rearranging hearts

chapter four

". . . feelings they come and they go, that they do . . ."

—Paris in the Rain,
Lauv

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There are certain things that Gabriel has accepted will never make sense—not to him, at least. Number theory. People who wear capris. The way his stepmother never fails to find the worst boyfriend possible.

How someone so smart could have everything he's ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter—and then fuck it up. Twice.

"I'm gonna be honest," Luke says, "I don't know if this is your greatest idea."

The idea in question has been stewing in a hot car for the better part of an hour now. They pulled into the Lee's driveway with a fully-fleshed, colour coded purpose—and now Luke is second guessing him.

(Shit. He might even be second guessing himself.)

Gabriel shrugs. "At least it's not the worst."

"Fair point."

Neither of them move.

(So maybe this isn't his best idea. Maybe it's somewhere near the bottom of the list, stuffed between the time he set Erica's curtains on fire and his failed candle business.

It's better than nothing.

Hopefully.)

He picks at a spot on his neck, near the bottom of his ear. The red welt of skin is hidden by the tips of his hair. They'd spent the morning working an opening shift at the diner and now his hands are raw and cracked, smelling of dish soap. It had given him time to think—about this. About everything.

"Don't you think it's stupid?" He had asked Luke, somewhere between bussing tables and mopping up chocolate milk. "You saw the way he looked at her."

"I didn't see anything."

"You saw it. He was all heart-eyed and shit. I've never seen Kota look at anyone like that before. Have you?"

A pause. "I guess you might be right."

"I'm always right."

Luke bites his thumbnail, and Gabriel reaches over, tugging his arm down. It's a nasty habit that he's had since they were kids. It leaves his fingers all sharp and jagged and maybe it's unchecked vanity but Gabriel can't stand the sight of it. Especially when he's seen him go low enough to bleed.

He does this for his own good, just like he's sitting in the Lee's driveway with his heart pumping out of his chest for Kota's. It's not just him getting up in everyone else's business.

Well, not entirely.

He reaches over the center console and pulls the keys from the ignition, shoving them into his back pocket. "Fuck it. Let's go."

The truck door slams shut behind him. He's halfway to the porch when Luke gets out, and he can hear the sound of rubber soled sneakers dragging against the pavement, slow and heavy. There's a light on in the kitchen and another in the front hall, but the window above the garage is dim. Gabriel knew before he could look up that it would be—Kota is in Summerville somewhere, posing as a college student with another team.

He had watched Mr. Blackbourne deal out the side missions earlier that week and he knows that schedule like the back of his hand, but he still feels the need to check. There's this nagging voice in the back of his head that's telling him Kota is standing up there just waiting for them to get a little too close, to pry a little too much.