Control Freaks

23

And you knew—he was waiting. Waiting for you to speak, the way he always did. Waiting for you to say I want soy milk, or no scallions today, or I had this really dumb dream.

But you couldn't. You couldn't say anything at all.

Your mind kept circling back to last night: the pears, the nail polish, the warmth of their voices, the way Ymir had whispered "If he reels you back in, come here for your booster shot."
You'd thought that comfort would help you surface from whatever this was.
But instead, it stayed with you, tangled like fishing wire around your ribs.

Then, suddenly—
"Don't you have a student council meeting today?"
Your voice was scratchy, unsure.

Arthur glanced over.
"I switched it. Vice President's covering for me till noon."

"You changed it last-minute?"

"Last night."
He paused.
"I figured you wouldn't want to be alone today."

You didn't respond. You just curled deeper into the seat.
The sunlight slid over your shoulder, catching a glint of soft blonde in your hair.

"I drank too much yesterday," you murmured.
"At Ymir's place."

"I know," he said gently.
"She posted a photo. I saw you guys, the three of you eating pears all huddled together."

"We looked dumb, didn't we?"

"No," he said,
"You looked... finally at ease."

That made you want to laugh. Or cry. Or something in between.

You opened your eyes and glanced at him. His profile was so clean, so untouched by the world. He looked like someone who didn't yet know how to be cruel.

"Do you think I've been acting weird lately?"

"I always think you're weird," he said with a small smile,
"That's why I like you."

You turned your head away. Looked at the red light outside.
"Aren't you afraid I might just... stop liking you one day?"

It slipped out before you could stop it.

Arthur didn't answer immediately.
The car idled at the light. The sun drew a long shadow from his lashes across his cheek.

Then he said—soft, steady, as if he'd rehearsed it in silence:

"Of course I'm afraid. But love was never supposed to be equal, right?"

And somehow, that made it harder to speak.

You closed your eyes again and leaned into the glass. The car trembled slightly beneath you. Then—

"Oh, by the way," he added,
"You missed class last week, right? Professor Smith came to ask me about you."

You sat up instantly. "What?"

Your voice wasn't loud, but it cut sharper than the music.
Professor Smith came to ask me about you.
Like a pin slipped between your shoulder blades.

"What did he want?"

Arthur hesitated, choosing his words.

"He ran into me at the department, asked if I'd seen you. Said you'd missed two lectures and wanted to make sure you were okay."

You didn't reply.
You sat straighter. Your hands twisted around the cuff of your sleeve without realizing. Outside the window, buildings blurred past, unfamiliar and too fast.

"I told him you were probably not feeling well. Or just tired. He nodded, said 'got it,' and left."
Arthur added,
"He didn't ask for more. Didn't say anything else."