Beneath

2 COFFEES & SAD REFRIGERATORS

N O A H

The bell over the café door chimes as Fox sweeps in, all smiles to the baristas he knows by name. Hallowed Grounds is a small place with the scent of coffee so strong I can taste it on my tongue.

Jed's at the corner table wearing a yellow Hawaiian shirt, his legs folded under him on the bench seat, eyes closed, likely humming though I'm too far away to hear it. His poofy dark afro shifts slightly under the AC above his head.

I slip into the booth across from him and set my forehead on the cool glass window.

"We've got a mission, gentlemen," Fox announces as he sits beside Jed, shoving him against the window.

"Don't touch me," Jed hisses, wiping his skin. Fox does it again, pushing his shoulder. Jed does it back, cursing.

"A girl's coming over on Thursday. You know Maddison from lab? It's her friend, Camila."

Jed leans back, his black skin a stark contrast to the loud yellow of his shirt. "In another timeline, you made better choices. What is Camila?"

"Cam is striking," Fox says. "A little scary, but cool. You'll like her."

"I like men," Jed reminds us.

"Yes, you're all about cock," Fox says with an eye roll, oblivious to the lady walking by with a horrified expression, "but I mean as a friend, Jed."

"I'm bad at friends."

Fox points to me with his coffee. "What if I told you Cam made Noah smile?"

Jed's dark eyes slide to me. "That one never smiles."

I rub the condensation from the window with the sleeve of my hoodie. "That's an exaggeration."

Jed says, "If she is coming over, I need to cleanse the space. We cannot have negative energy."

Fox's nodding, already peeling the paper off his coffee cup. "I'll warn her about the sage. And the chanting."

The conversation drifts to logistics. Fox talks about wanting real, about making a connection. It sounds like a stretch, not just for a girl he barely knows, but for this world. For our time.

There are a few girls in the corner staring at my scar. One looks scared, the other looks...hungry? I'm tired, so fucking tired, of being defined by a moment. But it's history written in scar tissue.

"We need a code word," Jed says.

"Crescendo," Fox suggests. "Or arpeggio."

Jed tilts his head, his eyes going out of focus. "Piano. She plays piano, now."

"Cam doesn't play piano, dude."

A girl approaches our table, somewhere around our age. She's short with curves and a smile and when she locks eyes with Fox, she says, "I think I know you," twisting her fingers nervously.

Fox offers her a smile, the polite kind. "Yeah, biology second year. I remember you."

Her gaze shifts, landing on me, and her cheeks bloom with a sudden rush of red. It's always the scar.

Before his girl can say anything else, Jed points to me and explains, "This one's the quiet, brooding type. Like a storm cloud that's also a librarian." He points to Fox next. "And he's in love with someone else. Oh, and I'm gay."

"Platonic cock appreciation between us, though." Fox tips his coffee at us.

The girl's mouth snaps shut before fleeing back to her table.