Heartprints in the Void
⊰ 19 ⊱ Not a Date: Part 1

*It's not a date.*

There are people who are punctual-like me. I'm always conscious of time, a sticker for being on schedule. Then, there are people who are not so punctual-like Cade.

He believes that punctuality is only warranted for things that 'matter' or are 'important'.

*Does this fall under the category of 'important??*

It's 5 minutes to 8PM, and I've switched out cardigans twice and rearranged the cushions on the couch four times.

I'm not in denial. I'm very aware of how nervous this shouldn't make me. I'm also very aware of how unnecessarily anxious I am, and if there were a way to cope by merely acknowledging my discomfort, I wouldn't be pacing so much between re-doing chores that I had already done the moment that I got home.

At Bubbles' very audible sigh, I snap my eyes to meet his beautiful golden-brown ones. "You're just tired of my shit, aren't you?" I ask sarcastically.

As if on cue, a knock echoes through the door. Bubbles emits a singular bark, his head swiveling towards the entrance. My heart skips a beat, the tips of my fingers reaching for the hems of the sleeves of my cardigan, balling them into my fists. "Okay..." I whisper to myself as I move to the front door with reluctance. I pull it open, swiftly stepping aside to allow Cade in. It's just like me to move on autopilot in stressful situations, and as I shut the door behind him, my brain suddenly turns back on and I'm panicking, having forgotten about Bubbles.

My eyes widened briefly only to be just as quickly disappointed by the fact that *if* I had just let a serial killer in, he'd be watching, laying there, curious enough to look but not curious enough to get up. In the next moment, he yawns and rests his head back down on the sofa, averting his gaze elsewhere.

*So, you're not even gonna come and sniff him?*

"That's a hell of a guard dog you got there," Cade's snide remark betrays me, nearly making me laugh despite my nerves.

I snicker as I eye Bubbles with a fond exasperation. "Yeah...he's generally a very worrisome boy."

Turning back to Cade, my breath catches in my throat.

He looks so much like the man I fell in love with three years ago-dressed casually in a navy sweater, black joggers, and white and navy sneakers, with thick black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose instead of his usual contacts. His shoulders are rounded, hands tucked into his pockets, a far cry from his typical confident stance. Seeing him like this, like the endearingly dorky guy I once knew, it almost shatters my heart all over again.

After a long moment's silence, I revert my gaze to Bubbles, desperate to not let tension fall between us. "This is Bubbles," I speak abruptly, humorlessly chuckling. "He'll be 3-years-old next week."

"I see..." Cade trails off, eyeing the fur ball on the sofa for a long moment before moving closer and reaching out to pet his head. He allows Bubbles to sniff his hand thoroughly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He's a good boy," With one final pat, Cade straightens on his feet and moves to sit on the couch beside Bubbles' plush sofa.

*This is gonna get really awkward really fast. *

...

*Panics in Korean.*

"So, um...would you like something to drink?" I ask, fidgeting with my fingers, unable to keep still. "Or something to eat? I usually have dinner at 7, but I can cook something for you if you're hungry. Or I can -“ "Elysian," he cuts me off as he leans back against the couch. He places his arm on the armrest, shifting his weight respectfully, his piercing gaze replaceing mine. "Why do I make you so nervous?"

"What?" I force a laugh, shaking my head even as I feel heat creeping up my neck. "I'm not nervous."

He arches disbelieving brow. "Do you think that I'm stupid? Or just oblivious?"

A shaky breath escapes my lips, and I avert my gaze to the rug, studying the intricate pattern as if it holds the secrets of the universe. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "It's just...you intimidate me." "How so?"

*You're really gonna make me spell it out? *

I subconsciously shrug, chewing on the inside of my cheek, my eyes still firmly fixed on the floor. "I mean, have you met you? You're not *exactly* your average guy, Cade."

"And you're not *exactly* an average woman, Elysian."

My eyes snap up to meet his, stricken by the intensity of his stare. "You could easily challenge me, *for the most part*. You *shouldn't* be intimidated by me. Not anymore, anyway," he says softly, his words holding a weight I'm not ready to acknowledge.

"Cade, you're my boss," I remind him, my voice strained. "And you're also my ex-fiancé. What I should and shouldn't feel...it's conflicted. One big mess."

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, he asks, "Do you have any whiskey?"

I almost laugh.

*Some things never change.*

Without a word, I move to the kitchen, retrieving a glass and a brand new bottle of *Jack Daniel's* from the cupboard.

I don't drink, but I know his preferences well. And like a good host, I stopped by the liquor store on my way home from work, just in case.

I pour him a generous measure, setting it down on the coffee table across from the couch as I hand him the half-full glass. He thanks me with a nod as he takes it from my hand, sipping on it before resting it on his lap, holding it steady between his fingers.

Leaving the seat beside him pointedly empty, I curl up on the reversible chaise instead, tucking my legs beneath me.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us, and just as I'm reaching for the TV remote to, desperate for some sort of distraction, he suddenly speaks.

"I did some digging after I left here the last time," he says, his voice low and stern. "It's some kind of military *experimental* treatment." He pauses to take a generous sip from his glass, pounding the rest of it back. With the bottle in his hand, he pours himself another drink as he adds, "I'm its first successful candidate."

I feel my eyes widen, shock and horror washing over me. "Oh my God..."

He sighs heavily, shaking his head as he swirls the whiskey in his glass. "They used my negative bias toward you. Instead of making me forget you entirely, like they did for all the other *failed subjects*, they amplified the parts of you I wasn't particularly fond of...by making me forget all the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place."

*Oh...*

It stings, but I guess it was irrational of me to have convinced myself that I was once perfect in his eyes.

No one is perfect. Not even him.

"What's on your mind?" he asks softly, lifting the glass to his lips and taking another heavy swig.

*He must be stressed out of his mind.*

I know there's no reason for me to feel like I have to walk on eggshells when I'm trying to have a conversation with him, but my self-conscious mind thinks for itself. No matter how many times I remind myself that we won't get anywhere without open communication.

I swallow past the lump in my throat, gathering my courage. "Why didn't you hesitate to ask me for help? With all of this, I mean."

He turns to face me fully, his expression open and vulnerable in a way I haven't seen in years. "Because I don't trust that my father truly had my best interest in mind. He may believe he did, but unless I've misread you...I can't make sense of why he was so determined to keep you away from me."

He scrubs a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. "And frankly, the idea that he had no problem messing with my mind, that he altered my memories and feelings...it doesn't sit well with me. At all. So for now, I'll play along, bide my time until I can get my head on straight and figure out my next move."

"And then?" I probe gently as I watch him take his final sip and set the glass down on the coffee table.

He meets my gaze steadily, his jaw tight. "I'll tell you everything. When I know that I can trust you."