Page 21 of The Masks We Burn

“LEDs?”

She nods, accepting the bowl from my hands. “Yeah, makes anime battles fucking epic.”

“I bet.”

We sit in silence for a minute as we eat, watching the Elric brothers battle a guy from Ishvala, my original reason for coming over seemingly forgotten for now.

After we both finish, I grab our empty bowls and wash them in the sink along with my container, turning them upside down on a paper towel. I eye Amora from the kitchen and study how stiff she is. Besides her slight sass at the door, her demeanor is hella different, and I can’t help but wonder what’s got her so… docile. Whatever it is, I’m not a fan.

Returning back to my seat, I let the credits roll before deciding on a surefire way to get her worked up.

“What’s your favorite anime?” I ask, scratching my jaw, leaning back into the couch, hoping to bring spicy Amora out to play.

“Sailor Moon.” She doesn’t waste a second to answer. “You?”

“I likeOne Punch Man.”

“Hmm.” She doesn’t respond, and I don’t miss the way the tip of her lips rise just a fraction.

Alright, that’s getting somewhere. Let’s see if this does it. “Funny, but ya know if One Punch Man and Sailor Moon ever fought, it’d be over in a second. She’d be done in one punch.”

Amora straightens, the blanket falling from her shoulders, pulling down her pajamas with it and exposing a delicate shoulder. My eyes stay there longer than they should until she snaps at me.

“I knew I didn’t like you, but I gave you at leastsomecredit for not seeming like a total fucking imbecile.”

“Well, that’s a little rude.”

“Well, that was stupid. Do I really need to sit here and go over basic math and explain how Saitama can only move at a tiny percentage of the speed of light while Usagifucking controlsspace and time?”

I shrug. “But his punch. He’ll win.”

Amora shakes her head and tsks, and I swear it’s the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. “Just be glad you’re pretty.”

I laugh, noting the way her spine stiffens at the sound. “Did you just compliment me?”

Her arched brows snap together. “I also called you an idiot.”

Shrugging, I stand, walking back toward the sink. “But you also said you like the way I look. I’ll take that as a win.”

I put up the now dry dishes and wipe up the counter. “I’ll start thinking of ideas for the collab thing, and text you any good ones I come up with.”

A few seconds pass without a response, and I look up to find Amora’s gaze locked on the window. White flurries are falling in waves, and even from here, a sheet of it already covers the lawn. I stifle a yawn, deciding it’s time to make my way back home. “Wow, that came out of nowhere.”

Amora doesn’t say anything, but instead wraps her blanket around her tighter. Her eyes haven’t left the window or acknowledged my existence at all.

Ah, I see.

I place the Tupperware back down and walk in front of her, closing the thick wood blinds, and drawing the curtains. As if she’s been snatched out of hypnosis, she jolts back.

“What are you doing?”

After taking a seat back on the couch and yanking some of the cover from her feet to cover my lap, I choose my words carefully. Just like the time she called me while having brunch with her people, I don’t want to offend her. In that moment, I chose not to let her know how close me and my parents are. How I tell them everything so they are always able to get me out of any bad spot that might come up. And despite what happened back in high school with Amora, I’m respectful. I know everyone’s situation is different, and it would have been a fucked-up thing to say considering she’s faking an entire engagement.

Now, while I stare into her fucking piercing blue eyes, I don’t tell her it’s clear she’s absolutely terrified of the storm outside. I don’t want her to argue the fact, which is a guarantee she will. But also, there is always an underlying cause to our fears, and it’s not my place to call her out on it if she isn’t comfortable disclosing the reason. I’d upset her for nothing.

So instead, I ignore the tension she’s applying on the other side of the blanket and repeat what I said about sending her ideas.

With the curtains closed, Amora relaxes farther into the cushions. “If your party planning is anything like your cooking, we’re fucked. So don’t make anything concrete without running it by me.”

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