I hadn't changed much since then, still as handsome as always. On video, I was dressed in a silky navy-blue button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone to reveal a plain green T-shirt underneath. The video quality was high enough to capture my stunningly light-green eyes, which was, of course, intentional. In all, I looked professional, yet casual.

At this, Mr. Author laughed and said something unimportant, but I ignored him and just watched myself on video.

"Crushing on your straight best friend," I finally said, in the video. "That rarely ends well."

Shin turned his head slightly, as if he only begrudgingly deigned to acknowledge my presence, but, it wasn't nearly enough to actually see anything behind him, let alone me. I recall being suitably impressed by his lack of reaction to my surprise entrance.

Nonetheless, I still shook my head, perfectly in sync with my on-screen counterpart, and then said what I had only thought of back then, "That just won't do."

Video-me smiled in that mischievous way that guys tend to consider as one of my more endearing features—after my eyes—and said, "I know modern algebra," and Shin immediately twisted his body to his physical limits to look directly at me.

The last time I saw someone move that quickly was when I shocked one of my cousins with a hand-held taser. Unlike last time, I felt shame as I flinched—though only slightly—in response to Shinjiro's unexpected lightning-fast contortion. When he locked eyes with me, it was like staring into the hungry maw of a starving beast.

Seeing it again from this perspective, it was more accurate to say that he instantly “reacted.”

By appearances, Shin summoned every ounce of pleading desperation that he could muster, and then asked, "How much!?" as if he just ran a marathon to deliver that message.

In retrospect, I had expected to see a more subtle level of desperation, but instead I got the debasement of a condemned prisoner pleading with their executioner. It was probably the modern-day capitalistic equivalent of dropping to the floor in an eastern-style kowtow. I laughed uncomfortably while eyeing our surroundings, which had been a practically involuntary reaction at the time. This hadn't been my original intention, so I did not bother mentioning this to Mr. Author.

With a dismissive wave to Shin, I said, "Heh, don't worry about it. This is just my good deed for the week—or really semester, I should say."

"Bullshit!"

I gave him an inarticulate, "Uhm, …" and then held my hands up placatingly while looking around again.

As politely as I could, I gestured to the desperate student that he might want to speak more quietly.

At a normal volume he said, "Sorry," to the lunchtime diners around us, even though my suggestion had only been a ploy to help calm the desperate student. But then, as if he knew this, he said, "Bullshit!" again, but much more quietly this time.

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to regain control over the situation. "How about we start with a conversation? You know, humor me, if you don't mind."

He untwisted himself and said, "Sit!" while pointing to the seat opposite him.

It wasn't where I had originally planned on sitting, and as a result, my back was to the camera.

Nonetheless, I sat down, and when I did so, he said, "Talk."

I said, "Woof."

He said, "Talk, bitch," because I walked right into that one.

In any case, with the pleasantries aside, I got straight to the point. "I want to resolve that problem you have with your best friend."

At this, he laughed so hard that this time he actually did disturb the nearby diners. However, when they looked at him, Shin abruptly stopped laughing and tried to play it off as a bad cough.

"One," he began, while counting with his index finger, "that's not possible. He's straight, has a fucking girlfriend, and isn't attracted to guys. And two, why would helping me be payment for your services?"

I leaned forward and similarly raised my own hand.

"One, he probably isn't straight, and he likely has feelings for you. I can show you my evidence later. And, …" I said, but then paused.

He scowled at me, but instead of responding with his words, he simply lowered his index finger so that only his middle finger remained. The gesture wasn't subtle.

As if to correct him, I gave him a “two” with my middle and index fingers. "And two, by ‘resolution,’ I mean you force him to unequivocally make his choice; either you or his girlfriend. Before that, we'll put him through the ringer, collect evidence, and force him to confront his own sexuality and his feelings for you."

Mr. Author shakes his head, and I pretend not to notice. Shin never noticed the mistake, but it didn't matter because I could've easily lied my way out of it if he had.

"So—then, what?" Shin asked, obviously intrigued, but still giving me his middle finger. "You want me to stop being his friend?"

"That part is up to you."

"No," he said quickly. "I'm fine just being his best frie—"

"Bullshit," I said, like it was my turn to say it. "What happens when he gets his girlfriend pregnant? Are you going to babysit his kid? That's what a best friend would probably do."

This caused Shin to flinch enough to stop giving me the middle finger.

Initially, I thought I'd spoken casually enough, but then I felt like it might've been a little harsh. After that hypothetical, I tried to asking him a less theoretical question. "I don't know how long you've had this—"

"Eight years," he said, before I could even finish the question. There was very little emotion in his voice.

"Is that the crush, or how long you've been friends?"

"Both," he said, matter-of-factly. "I wasn't sure about my sexuality back then, but the moment I saw him I knew I was gay and that I liked him."

"Huh? … Um, … wow! … That's an obscenely long time. What do your friends think about this? One of them must've noticed something."

He turned away, in what I thought at the time was embarrassment, and said, "I don't really have any other friends."

Social isolation was actually one of the criteria I used to select candidates for this scenario, and I had plenty of observation time to reject those that displayed crippling psychiatric issues on video. Based on my observations, this seemed more extreme than I had anticipated. At the very least, I knew enough about Shinjiro to know that I could approach him like this without him being immediately put off by a random eavesdropper interrogating him and questioning his best friend's sexual orientation.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "That guy's been your only friend this entire time?"

"Sometimes, not even him," he said, wistfully. "Like you might guess, we've had fights and stuff. When that happened I was just mostly alone. I guess, that's when I realized that I didn't want to lose my best friend over something stupid like this."

Without really thinking about it, Shinjiro implied that his own feelings were unimportant, especially compared to his friendship with Kit. This was a common enough delusion for situations like this, and at the time it seemed like he still clung to it.

Mr. Author knew better though. "You're wrong. That isn't what this is," he said. "Well, … it IS partly but—"

"Yeah," I said. He didn't need to explain this. "I know that now, and I SHOULD have known it then, but I didn't, and I found out I was wrong."

Meanwhile, video-me continued affably interrogating Shin by asking, more delicately this time, "Did you ever, otherwise—I mean—if you don't mind me asking? …"

Shinjiro looked at me and laughed weakly. "I don't mind … it's just, whatever, you know?" he said, nonchalantly. "But yeah, I'm still a virgin. I never even bothered trying to get that far with anyone else."

"There's nothing wrong with that," I said quickly. "That's fine and all."

"Riiight, … " he said, sarcastically. "Is this the part where you tell me that you're a virgin too?—"

"What!?" I said, a bit too quickly. "N—no! I mean—no—"

"Relax," he said with a laugh. "I'm the one that's supposed to feel embarrassed here."

"No you're not," I said, defensively. "But … if you don't mind me asking? …"

"Really? I think we crossed that bridge already. Go-head," he said, and waved for me to continue.

"Were you—uhm—trying to save yourself for your best friend?" I asked innocently enough.

That had apparently been too much. I pushed him too hard with that question, and the mistake had nothing to do with overestimating our growing familiarity with each other, in the conversation. If anything, it was the opposite. I thoughtlessly made erroneous assumptions, but it wouldn't have mattered if we'd been more acquainted, as close friends, before I asked it.

Rather than considering his claim about being as friendless as he was for eight years, objectively—without either accepting or rejecting it—I dismissed it and even underestimated how much he had already opened up to me. For whatever reason, I really was the first person familiar enough with Shinjiro and his crush to ask a question like that. I assumed we'd already settled, and dismissed as delusional, Shinjiro's idea that his friendship with Kit was really enough for him. After all, even though it wasn't an optimal situation, it wasn't inherently delusional. Some people do find that the friend zone is a cozy enough place to live in for the rest of their life.

It may seem like a mild and insignificant mistake—or even ironic, given my callous departure. Shinjiro's situation was improbable, but thinking about the improbable is sort of what I do.

At that thought my mind wandered again. Even now it was difficult to grasp how long it had really been since I worked for my family—or really—for Grandpa. Has it really been 12 years already, since our little group disbanded? I suppose that really was a long time ago. Technically, it had been longer still since my lessons, but not that much longer. Back then, she taught all of us that our real work—the real game—starts when we begin to consider improbable scenarios; that when the time came, our job was to anticipate the impossible.

I assumed that for Shinjiro's delusion to have lasted this long, it surely would've become something strong and robust, and thus difficult to break. However, that sort of robustness comes from bearing the scrutiny of critics and weathering the attacks of naysayers.

Instead, his delusion was really just the wishful thinking of a lonely teenage boy, except that it had persisted, unchallenged, nearly long enough to graduate from college. It was a delusion that would've begun as a fragile thing, and regardless of how long it has been, it would've remained as such even after all this time.

With a scoff, Mr. Author called it a “rookie mistake,” and said something anecdotally about soldiers who were found holed up, unaware that their war had ended decades ago.

It seems like he had some military service, so I made a mental note to eventually look that up. As curious as I was, I was still respectful, and thus I avoided guessing about whether he fought for the north or the south. I would, of course, find that out later.

Ultimately, the result of my mistake was made evident in the video. Shin's eyes began to water, and it looked like he was struggling to stop himself from crying. I felt the shame of my sloppiness all over again, but really, it was a shame that wasn't even that.

With his voice trembling, Shin answered the question I shouldn't have even asked. Quietly he said, simply, "I don't know."

I reached to him from across the table and said, pleadingly, "Hey, wait. No—no—no. … I didn't mean to—"

"Yes you did," he said sharply. "And don't apologize. If I had confided in anyone then … maybe … years ago," and he stopped to close his eyes. He seemed genuinely surprised when a tear fell from each. Shin was on the edge of breaking down but visibly fought against it, seemingly refusing to cross that line.

I thought it was both strong and stupid, and just the sort of personality trait I'd expect from someone in his situation. Regardless, I knew that Shinjiro didn't want to cry yet, and so I helped him with that.

I told him, "I want to document this," but then he looked at me in disgust and said, "… the fuck?" but I held my hands up placatingly again. "Hey, wait—wait. I mean, just a few video or audio recordings for my notes, and an eventual book without any personal identifying information about you. And we'll work out splitting the royalties later."

He gestured to himself and said, "This," and his voice wavered once more before he finally won the battle against his own tears. Internalized disgust and self-loathing, I thought, but he continued. "This can't be that interesting. Like you said, this is probably something that happens to every gay person."

I winced at this, but only partly in guilt. What he said was something I merely implied with my opening line.

"Yes, it's common, but not That common," I said, because it was true and I wasn't about to baby him. "Now—though, with what you just told me—geez—eight fucking years—that's very unusual."

"Then what's so interesting about us?" he said, and while I noted his choice of pronouns, I didn't comment on it.

This wasn't that sort of situation.

Instead I said, "Originally, you were just one of several pairings I came across over the years. There are others in this school that I was considering, but your situation seemed to be the most straightforward of the lot." I grimaced at my own choice of wording and looked away shamefully. "Not even just one friend?"

"For me, not even one. For Kit there was his little brother, others he abandoned out of necessity—so they don't count—but there was also someone who regularly wandered into and out of his life. She'd actually been my friend before I came out."

I knew what that meant, so I said, angrily, "Why would he be friends with—"

"He wasn't," Shin said defensively, but with some force behind his words. "She invited herself." Then Shin took a moment to collect himself.

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Only then did I notice the small towel he held, but just like before, I'd been distracted and hadn't seen when he got it.

I wanted to ask about Kit's little brother, but I could already imagine plenty of scenarios where his little brother wouldn't have been able to stop this train wreck of a friendship Kit had with Shinjiro. In any case, the moment had passed, and the picture was clear enough. There would be time enough for that later.

Shin spoke calmly again, but there had been a weariness in his voice. "She had been out of both our lives for a few years, but they made a deal that helped me. The cost was that she could talk to him again, and there was some sort of minimum amount of talking time he had to keep up. And he did. He kept it at the minimum until … ," and then he looked away silently.

"You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. I might pester you, once or twice, but in the end I'm a gentleman."

"It's fine," he lied. It was an obvious lie. Then he said, "She's here."

I put the pieces together and said, "Holy fuck! She's his girlfriend?" and he nodded grimly.

"She's changed. I believe she has. I just haven't seen her because … ," he began, but then I said, "Of course," so he didn't have to finish that thought.

"But they still think it's because of her homophobic crap. We were barely teenagers then." I nodded and he continued. "I think she also might be afraid of me or something. … I don't know."

"Well," I began, "regardless of what I initially saw about you two, this is definitely a story people would want to read."

Very plainly, he said, "No"

"Uhm, … ‘No,’ what?"

"I still want to know your original reason for choosing us. I'm guessing you didn't approach any of the others yet. What are you really trying to do here?"

Mr. Author laughed and said, "Damn. Even as an emotional wreck Shinjiro's still pretty sharp."

I nodded, but then gave Mr. Author a smile that was more of a feral grin that said, "Yeah, but I'm sharper."

Needless to say, at the time Shinjiro stumped me. I had been sort of confused because I was pretty sure I'd already given him a decent enough answer. To Shinjiro, I said as much. "I already told you. Your situation is relatively straightforward. Basically you two already look like a gay couple, even though he has a girlfriend. And then there's … ," I hesitated only a moment to come up with something more emotionally convincing.

A bit of honest dark humor, I thought, would work perfectly.

"I heard, ‘You fucking moron?’ " I said, with finger quotes, "and I thought, ‘ouch, that had to burn.’ " The effect was immediate. Shinjiro laughed and seemed to draw strength from this bit of levity.

Dark humor was very effective.

"He's an honest guy," Shin said, "but he's not always honest with himself. Since you noticed my—" and he waved his hand, "my problem—it's pretty easy to see, right? Being subtle isn't going to make it anymore obvious, so I don't hold back when I catch him being dishonest with himself or sometimes … when he's just so fucking clueless. I try to call him out on it, but the fucking moron misinterprets it and—I can't really explain how he does this—but whatever it is he imagines to be the problem, he usually thinks that the solution is to ‘try harder’ or something."

"Like, I called him out on how he prioritizes me over his girlfriend because, … yeah," and he seemed to come to some sort of realization. "That really was what I was doing, huh? I thought I gave up, but I never stopped doing shit like that. I've always tried to get my ‘best friend’ to admit that he loves me because I've always wanted more," and when he said, "best friend," there was still plenty of self-loathing left.

He nodded to himself and I let him continue without comment.

"So instead of looking inward and asking himself why he keeps prioritizing me over her, he gets really guilty and then tries to be more attentive to his girlfriend. I call him a ‘fucking moron’ because that's his conclusion too. He agrees."

Then Shinjiro looked straight at me, as if I had the answers he sought, and said, "I don't know anymore. … I don't know if—do I even still think he might actually love me?" and he looked away again to stare blankly at the remains of his lunch. He started playing with the granola bar wrapper and then spoke quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. "I thought I gave up on that, but I guess I'm just used to ignoring my own feelings. I'm the fucking moron who convinced myself that they don't matter or they aren't real or—or whatever. …" By the end, he's clutching his chest like he's having a heart attack. His eyes glistened again with unspent tears and he looked at me defiantly, as if I was a proxy for his pain, or I had answers that I wouldn't share—technically, I did have answers I wouldn't share. Then he points at me and I hear some of the anguish he bottled up over the years. "But you see how I feel! Why won't he? Why Can't he?!"

Shinjiro stopped, apparently surprised by his own actions or maybe by what he said. I wasn't sure which. Stuff like that was never really clear with him.

Nonetheless, he got over the emotional outburst fairly quickly, probably because he was ignoring his feelings again. When he spoke next, he was as calm as he was before. "It just … I—I call him a ‘fucking moron’ because I hurt."

“Wow,” was all I could think of back then, but I had the good sense to not say it. Unfortunately, that was somewhat literal because, other than “wow,” I had no idea what else I could have possibly said about this.

In my planning, there weren't any variants of my scenario for a situation like this. I hadn't intended to encounter something this fucked up, but rather than realizing how sloppy I was, back then I merely saw my lack of foresight as being a failure of my imagination. I know why, of course. At least, I do now. It was because my original scripts weren't entirely derailed, and even if I'd done more research ahead of time, I'd still probably pick Shinjiro and Kit as the subjects of this scenario.

On video we both lapsed into a brief silence.

Because I still had control of the situation, I decided to go back and answer his original question. Quietly, I broke the silence and said, "What I'm doing? … Why I'm doing this? Think of it as an experiment. I want to show people how to spot this situation, to be more attentive, and to have ways of resolving it."

Lying is second nature to me, but those lies made me feel dirty. I'm listening to myself here and I just feel dirty all over again. Mr. Author looks at me, but I look away.

The observant old man who had a way with words said, "You pulled that out of your ass. You just told him what he wanted to hear," as if he was trying to explain something to me.

My reply was simple. I told him, "That's what I always do."

In the end it worked, but I knew well enough to not mindlessly justify my methods with my results.

I needed this situation to progress a little bit; to work it into the next part of my script. With Shinjiro's next question, it was evident that it did just that.

He looked at me, emotionally spent, and asked, "How are you going to fix this?"

"Resolve this," I said. "I only said ‘resolve.’ I can't fix a broken heart, or the lies we tell ourselves."

On the video I licked my lips in a nervous habit. I hadn't realized how shook up I'd been at that time. Thankfully I got all that crap out of my system. It had been several months since this scenario began, and now it was finally at its first conclusion. Hopefully, this will be the final conclusion as well.

To elaborated, Video-me said, "We can force him to make a choice, but he can always choose wrongly, or even refuse to choose at all."

Shinjiro asked me, "How?" again. Then Mr. Author says, "I liiike him."

Of course he did, but it made me wonder if he'd make Shin the protagonist instead of me.

"Despite how fucked up this is, it's still a relatively straightforward situation. This means that there are obvious and straightforward things we can do."

Before he could ask me yet again, I added, "So first off, you need to spend less time with him. Right now, he doesn't have to think about how much he needs and wants you because you're always there. Secondly, he needs to know that he can lose you and that others can take his place. Thirdly, you need a life; your're own life where you can enjoy yourself and have fun. To put it more simply, you need a fake boyfriend to make him jealous, and I'm offering."

On the video, I see myself squint while I try to assess Shinjiro's reaction, but his expression was almost inscrutable. Regardless, if I didn't press on, I'd probably lose him. Thankfully, Mr. Author did not ask me why that even mattered.

Hoping that I was on the right track, I began to say, "Of course, there's more to—" but Shinjiro stops me and asks, his voice still weak, but his tone now clearly accusatory, "Is that what this is about?"

I did not expect this response at all, and that little delay made it all the more confusing. I gave him a bewildered, "Huh?" before I had a chance to realize what he meant by "that." I said, "Wait—what!?" because I realized that delaying his vitriolic response like that was actually an excellent tactic for throwing someone off guard. Of course, I Simply Had to make a mental note about this, even though it hadn't been the best time to be distracted. For some reason, I thought my speech was “pretty good” and “self-explanatory.”

⁂

Mr. Author pauses the video and starts laughing. Actually, I should say he paused the video SO THAT he could start laughing at me. Apparently he felt that his laughter was worth the interruption.

In between breaths and giggles, he says, "… and you came up with that ahead of time and thought it was ‘Pretty Good?’ Hahaha, but you didn't think he'd take it that way?! Hah, haha … ," and I wait for him to get it out of his system.

Then I say, "Are you done?" but I am not bitter about it or his laughter.

His ridicule was well-deserved by my dumb mistake—though really, it wasn't even that; it was just “sloppo.”

There was a theme here about being honest with yourself while lying to everyone else, or at least I could see that being in the book. As the narrator, Mr. Author would need some insight into our thoughts, and if I don't give him enough to work with, he'll probably focus on something stupid. This meant that if I wanted a nice or amusing portrayal of myself in the book, hiding my mistakes simply because they were embarrassing wouldn't help that. I had to at least be aware of my own introspective thoughts when talking about the introspective thoughts of others.

The old man raises his hands as if to tell ME to stop, but admittedly, and to his credit, he himself abruptly stops giggling. After he pretends to zip his mouth closed, I tell him, "When I wrote it, that wasn't at all where I was going. I was aiming for something more … noble," and of course, that sets him off on a new round of giggles, because surprise, he wasn't done after all.

⁂

When the video resumes, I hear myself say, "Listen," in a serious tone to Shinjiro. "There will be no sex—at least not between you and I—and I'm not making a porno, so that's not an issue."

However, back then, just like right now, I still couldn't tell what he might have been thinking. Shinjiro had that neutral expression of his where he could be thinking about almost anything; good, bad, and everything in between.

That was the first time I ever saw that expression, but I never found an effect strategy for dealing with it. All I can do, is all I could do back then, which was to continue as planned. On video, I looked at him seriously, and said, deadpanned, "Furthermore—and this part is very important—I forbid you from falling in love with me."

Shin laughed, and like that, suddenly the tension in the air was broken. By this point I notice that the cafeteria had thankfully emptied out a bit, but there were still enough people present for the din of background noise to sufficiently mask our conversation.

With some more levity, I said, "You laugh, but I can be very charming and romantic."

It's enough, and we began to banter again.

"I thought this was just supposed to be fake?" he asked.

"You can't make him jealous by studying modern algebra," I said. "For the purposes of this experiment, you will have actual fun. We'll hang out, and you will experience life without him, and perhaps, briefly forget about him. You are one of my test subjects, after all. My methods rely upon how you act on your own around him, and I don't want to rely upon your acting skills, if you even have any."

"What you're suggesting is sort of fucked up. You know that, right?"

"Says Mr. Eight-years," and this got me a weak laugh. "I will not touch you without permission, nor will I put you in any compromising situations, except when you go batshit crazy, should that even happen. I will not trap you in a basement, threaten you, or sell you on the black market."

At this he mouthed, "What the fuck?!"

"But I will make inappropriate jokes. Nothing sexual or—" but then I stopped to think about what I'd just said. "Actually, scratch that one. I think I can only say that there won't be an inordinate number of sexual jokes."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're a funny man. Fun-ny."

"Damn straight, I am!"

I let the silence linger to encourage Shinjiro to make a decision. Like most of my candidates, he's pretty smart, so he picked up on this immediately. He bit his lip and looked off to the side.

His indecisive mumbling was quiet, but it was loud enough to break the silence of a still bustling, but increasingly empty, cafeteria. "Uhm, … I guess, … maybe, yeah?" he said with a shrug. Then something must've clicked because that was the end of his indecision. "Actually, yeah! Why the hell not! Sure, sign me up for your bullshit. If anything does happen, he'll just kick your ass."

I responded with mock offense. "My ass? I can totally kick his ass."

Shin said, "I'd like to see that!" and just like that, we came to terms, … of a sort.

"Okay, we'll make that one of our dates. I'll reserve one of those rooms at the rec center."

"You're thinking about the Personal Defense Center, and FYI, he works there."

"Even better," I said, with a overly-charming smile.

Shinjiro stared at me for a long moment, and I let him appreciate what he saw. Of course, I had nothing to fear in that department, but admittedly, it had felt like he was only then seeing me for the first time. While watching myself, I could vividly recall feeling the scrutiny of his gaze. However, I did seem to ruin the moment by striking poses like a fashion model.

He shook his head. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a grad student in radio astronomy," I tell him, because its true. "I spend most of my work/school time in the observatory, but I also have an office near here."

Sometimes I am honest to a fault.

I couldn't begin to guess what he might've been thinking at this point. Even in the good times thereafter, I recall how hard it was in moments like these, to read Shinjiro.

Without saying a word, Shinjiro began packing up his lunch supplies, leaving the remainder on his tray for disposal, and then unhurriedly put his jacket and book bag on. The jacket was more of a dull red spring coat with blue patches and shapes all over it. His book bag was mostly blue and black, but with a mix of red at the seams. It all matched very nicely.

At the time, I had no idea where he usually went to next. After lunch, on days like this, he tended to leave my “viewing area” and only returned, sporadically, in random locations up until his next class. That was American History which was still several hours away, assuming he even bothered going to that class.

He moved silently and gave me no indication of what he was planning. I didn't mind though, even if that's technically—no Literally—supposed to be my job. As I would come to understand, this was actually typical Shinjiro behavior. So there I sat and waited. I had nothing to awkwardly fiddle with or to distract myself with, other than my phone, but I wasn't about to do that. As far as I knew, he was about to leave With me, or Without me; the latter, presumably because he had enough of my crap. The next stage of my scenario was relatively straightforward, but that's assuming he actually said something before he left.

At the last possible moment, when he looked like he was about ready to leave, he finally said, "So what happens now?" sort of as if the question had been an afterthought.

"How about we start by introducing ourselves," I said, on video, "and then we'll go on our first date; a simple walk and talk about campus, if you want."

He shrugged noncommittally and sat back down.

"You can use this time to talk about all the stuff that you haven't been able to unload on anyone for the past eight years."

Shinjiro reacted evasively. He looked away and mumbled, "Four years," and initially, I thought I'd merely misheard the apparent inconsistency.

"Excuse me?" I said, simply as a question, rather than an exclamation of surprise. I was fairly certain that I did not mishear anything, but I sensed that this was a traumatic or sensitive topic. There would be time enough for that later, too.

I pretended to not notice any of this, and continued with the introduction. I said, "Oh yeah! Hi, I'm Ahmed Sulleyman," while reaching across the table and offering my hand.

Then, without missing a beat, he took my hand and said, "I'm Shinjiro Nezu-Rivera, but you can call me ‘Shin,’ " and then after a pause he said, "Our target is Kit Miller."

Using some of my natural charm, I said, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Shin," before walking around the table.

After getting my own jacket, I presented my arm for him to grab and asked, "Would you do me the honor of joining me on a walk about campus?"

He said, "What the hell. Why not," and took my arm in his, before adding, "Then, as you do beseech. A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, along the briny beach."

Back then, I hadn't realized that I flinched or tensed slightly when he said that, probably because of how easy it was to play along. Sometimes it was just fun to pretend.

"Am I supposed to be the oysters?" I asked. "If you're the walrus, then does that mean you want to—" I began, but then he drew my attention to his lunch tray. Then, like a good fake boyfriend, I carried his tray while we both walked over to the appropriate receptacle to deposit it.

"I'll expect our future fake dates to be more fun. You hear me?" he said, and I nodded. "Remember, I get fun, and I get tutoring in a math class I have no business being in, or the deals off."

"Of course," I said in my sappy faux-romantic voice. "As you wish."

⁂

To Mr. Author's obvious annoyance, I turned the video player off and put my phone away. It was so perfectly timed that when he looked up in annoyance, a cubicle wall swung open to reveal the putative couple, in the flesh.

If the look intimidated Kit, he didn't show it. I expected Shinjiro to appear unperturbed, and he did not disappoint. Initially, he probably felt intimidated until he, nearly instantly, decided that whatever happened was my fault. He says to Mr. Author, "I hope he hasn't been harassing you," and I silently muse that, all things considered, he wasn't entirely wrong.

In response, the wizened old man merely says, "Nor I, him."

"Cultureless heathens," I add. "Is it safe to assume that you aren't here for literary advice?"

With a dismissive wave, Shinjiro says, "Shush. We're just leaving. And we're taking the leftover pizza."

"Of course! Why else would you have brought your mule," I said, pointing to Kit who carried a take-out bag.

Shinjiro ignores my banter while Kit looks satisfied and thoroughly whipped. That still weirded me out a bit, so I tried to avoid thinking about what it took to get him to that point.

"So, are we still on for tomorrow? This ‘cinematic adventure’ you told us about."

"Yes, indeed," I said, while resisting the urge to say something that would be comic book supervillain nefarious.

"And you said you had more cookies?" Kit asks, because I trained him so well.

"I do indeed. We're meeting at my place, after all."

Shinjiro says, "Good. See you then," and we all say or grunt our replies.

The putative couple departed, and I watched them leave using the security cameras.

I turned the video player back on and said, "Most likely, I will never see them again," and then added, "That time restriction you asked about—it's my flight that leaves tonight. Red-eye flight and all."

"And where the fuck are you going?" he asks, not so much surprised as disappointed.

"Home," I said simply. "I am a grad student in radio astronomy, like I said, but I'm not a student here," and sighed because, of course, that's the part he doesn't figure out himself. "The sort of radio astronomy I do, can be done remotely. In fact, that's how we do it, as in, most of our group uses the telescope over the internet—with complete control, actually. I was only here for one semester to help upgrade the telescope. The rest was my vacation time."

Mr. Author looks at me for a long and terrible moment. I can see him war internally with his desire to ask me why, and his desire to figure it out himself. At least, that's what I hope. In the end, just as I'm wondering if I should catch an earlier flight, he smiles like a satisfied house cat, while I try to not be intimidated. I tell myself that his response means he accepts my challenge, rather than something potentially worrisome.

Very casually—but not too casually—I smile and show Mr. Author how to load the next video on the player.

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