Page 27 of The Authenticity Clause
"You know what?" Leo said, putting his napkin on the table with a sense of finality. "I hate this."
Julian blinked, taken aback. "The scallop? I can send it back."
"No, not the scallop," Leo said, a wave of reckless honesty washing over him. "Well, yes, the scallop is a tragedy, but that's not the point. I meanthis. This place. It's not me. And I don't think it's you, either. Not the you I saw when you talked about the cello, anyway."
He stood up. "I'm sorry, this was a terrible idea. I should go."
He turned to leave, but Julian's hand shot out, his fingers closing gently around Leo's wrist. The touch was warm, firm, and it stopped Leo in his tracks.
"Wait," Julian said, his voice quiet but firm. "You're right."
Leo turned back, confused.
"This was a mistake," Julian continued, standing up as well. He looked around the hushed, elegant room with a look of distaste. "I was trying to execute a 'perfect date' based on external data. It was… an error in judgment." He dropped a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their tragic entrees. "Let's reboot."
"Reboot?"
"You choose," Julian said, his eyes searching Leo's. "Take me somewhere you would actually want to be."
A slow smile spread across Leo's face. "Okay," he said. "But you're not allowed to complain."
Fifteen minutes later, they were standing under the buzzing neon sign of "Galaxy Arcade," the air thick with the cacophony of 8-bit music, air hockey pucks, and teenage laughter. Julian was looking around the chaotic, dimly lit space with the expression of an anthropologist discovering a lost tribe.
"This is… loud," Julian observed.
"This is the sound of joy," Leo corrected, grabbing his hand. The simple, impulsive act of lacing their fingers together felt both shockingly bold and completely natural. Julian's hand was warm and strong in his. He didn't pull away.
Leo led him through the maze of games, finally stopping at a vintage two-player "Street Fighter II" machine. "Prepare to be destroyed, Thorne."
"I find your confidence in your button-mashing abilities to be unfounded," Julian retorted, but he was smiling, a real, unguarded smile that lit up his whole face.
What followed was a masterclass in joyous, ridiculous competition. They were terrible. Julian, with his analytical brain, tried to learn the complex combos, his movements precisebut slow. Leo, relying on pure instinct, just mashed the buttons in a flurry of chaotic energy. They yelled at the screen. They laughed until their sides hurt. Julian, at one point, let out a whoop of triumph so loud and uncharacteristic that it turned the heads of a group of nearby teenagers.
They moved on to air hockey, a frantic, breathless battle that ended in a disputed tie. Then came Skee-Ball, where Leo's artistic aim proved surprisingly effective, earning him enough tickets for a plastic spider ring, which he ceremoniously presented to Julian. Julian, to Leo's utter delight, actually put it on.
In the noisy, vibrant chaos of the arcade, surrounded by flashing lights and the smell of popcorn, they were no longer a boss and an employee. They were just Leo and Julian. The stilted formality of the restaurant was a distant memory. Here, they were easy, playful, real.
They ended the night walking through the quiet streets of Starling Grove, sharing a bag of greasy, perfect French fries from a food truck.
"For the record," Leo said, popping a fry into his mouth, "I totally won at air hockey."
"The data is inconclusive," Julian said, stealing a fry from the bag. Their fingers brushed, a casual, comfortable touch that sent a shiver down Leo's spine. "We'll require a rematch."
They stopped in front of Leo's building, the same spot where everything had almost happened a week ago. But this time, the tension wasn't fraught with uncertainty. It was a comfortable, humming energy, the warm glow of a perfect night.
"I had fun tonight, Julian," Leo said, his voice soft and sincere.
"As did I," Julian replied, his eyes warm in the soft glow of the streetlamp. "Your methodology is… surprisingly effective."
He stepped closer, and Leo's heart began to beat a little faster. This time, there was no hesitation. Julian gently cupped his face, his thumb stroking his cheek.
"Thank you," Julian murmured, "for rebooting the system."
And then he kissed him again. It was different from the first time. It wasn't a spark of pent-up tension, but a slow, deep, deliberate burn. It was a kiss full of the shared laughter from the arcade, of the easy conversation, of the quiet understanding. It was a kiss that felt real.
When they broke apart, Leo was breathless. The joy was so pure, so overwhelming, it eclipsed everything else. For a single, perfect moment, the lie didn't matter.
He knew it would come back. The guilt, the fear, it was all waiting for him on the other side of that door. But right now, standing here with Julian's hand on his face and the taste of his kiss on his lips, he allowed himself to believe in this.
