Page 19 of Deranged Imposter

Maybe they’re raving about his clothes.

When he texted me to meet him here, I was already making up excuses for neglecting to match my outfit to his for the day. He added through text bubbles that he was not happy and hoped I wilt with guilt.

He’s so dramatic.

Everyone has an off day, and mine corresponded with a late alarm and his thick arms glued to me. It was either his breakfast or his clothes - I normally look through his schedule for important events before deciding on the latter.

Breakfast it was, and I hauled my ass out of the dormitory with breakneck speed.

It didn’t take long for us to go back to our previous sleeping arrangement. He swore I was making him lose sleep because he couldn’t hear my snoring, where he spitefully insinuated I was a white noise machine.

He deserved the kick to his kneecap.

“A dog? I wouldn’t touch you even with a ten-foot pole,” I hiss, following him as he guides me to an empty table by the windows. “I was making these.”

I hold up a gift bag with individually wrapped lemon tarts for him to snack on. I saw his schedule after my morning class ended early, so I had time to make them. They’ll boost his energy for his three-hour intensive review session at four o'clock.

He takes them, practically ripping the bag from my hand to set it on the table against the window.

“You’re not sharing?” I squint suspiciously at him as my teasing smile struggles not to turn into a grin.

“Not today,” he says, his fingers toying with the collar of his shirt vindictively.

That’s not true, I want to say, but the waiter nears our table to set down two plates of lunch.

Mikah says one thing, but I know I’ll leave the canteen with a lemon tart in my hand. He’d watch me eat it if I didn’t have class right after lunch.

I have to leave a little earlier. I wasn’t expecting to eat lunch here, and the distance to the main campus is about fifteen minutes.

I was shocked when I saw a lot of students, who I knew weren’t law majors, devour their meals. People came in and out of the building, up the elevators, down to the parking structure, and some rushed to lectures while others dragged their feet to the library.

The rumors about this place having its own society need to be updated.

“I think you look fine,” I praise as I move the plate of food closer. “Like a snack, very tasty and handsome.”

He glares, but his chest swells with what I imagine to be pride. He’s preening.

Mikah might not be donned in crisp suits and polished shoes, but he stays on the achromatic range of a soft gray t-shirt, loose black pants, and running shoes.

People who have never seen him in casual attire must think he’s losing his mind. I approve of his choices, mostly for the tiny marmalade cat sewn on his shirt above his heart. It doesn’t match his style and facial expressions, but the trend of scary men being cute is booming.

I peer at him through my lashes, eyeing the delicious span of tattoos on his arm. I’ve noticed many people having some sort of ink on them, leaning more towards colorful creativity than enigmatic monochromes.

No one is worried about potential employment risks when these people graduate from here. The university’s name is so formidable that even a lizard can be hired if it graduates.

“Hey,” I mumble after swallowing. “Should I get one, too?”

He glances down at his arm, eyes narrowing vehemently. A moment of mulling ends when his scrutiny pans to the window and back to me.

“I’m kidding.” I laugh quietly, scoffing at the growl vibrating in his throat.

I wouldn’t want it until I find one with meaning, something I’ll treasure for the rest of my life. While we are close, I don’t want to pry into the meaning of his tattoos. Maybe it means nothing, or it’s a pledge between brothers, or he did it for himself.

But then I open my curious mouth, my brain drawing a blank at such an undesirable timing.

“Why did you get it?”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and his pointed gaze chases the motion. Regrettably, I’m seconds too late to play this off as witticism when my emotions hinge on the next blink of his eyes.

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