Two in the afternoon. After eating, Alan mentioned heading home. I'd agreed at first—I had freelance work I could chip away at, decent money for the extra time. But then I looked at his face, and my mind changed before I could stop it.
"Let's do another loop," I said, out of nowhere. "I feel like we haven't seen everything yet."
Alan turned to look. There was a pause—long enough for me to clock it: he actually wanted to say no. But he nodded anyway.
"Sure."
I knew exactly what that 'sure' was. Not because he wanted to stay. Because he chose to go along with it. No pushback. No making me feel bad about it.
That gave me two feelings at once. Warmth, because he was willing to bend. And something quieter underneath—because I was already starting to take that for granted without thinking about what it cost him.
The main corridor was busier now. Families, couples, little kids cutting through the crowd—all just backdrop. I walked a half-step behind him, watching how he moved: unhurried, alert, but not rigid about it.
Then everything shifted in about two seconds.
A man coming from the opposite direction was carrying a large cardboard box. Someone bumped into the person in front of me, and he reflexively tilted the box to the side.
Something sharp grazed my left arm.
A sting.
A thin red line appeared. Blood seeped out slowly—not much, but enough to make my skin feel like it was buzzing.
"Oh—I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" The man went pale. "There's broken glass inside, I had no idea—"
Before I could even say anything, Alan was already beside me.
Fast—not rough, but certain. He grabbed my wrist, took one quick look at the cut, then without a word pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. One clean motion: pressed it against the wound, wrapped it with just the right amount of pressure—enough to hold back the bleeding, not enough to explain the look on his face.
"Alan—" I said quietly.
"Don't move," he cut in. His voice was firm.
The man was still apologizing, but his voice had gone distant. All I could focus on was Alan.
His jaw had locked. His breathing was short. Just for a moment. But I felt it.
"I'm fine," I whispered.
"I know," he said quickly. Too quickly. "But it still needs to be cleaned. Could get infected."
He stepped back. His hand went into his pocket—and stayed there, fingers curled tight.
I watched him. "You're overreacting."
He looked at me. His expression softened, but his eyes were still dark—still holding something back that I didn't have a name for. "Better to overreact than to regret it."
We stood there for a second. The crowd had already moved on. For everyone else, it was a non-event.
For me—not quite.
The way he'd held his breath. The way he'd stepped back after touching me. The way his hand had curled into a fist like he was holding something in by force.
That wasn't a normal reaction.
But I buried the thought before it could go anywhere.
Maybe that was just how he was. Serious about everything, even the small stuff.
And honestly, my job was to be more careful. No more getting scraped up. No more making him worry like that. First real day out together and I'm already leaving an impression—and not the one I wanted. Don't read into it. His intentions were good.
"Oh—let's stop at the accessories store, I need to find a gift for someone." The words came out fast, like I was shaking off what had just happened.
Alan glanced over. His eyes passed over my face briefly—unreadable—then he nodded.
"Sure."
We walked together through the shopping area, my shoes making soft sounds against the tile, store lights bright on both sides, mall music drifting faintly from speakers somewhere overhead. When I spotted an accessories store with a colorful display case, I made a beeline for it and went straight for the phone case rack.
Picked one up. Put it back. Checked another. Put that back too. Crouched down, eyes scanning, wiped a thin layer of dust off the edge of the shelf with my finger, lips pressed together because I still wasn't finding what I came for.
"What exactly are you looking for?" Alan's voice was lighter now, like the earlier tension had already filed itself away. He stood beside me, arms crossed.
"A phone case with a green full moon."
"Why that specifically?"
"Her current case is all clouded over. She's had it since high school. Never replaced it."
"Why a green moon? That's not exactly a common design."
"I know, but that's what she likes." I stood back up, let out a slow breath. "I've looked everywhere and it's just not here."
"It might be a custom print."
"Maybe. I could probably just design it myself and order it online."
"Or you could get her something else entirely." His tone was easy but direct. "That case might mean something to her specifically. That's probably why she never replaced it."
I thought about it. He had a point. "Okay, then what?"
"What does she actually like?"
"Bad puns, sarcasm, wolves… and—"
Alan stopped walking. I felt him go still behind me. "Wait—wolves?"
I turned around. He looked genuinely puzzled, eyes slightly narrowed. "Yeah. From the first day I met her she's had wolf stuff everywhere. Book covers, tote bags, even her nail art. The cute illustrated kind, though."
"That's… kind of a specific thing." He was quiet for a second. "What's her name?"
"Marina. She's in the Literature department—different building, you've probably never crossed paths." I pulled out my phone and showed him a photo.
Alan squinted at the screen. His jaw tensed briefly, then he looked away.
"You can figure out the gift later. Since we're already here—do you want to get anything for yourself?"
"Let me look around." I browsed the racks again, eyes drifting, until something caught the light from the middle shelf. "Wait—there was one earlier with a moon, but silver."
I picked it up—a phone case with a full moon design, polished silver, the fine detail on it making my eyes light up immediately. "Look at this one." I held it up in front of Alan. "It comes with stickers and it glows in the dark."
"Just get it."
I checked the price tag. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.
"That's insane—that's basically two freelance paychecks." I set it back on the shelf slowly, fingers letting go one at a time.
"It's fine. You like it."
"No, it's not worth it."
"Let me get it."
"But—"
"Alina." Firm, but gentle. "I'm the one who asked you to come out today. Whatever you buy, I've got it. That's on me."
Something in my chest filled up. 'Wait, is he serious?' If this is how it goes, I'm going to have a very hard time saying no to future invitations.
I smiled—genuinely, maybe too quickly. "Okay. I'll take it."
"Get two. We can match."
"Are our phones even the same model?"
"Yeah, look."
He held his up. Same color, same model. His was practically spotless—looked brand new. Mine had two years of wear on it, tiny scratches along the frame.
I couldn't tell if that was a coincidence or something he'd done on purpose.
We went to the register. Alan paid—wallet out, card through the reader, the machine beeped, the cashier smiled and thanked us—and I immediately swapped out my case. I ran my finger over the smooth, cool surface, checking the edges, front and back, until I found small text along the bottom, faint and transparent.
'Product by Hammer.'
"Hammer. That's a weird brand name." I read it out loud. No logo, just clean bold font.
"Maybe the philosophy is that it's built to last. Strong like a hammer."
"That's a stretch."
Coming out of the accessories store, we drifted into the arcade area.
Flashing lights, music cranked up loud, the kind of noise that should've been overwhelming but somehow just made you want to go in.
"Hey—can we stop here for a bit?"
Alan looked at the lit-up sign. "You want to play?"
I nodded, already moving toward the entrance. "Yeah."
The moment we stepped inside, the sounds hit from every direction. My eyes went straight to the claw machines. The little stuffed animals inside were genuinely adorable.
First try—miss.
Second try—off target.
Third try—it caught for a second, then slipped free.
I pressed a hand to my chest. "Well. That's that."
Alan stepped forward. "Let me try."
He put in coins, eyes narrowing slightly. Not the look of someone showing off—more like someone running calculations. He studied the claw position, the angle of the drop, the distance. For way too long, honestly, for a stuffed animal machine.
"Alan, relax," I said. "It's just a—"
The machine moved.
First attempt—miss.
Alan said nothing. Put in more coins. Second try, the animal nearly made it. It was tilted. So close.
Alan's hand balled into a fist next to the machine, clearly fighting the urge to hit it.
"Okay, okay, it's fine—" I said, biting back a laugh.
"This machine is rigged. The claw tension is deliberately set too low." His hypothesis sent me into an actual laugh.
"Don't blame the machine. It's just not your day."
"No. One more try. And if it doesn't work—I'm taking legal action against this establishment."
I stepped back, still smiling, and gave him room to "get serious."
He reset his posture. Adjusted his fingers. Eyes locked on the target, unblinking. Careful, precise movement when he positioned the claw—like he was genuinely putting something on the line. And this time—
It dropped.
I clapped automatically. "Okay, that was impressive."
He picked it up and held it out to me. "For you."
I took it, still smiling. "Thank you. Good thing it worked out—you were really about to sue this place."
We laughed again—easy, real. Then wandered for a while longer until we'd had our fill.
By the time we stepped outside, the sky had gotten darker. My steps felt lighter for some reason, the shopping bag crinkling softly with every swing of my arm.
And I felt something shift somewhere inside—whether it was my read on Alan, or just how easily a small kindness could get to me, I wasn't sure.
What I did know: Alan-who-causes-problems was nowhere in this building today.
The only Alan here was the one walking beside me. Quietly attentive. Making my chest warm in a way I wasn't ready to put a name to.
The radio filled the cabin with a low murmur—a weather report for tomorrow. I sat there watching the road markings disappear under the car, white dashes running endlessly.
There was something I wanted to say. I just kept hesitating. And if I kept putting it off, I didn't know when I'd find the nerve again.
"Why the long face?" Alan asked, like he'd already read the room.
"I have a Web Programming class. And we have to turn the UX design I made last semester into working HTML and CSS." I exhaled. "I'm not good at coding. That's exactly why I chose UX. And somehow I still end up back in code anyway."
"I told you, I'll help you with it."
Simple. Direct. I'd kind of seen that coming.
What I hadn't figured out was the actual question underneath it—why was he going this far out of his way for me?
"Why did you start talking to me?"
He was quiet for a second. Eyes moved across my face, then back to the road.
"There are girls out there who are better looking, more popular, more… everything," I continued, my voice dropping slightly. He looked at me again. Longer. Long enough that I almost wanted to take the question back.
"Weren't you the one who came to me first?"
"What do you mean?"
"When I was down on the ground and no one was going to help, you stepped in. Three guys, no real chance of winning—and you still showed up."
"But after that, you could've walked away. Treated it like it never happened."
"I couldn't. I'm sorry for pulling you into my life without asking."
"What I did was a small thing."
"Not to me. It meant something."
I looked at him carefully. "Why? Are you interested in me?"
"Yes."
My heart stopped for a second. My face was definitely red. "Since when?"
"Since you came to my apartment to call me out for skipping class. I still remember—you had a cut on your finger. You had a butterfly bandage on it." His voice was quiet but steady. "I started showing up to class again because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Yeah. I couldn't stop thinking about you. But I held back—with everything that follows me around, the reputation, the history—I wasn't sure you'd want to look past any of that."
He glanced at me briefly. "So I just watched from a distance. It kind of happened automatically."
I let out a long breath.
So this whole time… he'd been watching me.
While I'd been quietly watching him from across the basketball court, convincing myself every girl on campus must be into him.
He was doing the same thing—and I hadn't noticed once.
My feelings were all tangled up: glad, embarrassed, but also—a little stung. Because he was right. I hadn't exactly rushed toward him when I found out about his record either.
"But the whole time we've been spending time together, I haven't seen any of those rumors in you. On paper—yeah, it's all there. Blowing up a computer lab, almost hitting a professor, the fights. But in person, you're completely different. The Alan sitting here is a totally different person."
"That's what I was hoping for. I want you to know me from me—not from what other people say." He looked at me for a moment. "All that stuff was just boredom back then. Not thinking. But now… I can be someone worth your time."
"Wow." I smiled, and my chest did something warm and inconvenient. "That hit me. I really like hearing that."
"I can come over tomorrow while you work on the assignment?"
"Yeah. I'll make something good."
The engine cut off. Quiet settled in, broken only by the streetlight outside flickering once.
I unclipped my seatbelt. "Thanks. Today was… really fun."
"Yeah," he said softly. "I'm glad."
I stepped out. The night air touched my skin—cool, but not sharp. My hair lifted in the breeze, brushing against my cheek, which was still warm. Whether from the day, or from him, I couldn't quite say.
Alan got out after me. Stood a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, posture easy. But his eyes—they stayed on me longer than usual.
And in the glow of the streetlight, I caught it:
A faint silver shimmer in his irises—like a thin ring of metal catching light for just a second, then gone.
"Are you wearing contacts?" I asked before I could think better of it. "The kind that actually light up like that?"
He went still—just for a beat. Then turned his face slightly away. "Yeah. New kind."
"Oh." I nodded. "Those are cool."
I smiled. Didn't think much more of it. Maybe it really was a limited-edition lens. Maybe it was just the angle of the light.
I was too happy today to go chasing something strange.
Besides—who cared? He was still Alan. The one who rattled off fish facts like a marine biologist. Who carried around a can of Russian mystery milk. Who practically spiraled over a small scrape on my arm.
"I'll head in," I said quietly.
He nodded. "Yeah. See you tomorrow at ten."
I smiled again. "Okay."
I walked inside. The automatic doors slid shut behind me.
Through the glass, I could still see his silhouette—standing there, still, waiting until I was all the way in.
I almost laughed to myself.
'Such a drama king.'
But then—
Something small, somewhere in my chest, whispered:
'Are you sure he's just worried?'
I shook my head.
No. Don't go there.
I was just happy to have spent the day with him. That was all.
I took the stairs up.
And let the warmth of the day bury every small question that had tried to surface.