like the ones on campus, but a protective one. I wanted them to see that he was with me, and therefore, he was off-limits and protected.
In the cab, he kept staring. I could feel the heat of his gaze. He was trying to reconcile the cold, dismissive version of me they saw with the guy who was currently gripping his hand and sleeping on his small childhood bed. I kept my poker face on for a moment, just to watch him process it. He looks so beautiful when his mind is racing.
When he finally asked why I was "like this" with him—why I give him my attention when I gave no one else. Why him?—I knew the time for games was over. He needed to hear the truth without the cushion of a "truce."
I turned to him, making sure my eyes locked onto his. I wanted him to see the sincerity, the simplicity of it. He thinks everything has to be complicated—social standing, wealth. But feelings aren't about that, I would know.
"It's because I like you, Gemini."
It's the truth. It's the only answer. All the elaborate things I've done since meeting him—the food, the driving, even the stupid bus ride—are just physical evidence of that one simple fact. He is the only thing that distracts me from myself, and I desperately need him to stop running from it.
I feel much better now that he knows. I'm hoping this trip forces him to realize that my "world" is actually flexible, and it only matters where he is.