SOULMATE(s) - 6. Mixed Signals

By the time Nick arrived at Luke’s house on Saturday morning, he had already reminded himself six times that tutoring was the purpose of the visit.

Mathematics.

Equations.

Several pages of homework Mr. Daley had assigned with the apparent belief that weekends were an administrative error.

Nothing else.

The reminder had worked reasonably well during the walk there. It became less effective when Luke opened the front door wearing gray sweatpants and a loose white T-shirt, his blond hair still damp and pushed carelessly away from his forehead.

Luke leaned against the doorframe, smiling as though he had been waiting there specifically to watch Nick lose his train of thought.

“You’re on time.”

Nick adjusted the strap of his backpack. “You told me not to be late.”

“I didn’t think you’d listen.”

Nick looked past him into the house. “Should I come back later?”

Luke laughed and stepped aside.

“No. Come in.”

The house was quieter than it had been the previous weekend. No one was shouting about smoke, and there were no pancakes attached to the ceiling, though Nick still glanced toward the kitchen to make certain.

Luke noticed.

“My sister’s at a friend’s house.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I was checking whether the house was safe.”

“It’s safer when she’s gone.”

A woman’s voice called from somewhere upstairs, reminding Luke that his sister would be home before dinner.

Luke looked toward the ceiling.

“She has ears everywhere.”

Nick smiled faintly as he followed him upstairs.

Luke’s bedroom had not become noticeably cleaner since the previous week. The cereal bowls were gone, but the clothes that had covered the desk now occupied a chair beside the closet, which Nick suspected was Luke’s entire cleaning method: moving disorder from one location to another until it became someone else’s problem.

The textbooks and worksheets had already been spread across the floor near the bed. A bowl of pretzels sat beside two bottles of water, along with another carton of chocolate milk placed conspicuously near Nick’s usual spot.

Nick looked at it.

Luke sat down against the side of the bed.

“The vending machine missed you.”

“You bought that at home.”

“You can’t prove anything.”

Nick lowered himself onto the carpet and placed his backpack beside him. He did not argue further, partly because Luke looked pleased with himself and partly because Nick liked chocolate milk more than he wanted to admit.

For nearly fifteen minutes, they genuinely worked.

Luke had completed part of the assignment on his own, and although several answers were wrong, the mistakes were smaller than before. He had even written out most of the steps rather than attempting to solve everything in his head.

Nick checked the first page while Luke watched him.

“This one is right,” Nick said.

Luke leaned closer to see where Nick was pointing. “Only one?”

“The next two are right too.”

Luke placed a hand against his chest.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Nick looked down at the worksheet to hide his smile.

“You still missed the negative sign here.”

“And there it is.”

Nick explained the correction quietly, aware of Luke’s shoulder almost touching his. There was plenty of room on the carpet, but Luke had settled close enough that their knees occasionally brushed whenever either of them shifted.

The first time it happened, Nick moved his leg.

The second time, Luke did not.

By the third, Nick decided concentrating on the worksheet was probably safer than attempting to determine whether the contact was accidental.

Luke’s flirting—if it was flirting—never became obvious enough for Nick to name without sounding delusional. It lived in small things: the way Luke leaned closer than necessary, the quiet smiles that appeared whenever Nick looked flustered, and the questions that drifted away from mathematics whenever the silence lasted too long.

Halfway through the second worksheet, Luke turned his pencil between his fingers.

“Did you tell your friends you were coming here?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

Nick nodded.

“Leah too?”

“Yes.”

Luke looked faintly alarmed.

“What did she say?”

“That I should keep my phone charged.”

“Does she think I’m dangerous?”

“She thinks everyone is dangerous.”

“Not you.”

Nick glanced toward him.

Luke’s expression had softened, the teasing fading just enough to make the answer feel more personal than the question had required.

Nick looked down again.

“She worries.”

“I noticed.”

Luke tapped the pencil against the page.

“She always watches me at lunch.”

“Told you before. She’s protective.”

“She looks like she’s planning where to bury me.”

Nick’s mouth curved before he could stop it.

“She probably has options.”

Luke laughed, his shoulder finally bumping Nick’s.

The contact was light, but Luke did not immediately move away. Nick felt the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his shirt and fixed his attention on a problem he had already solved twice.

After another few minutes, Luke stretched his legs out across the carpet. One ankle rested near Nick’s knee, close enough that Nick became conscious of every movement he made.

Luke looked toward the open textbook.

“You’re going to Kit’s after this, right?”

Nick’s pencil stopped.

He had not told Luke.

“How do you know?”

Luke’s eyebrows lifted. “Heard him talk to the twins after practice.”

“Oh.”

The answer should not have made Nick nervous, but it did. He wondered what exactly Kit had said and how much Luke had heard. He imagined the football team discussing Nick’s Saturday schedule in a locker room and immediately wished he had not.

Luke watched him for a moment.

“You’re meeting his cat?”

“Yes.”

“Sunny.”

“You know him?”

“I’ve been to Kit’s house.”

Of course he had. They were teammates. Nick knew that. Still, hearing it made the two separate parts of his Saturday suddenly overlap in a way he had not expected.

Luke leaned back against the bed.

“That cat is strange.”

“He plays fetch.”

“He steals socks too.”

Nick looked at him. “Why?”

“No one knows. Kit has a drawer full of socks Sunny carried downstairs.”

“That sounds organized.”

“It’s evidence.”

Nick smiled and returned to the worksheet.

Luke remained quiet for a few seconds before asking, “Are you staying there long?”

“I don’t know.”

“For lunch?”

“He will order pizza.”

Luke nodded slowly.

Something in his expression shifted, though it disappeared too quickly for Nick to identify. Then Luke reached over and took Nick’s pencil from his hand.

Nick looked at him.

“You have one.”

Luke’s pencil lay beside his knee.

“This one writes better.”

“They’re the same brand.”

“Yours has better energy.”

Nick let him keep it.

Luke smiled as though he had won something.

For the rest of the session, he found increasingly unnecessary reasons to involve Nick in whatever he was doing. He asked Nick to check answers he already knew were correct. He leaned across him to reach the textbook instead of asking Nick to pass it. At one point, he held up two different shirts from the pile on the chair and asked which one he should wear later, despite Nick having no idea where he was going.

“The blue one,” Nick said after a hesitant glance.

Luke held it against his chest.

“You like blue?”

“It looks fine.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Nick felt his face warm.

Luke’s smile widened.

“The blue one,” Nick repeated quietly.

“Good choice.”

He dropped both shirts back onto the chair without changing.

Nick stared at the worksheet.

“You weren’t going to wear either of them.”

“I might.”

“You put them back.”

“I’ll remember your preference.”

Nick lowered his head and pretended to read the next problem. His own reflection in the dark screen of Luke’s laptop looked deeply unimpressed with him.

Nothing massive happened.

Luke did not confess anything. He did not move close enough for Nick to mistake the moment for more than teasing. They completed the homework, shared the pretzels, and argued mildly over whether Luke’s final answer was a four or another chair.

Yet by the time Nick packed his books, he felt as though he had spent two hours standing near the edge of something he could not see clearly.

Luke walked him downstairs.

At the front door, Nick shifted his backpack onto both shoulders.

“Thanks for the chocolate milk.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And you did well today.”

Luke leaned one shoulder against the wall.

“Better than last week?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’re a good influence.”

Nick looked at him, unsure how to answer.

Luke’s eyes held his for a moment, bright with that same quiet amusement.

“Have fun with Sunny,” he said.

“I will.”

“And Kit.”

Nick’s heartbeat stumbled.

Luke smiled as though he had noticed. “See you Monday.”

“See you.”

Nick stepped outside before his face became any warmer.

The walk to Kit’s house took almost exactly thirty minutes.

Kit lived in the same general direction as Nick’s home, though farther north in a neighborhood lined with older trees and wider lawns. The afternoon was warm without being uncomfortable, and the walk gave Nick enough time to replay Luke’s behavior until every small moment had been examined beyond usefulness.

The blue shirt.

The pencil.

The question about how long Nick planned to stay with Kit.

None of it proved anything.

Luke enjoyed teasing him because Nick reacted too easily. That was the most reasonable explanation, and Nick held on to it until he checked the time and realized he had reached Kit’s street half an hour early.

He stopped beside a low brick wall and looked at the address Kit had sent him.

The house stood several doors ahead, partly shaded by a large maple tree. It was a two-story home with pale siding, dark shutters, and a front porch just wide enough for two chairs. A car was parked in the driveway.

Nick checked the time again.

Half past twelve.

They had agreed on one o’ clock.

Arriving five minutes early was polite. Ten minutes could be excused. Thirty minutes suggested he had either misunderstood the invitation or sprinted directly from Luke’s house in an enthusiastic search for Kit and his cat.

Nick considered walking around the block. That would use perhaps eight minutes. He could walk around it three times, though being seen repeatedly circling Kit’s home might raise more questions than arriving early. He stood beneath the tree for another minute, trying to appear like someone who regularly stopped in residential neighborhoods to study his phone.

A curtain moved in the front window.

Nick immediately walked toward the porch.

It was too late to pretend he was not there.

He climbed the steps, hesitated, then knocked. Footsteps sounded inside. The door opened a moment later, and Kit appeared wearing dark athletic shorts and a soft gray T-shirt. His reddish-brown hair was slightly messy, and the freckles across his nose were more visible in the sunlight.

Surprise crossed his face.

“You’re early.”

Nick’s courage nearly abandoned him.

“Sorry. I finished sooner than I thought, and it only took about thirty minutes to walk here. I can wait outside, or I can come back if you’re busy.”

Kit’s surprise softened immediately.

“No, it’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean to show up so early.”

“You’re not causing any trouble.”

Kit stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“I just finished ordering the pizza.”

Nick entered carefully.

“I hope you like pepperoni,” Kit added.

“I do.”

“Good. I should’ve asked before ordering.”

“It’s fine. I’m not picky—unless there’s pineapple on the pizza.”

“Fair,” Kit chuckled.

The front door closed behind him.

Kit’s home felt different from Luke’s. It was quieter and more orderly, though not so neat that it seemed uncomfortable. Family photographs covered one wall of the hallway, many of them showing Kit at different ages between his parents. In one picture, he was perhaps seven, smiling broadly with two missing front teeth while holding a football almost as large as his torso.

Nick tried not to stare.

A soft thump came from the living room.

Then a gray cat appeared around the corner with a red ball held between his teeth.

Sunny stopped when he saw Nick.

Nick stopped too.

For several seconds, they regarded one another in silence.

Sunny was larger than he had appeared in the photographs, with a thick gray coat, pale green eyes, and the golden patch of fur above one eye that had apparently inspired his name. His expression was stern, almost suspicious, as though Nick had arrived for an interview he had not prepared for.

Kit crouched beside him.

“Sunny, this is Nick.”

Sunny dropped the ball.

Nick looked at Kit.

“Does he usually understand introductions?”

“He understands everything. He just ignores most of it.”

Sunny walked toward Nick and sniffed one shoe. He then moved around Nick’s legs, brushing his side against Nick’s jeans before sitting directly in front of him.

Nick crouched slowly.

“Hi.”

Sunny lifted one paw and placed it against Nick’s knee.

Kit smiled.

“I think he likes you.”

Nick held out his hand, allowing Sunny to sniff his fingers before scratching gently beneath his chin. The cat’s serious expression remained unchanged, but a deep purr began almost immediately.

“He’s loud,” Nick said.

“He likes attention.”

Sunny rolled onto his side and then onto his back, presenting his stomach with absolute confidence.

Nick looked at Kit.

“You weren’t exaggerating.”

“I told you.”

Nick rubbed the cat’s stomach carefully. Sunny stretched beneath his hand, paws curling toward his chest as the purring grew louder.

A moment later, Sunny twisted upright, seized the red ball, and dropped it beside Nick’s shoe.

Kit nodded toward the hallway.

“Throw it.”

Nick picked up the ball and tossed it gently across the living room.

Sunny launched after it.

He skidded slightly on the wooden floor, recovered with what appeared to be wounded dignity, and disappeared behind the couch. Seconds later, he returned with the ball in his mouth and placed it beside Nick again.

Nick laughed.

“He really does play fetch.”

“You thought I’d created an entire fake-cat story to get you here?”

Nick’s hand paused around the ball.

Kit’s smile widened.

“I’m kidding.”

Nick looked down, though he could not stop smiling.

He threw the ball again.

For the next fifteen minutes, Sunny fetched with more dedication than most dogs Nick had met. Sometimes he returned the ball directly. Other times, he dropped it several feet away and stared until Nick retrieved it, apparently enforcing a system in which both participants exercised equally.

Kit sat on the couch and watched them.

At first, Nick assumed he was watching Sunny. Then he looked up and found Kit’s attention on him instead.

Kit was smiling.

Nick glanced back toward the cat.

Sunny dropped the ball against his ankle.

Nick threw it again.

When he checked a moment later, Kit was still smiling.

The sight made something flutter low in Nick’s stomach. Kit did not look amused in the teasing, knowing way Luke often did. His smile was softer, almost private, as though watching Nick play with Sunny had made him happy for reasons he did not intend to explain.

The whole room seemed to brighten around him, as though someone had placed a ray of sunshine directly in the center of the living room.

Nick tried to concentrate on the cat.

Kit continued smiling.

Eventually, Nick could no longer pretend not to notice.

“Why are you smiling?”

Kit blinked, as though he had not realized he was doing it.

“Nothing.”

Nick waited.

Kit looked toward Sunny, who had become distracted by the tassel on a cushion.

“It’s just funny.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.”

Nick felt warmth reach his face.

Kit’s smile returned.

“You two get along.”

“He’s nice.”

“He usually makes people earn it.”

Nick looked down at Sunny, who had climbed halfway into his lap without any visible concern for personal boundaries.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Maybe he has good instincts.”

The pizza arrived before Nick could think of a response.

Kit went to the door while Nick remained on the floor with Sunny now fully settled across his legs. The cat seemed to gain weight the longer he stayed there, and by the time Kit returned carrying a large pizza box and two bottles of soda, Nick was uncertain whether he could stand without assistance.

Kit looked at Sunny.

“He trapped you.”

“I think so.”

“You’re allowed to move him.”

Sunny opened one eye.

Nick lowered his voice. “I don’t think he agrees.”

Kit laughed and placed the food on the coffee table.

He lifted Sunny carefully from Nick’s lap, earning a quiet complaint from the cat, then placed him on the couch.

Sunny immediately turned his back on both of them.

“He’ll forgive us when he smells the pepperoni,” Kit said.

They ate at the coffee table rather than moving to the dining room. Kit handed Nick the first slice and poured soda into two glasses, while Sunny sat at the edge of the couch staring at the pizza with the tragic expression of an animal who had never been fed.

Nick remembered Kit’s warning.

“He really does pretend he’s starving.”

“He ate an hour ago.”

Sunny looked at Nick.

Nick looked away.

“You can’t give him any,” Kit said.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Nick smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

Kit tore a tiny piece of plain crust from his own slice and held it toward Sunny.

Nick raised his eyebrows.

“That’s different,” Kit said.

Sunny accepted the offering and immediately resumed staring at Nick’s pizza.

Lunch was easy in a way Nick had not expected. Kit did not force conversation, and the silences never felt uncomfortable. They talked about school, teachers, and the football season. Kit asked what movies Nick liked, then admitted he had seen almost none of them because Kent and Ken chose whatever they watched together and usually selected action films involving cars or explosions.

“They don’t let you choose?”

“I chose once.”

“What happened?”

“They complained for two hours.”

“What movie was it?”

Kit hesitated.

“A documentary about deep-sea animals.”

Nick snorted. “That sounds interesting.”

“It was! I knew you’d get it.”

“What did the twins think?”

“Kent fell asleep, and Ken kept asking when the shark was coming back.”

Nick laughed softly.

Kit watched him with the same warm expression from earlier.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Nick looked down at his pizza.

“You keep saying that.”

“I know.”

After lunch, Kit brought a Nintendo Switch from the cabinet beneath the television and asked whether Nick played Mario Kart.

“A little.”

The truth was that Nick had played frequently with Will and Tobey, though he had never been especially competitive. Will believed every race required commentary, while Tobey won quietly enough to make losing to him feel strangely personal.

Kit handed Nick a controller.

“Pick whoever you want.”

Nick chose Yoshi.

Kit selected Bowser.

“That seems aggressive,” Nick said.

Kit glanced at his character.

“He’s misunderstood.”

The first race began.

Nick took an early lead and kept it until the final turn, when Kit hit him with a red shell and passed him less than a second before the finish line.

Nick stared at the screen.

Kit looked pleased.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“You said you played before.”

“A little.”

“That wasn’t beginner driving.”

Nick started the next race without responding. He won by several seconds.

Kit sat forward. “You lied.”

“I said I played a little.”

“With professionals?”

“With Will.”

“Is Will a professional?”

“He thinks he is.”

The races became increasingly competitive, though Nick’s version of competition mostly involved sitting straighter and pressing the buttons with greater determination. Kit celebrated loudly whenever he won and accused Nick of secretly practicing whenever he lost.

Sunny returned midway through the fourth race and sat between them on the couch, his tail sweeping across Kit’s controller at inconvenient moments.

“Sunny,” Kit protested as his character drove directly into a wall.

Nick laughed and crossed the finish line.

“That shouldn’t count.”

“He has good instincts.”

Kit gave him a look.

Nick smiled into his shoulder.

They kept playing.

One race became five, then eight. They changed tracks, characters, and rules. Kit ordered Nick to choose Rainbow Road, then regretted it almost immediately when he fell from the track three times in the first lap.

Nick tried not to laugh too loudly.

“You’re enjoying this,” Kit said.

“Maybe a little.”

“You’re not as quiet as everyone thinks.”

Nick’s fingers paused briefly on the controller.

Kit seemed to realize the comment might have sounded too direct.

“I mean, when you’re comfortable,” he added.

Nick looked toward the screen.

“Maybe.”

“I like it.”

The simple statement left Nick warm and uncertain.

The next race began before he had to answer.

By the time Nick finally checked the clock, it was after five.

He stared at the time in disbelief. The afternoon had disappeared without him noticing. Outside the living-room windows, the sunlight had softened into a golden glow across the lawn, and Sunny had fallen asleep against the side of Kit’s leg.

“I should go.”

Kit looked toward the clock.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in his voice was small but unmistakable.

Nick did not want to leave either.

That was the problem.

He had spent the afternoon with Kit without once feeling as though he needed to monitor every word or movement. Kit did not tease him until he became flustered or make him wonder whether every glance concealed another meaning. He simply seemed happy that Nick was there.

“Do you really have to go?” Kit groaned.

Nick hesitated. “My parents will wonder where I am.”

“You told them you were coming here, right?”

“I said I was visiting a friend.”

Kit smiled slightly.

“A friend?”

Nick felt his face warm.

“I didn’t know what else to call it.”

“That works.”

Kit moved carefully so he would not disturb Sunny, but the cat woke anyway and followed them toward the hallway.

At the front door, Kit handed Nick his backpack.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Sunny likes you.”

Nick looked down at the cat sitting beside Kit’s feet.

“I like him too.”

Kit’s smile softened.

“You can come back whenever you want.”

Nick looked at him.

The invitation sounded casual, but Kit’s expression was steady and sincere.

“Okay.”

“Maybe next time we’ll play something you’re not secretly good at.”

“I’m not that good.”

“You won nine races.”

“You won some.”

“Three.”

Nick smiled.

“Three is still some.”

Kit opened the door. The evening air had cooled, and long shadows stretched across the front lawn.

“Message me when you get home,” Kit said.

Nick nodded.

“I will.”

He stepped onto the porch, then turned back.

“Bye, Sunny.”

Sunny blinked slowly at him.

Kit leaned against the doorframe.

“He says bye.”

“He didn’t do anything.”

“That’s how cats say it.”

Nick smiled one last time before walking away.

The trip home took less than half an hour, though it felt shorter than the walk from Luke’s house. Nick spent most of it replaying the afternoon in disconnected pieces.

Kit watching him play with Sunny. Kit saying he liked Nick when he was comfortable. Kit’s disappointment when Nick said he had to leave.

None of it meant anything definite.

Nick was becoming tired of that sentence.

His parents were already eating dinner when he arrived. His mother had made roast chicken, and his father was describing an argument between two people at work that Nick did not fully understand. Nick listened, answered when asked about his day, and said only that he had visited a friend and played video games.

His mother smiled.

“A new friend?”

“Sort of.”

“You’ve said that twice today.”

Nick concentrated on his food.

“Maybe I have two sort-of friends.”

His father looked amused.

“That sounds complicated.”

Nick almost laughed.

He had no idea.

After dinner, he helped carry the dishes to the kitchen, then went upstairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. The moment he reached the bed, he dropped face-first onto it without removing his shoes.

The day had been too much.

Two hours with Luke, who seemed determined to turn ordinary tutoring into an experiment designed to test Nick’s ability to remain calm.

An entire afternoon with Kit, who smiled at him as though Nick had brought something bright into his home simply by arriving early and playing with his cat.

Nick rolled onto his back and took out his phone.

Several notifications waited on the screen.

The first was from Luke.

He had sent a photograph of himself beside a younger blond girl Nick recognized from the family pictures at his house. Luke was smiling broadly, while his sister had crossed her eyes and raised two fingers behind his head.

The caption read:

angel and demon. you decide who is which.

Nick studied the picture.

Luke looked happy and relaxed, one arm draped around his sister’s shoulders even as she attempted to ruin the photograph. The image felt strangely personal, not because there was anything unusual about it, but because Luke had chosen to send it directly to him.

Nick began typing.

i think the answer is obvious.

He paused.

That sounded more confident than he felt.

He deleted it and tried again.

your sister looks innocent.

Luke replied almost immediately.

betrayal. after i gave you chocolate milk.

Nick smiled at the screen.

Before he could respond, another notification appeared.

Kit had sent him a message on Instagram.

Nick opened it.

i had a good time today. sunny already misses you.

His chest tightened warmly.

He read the message again, then looked back at Luke’s photograph. Two conversations waited on the same screen, each producing a different but equally inconvenient feeling.

Luke teased him, watched him, and sent him pictures from his life as though they were already closer than classmates.

Kit invited him into his home, smiled at him for no reason he would admit, and told Nick he could return whenever he wanted.

For most of his life, Nick had believed understanding attraction would be the easy part. He liked boys. That much had become clear years ago.

The difficult part, he had assumed, would be finding a boy who might like him back.

Now, for the first time, Nick had absolutely no idea who was straight, who might not be, and who was actually flirting with whom.

He could dream. Of course he could.

But this was becoming far too much for one person to manage.

Nick dropped the phone beside him and covered his face with both hands.

“It’s only Saturday,” he whispered into the empty room.

His phone chimed twice more.

Nick peeked through his fingers.

One message was from Luke.

The other was from Kit.

He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

At this rate, he was not going to survive until Monday.