Page 48 of Heat Clickbait
When Crash picked us up twenty minutes later (because of course he was our ride, probably vibrating with barely contained curiosity about our "weird art date"), Ghost surprised me by sliding into the back seat beside me instead of taking shotgun. He didn't speak during the ride home, but his hand found mine in the darkness between us, our fingers interlacing like binary code spelling out something only we could read.
Crash filled the silence with his usual chatter, bouncing between topics with ADHD enthusiasm, something about a new energy drink flavor, a stunt he wanted to try involving trampolines, whether anyone had watched his latest streamwhere he'd attempted to eat cereal while doing handstands. Ghost and I listened with half our attention, more focused on the quiet conversation happening through touch.
Later, back at the house while the others settled into their evening streaming schedules, I snuck back to my computer and pulled up the gallery's website. They had a virtual tour feature, and I found the last room. Next to the images of the installation they had a scrolling wall of messages. It took several minutes of searching, since there were so many, but I finally found Ghost's note.
She sits in my silence and makes it feel full.
My eyes burned with unexpected tears. Maybe that was the point of individual dates, learning to speak each other's languages, even when those languages contained no words at all. Understanding that connection could be quiet, that intimacy didn't always require grand gestures or constant conversation.
The next morning, I found a small Lego flower on my desk. It had white petals with a green stem and was no more than three inches tall.
No note, no explanation, just sitting next to my keyboard like it had grown there overnight. But I understood perfectly. Some things were better said in silence, in the careful placement of plastic bricks, in the patient construction of something beautiful and small.
I placed it on my windowsill where the morning light could catch it, and every time I looked at it throughout the day, I thought of tide pools and contemplative spaces and the way Theodore had learned to be Ghost, then slowly, carefully, was learning to be Theodore again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Callie
The adventure park stretched before us like a neon-colored fever dream, all zip lines and rope bridges and things designed to make normal people scream with delight. Crash bounced on his toes at the entrance, practically vibrating with excitement, his energy drink and rain scent spiking with anticipation that made my omega instincts perk up despite the suppressants.
"Extreme Adventure Zone," he read from the sign, grinning so wide the gap between his front teeth showed. "Twenty obstacles, three levels of difficulty, and..." He paused dramatically. "A ball pit at the end."
"Of course there's a ball pit." I couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm. He'd been planning this date for days, leaving sticky notes around the house with increasingly chaotic suggestions crossed out. Bungee jumping (too intense), escape room (Ghost's territory), arcade (too loud for conversation), until finally settling on this.
"Listen, I know it's not sophisticated like Nova's coffee agenda or meaningful like Ghost's art gallery, but?—"
"It's perfect," I interrupted, surprising us both with how much I meant it. "It's you."
The adventure park was practically empty on a Wednesday afternoon, which meant we had almost the entire course to ourselves. Crash had probably planned that too, beneath his chaos. He handed me a helmet decorated with rainbow stickers and "SAFETY THIRD" written in sharpie.
"Safety third?" I asked, adjusting the straps.
"Fun first, content second, safety third but still important." He bounced again, energy crackling through him like electricity looking for ground. "Ready to see if that savage independence translates to physical challenges?"
The first obstacle was simple but terrifying for someone unused to heights. It was a rope bridge that swayed with each step.
Crash crossed it backward, of course, narrating like a sports commentator. "And here we see the rare Callie Cross in her unnatural habitat, approximately fifteen feet off the ground, questioning her life choices!"
"I'm questioning your sanity," I shot back, gripping the ropes tighter as the bridge swayed.
"That's been in question since birth, babe. My mom has documentation."
His complete lack of self-preservation should have been terrifying, but instead, I found it oddly liberating. When he reached the other side, he didn't immediately move to the next obstacle. Instead, he waited, ready to catch me if needed but not rushing me.
"Take your time," he said, and for once, his body had gone still. "We've got all afternoon."
The second obstacle involved cargo nets and creative swearing. Crash climbed beside me, matching my pace, occasionally offering completely unhelpful advice like "try using your teeth" or "have you considered sprouting wings?"
"How is this a date?" I panted, halfway up the net.
"Because we're together and I get to watch you be terrible at something without your streaming persona as armor." He paused. "Plus, your ass looks great from this angle."
I tried to kick him but nearly lost my grip, resulting in a squawk that definitely wasn't dignified.
"That's going in my private collection of Callie sounds," he announced.
"You have a what now?"
