“Sure.” I wasn’t one to cause problems like that, but I didn’t say so.
Instead, I let Cin go be a social butterfly, or whatever it was they wanted to do, and I grabbed my phone from one of the pockets so I could scroll for a bit.
Having nothing to do was the absolute worst. I needed some kind of stimulation at all times. I didn’t have ADHD—my parents got me tested at one point—but… It was about feeling too aware of where I was and what my body was doing.
It was better if I didn’t leave room for that.
To be fair, the people at the munch were nice. As César, one of the servers I’d grown worryingly familiar with in the past weeks, served all the food and drink orders, others introduced themselves. They brought me into their conversations and asked about me. I snickered a few times, but full-on belly laughs were reserved for people I had built more trust with.
It was good, though. When Cin asked if they’d be seeing me at future munches, I didn’t give a definite answer, but I could see myself here. Maybe if Dylan came with me, I could loosen up more and give answers that involved more than five words at a time.
“Cin! You still here?”
Many people had approached Cin since I arrived. It made sense; they were one of the hosts. I’d been more attuned at first, raising my head to see who was who. The last half hour, I’d been too engrossed with the two kinksters next to me.
That voice, though.
It was familiar.
The second I turned, it made sense. The years had lowered it, made it raspier, but…
Shit.
My eyes widened. That was Claude of Spades. I’d watched too many of their vlogs during all-nighters in college not to recognize them.
What were the odds that they were in Boston? In Randy’s, of all places?
And that they knew Cin, too.
All the anxiety I’d started to shake out came back full force while I tried to figure it out. Last time I’d heard, Claude had been living their best influencer life in LA.
They’d disappeared, though, after a vlog that went viral for all the wrong reasons.
Ben—a better known YouTuber and their best friend—had been tight-lipped about it. Back then, I checked out their social media profiles a couple of times a week, hoping for some kind of update.
I wasn’t scared to say I’d had it bad. It was my coping mechanism while dealing with classes filled with finance bros and professors with outdated ideas on gender.
Cin must’ve noticed me looking because they gestured toward me and mouthed, “You know each other?”
Pulse in my throat, I shook my head. I knew Claude’s internet persona. Just because I got obsessed for a while there didn’t mean I was blind or unaware of how YouTube worked. Many people in the comments section were another story, though. I guess that was why Claude’s last video had blown up the way it did.
I never would’ve claimed to know anything about them. I’d just enjoyed the content. It had been the best safe space I could afford to enjoy.
Kind of what Randy’s had quickly become.
Randy’s was probably better for my mental health than rabbit holes down the lore of a dozen YouTubers. Worse for my finances, for sure, but… One couldn’t have it all.
Besides, I’d already built it into my budget, so it was fine. All under control.
“Love the vintage look,” Claude said. They were moving closer. The guy who’d been sitting to my right had already said his goodbyes and headed out. I… “I take it you’re a fan?”
Fan.
No, that wasn’t the right word, but… I supposed it was the easiest way to explain it.
“Used to be” felt like a good compromise, though I winced when I said it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel awkward.”
I cataloged the changes as they sat in the booth next to me, our legs almost touching. Their hair was dyed dark fuchsia, cut around their shoulders. I had never seen them wearing a natural color, so I supposed that had remained the same. The undercut, too.