After thirty minutes of driving, Kavi and I pulled into a noticeably different part of the district, where perfectly manicured lawns and smooth, pothole-free roads painted a picture of privilege. The contrast with the convenience store’s rough, worn-down neighborhood couldn’t have been starker. Kavi’s decrepit car wheezed to a stop, looking completely out of place next to the well-maintained vehicles lining the street. He didn’t seem to notice—or care. Stepping out, he lit a cigarette. Smoke curled lazily around him as he walked up to a modest but immaculately kept house, its clean lines and neat garden betraying the same care that defined the rest of the area.
Kavi rang the doorbell with a nonchalant tap, leaning casually against the doorframe. I stood a step behind, unsure of what exactly we were walking into.
The seconds dragged into minutes, the door remaining resolutely shut. Kavi didn’t seem bothered, taking a long drag from his cigarette as if we weren’t just loitering awkwardly on someone’s pristine doorstep.
Finally, the door opened.
A woman in her late twenties stood there, her sharp eyes taking us both in with a glance that felt like it could peel back layers of skin. Her gaze flicked to me first—curious, skeptical—and then landed on Kavi, her expression twisting into irritation.
“How many times have I told you not to bring strangers to my house?” she snapped, her tone cutting and firm.
Kavi shrugged, completely unfazed by her sharp tone. “Look at him,” he said, gesturing lazily toward me. “Does he look like a criminal? Guys like him don’t even know how to spell crime, let alone commit it. If people like him turned to crime, folks like us would be out of business overnight.”
Before she could respond, he tried to step inside, but she blocked his way.
Her eyes narrowed at his cavalier attitude. “That’s not the point, Kavi,” she said flatly, crossing her arms and blocking the doorway like an immovable gatekeeper.
Kavi took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the air between them before flicking the butt into a nearby bush. “Come on, Bee,” he said, his voice softening just enough to sound sincere. “He needs help. Only you can solve this for him. Why do you think I brought him here?”
She hesitated, her sharp gaze flicking back to me, then back to him. I could see the conflict play out in her expression. Finally, she sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that spoke of long-standing frustrations.
“Fine,” she said, stepping aside with clear reluctance. “But if this turns into another one of your messes, I swear—”
“Relax,” Kavi interrupted, flashing her a grin as he stepped inside. “You’ll thank me later. Promise.”
I followed him in, trying not to feel like I was intruding.
Though Kavi called her Bee, I knew this had to be Fae. The longer I looked at her, the more fascinating she became - like trying to focus on a mirage that grew clearer rather than fading. Her striking green hair framed her sunken cheeks, giving her grounded presence.
But it was the wings that sealed her identity. They extended from her back like living stained glass, their translucent surfaces catching the light in a way that seemed to defy physics. They were similar to cicada wings. Fragile or delicate, though; there was strength in their slow, purposeful movement. Her clothing had been carefully tailored to accommodate them, precise slits allowing the wings to move freely as they swayed gently, nearly brushing her ankles. Watching them was hypnotic, their fluidity impossible to ignore.
She disappeared briefly, returning with a tray balanced with three cups of tea. Her movements were efficient, unhurried, like someone who understood the value of small rituals. She set the cups down in front of us, then took her seat across the room, her wings folding neatly behind her like they had a mind of their own. Her gaze landed on me, steady and assessing.
"So," her voice carried the same duality as her appearance - both mundane and magical, "what kind of help are you looking for?"
I hesitated, lifting the tea cup to my lips to buy a moment of thought. “May I ask what your meta nature is?” I said eventually, keeping my tone polite.
Revealing one’s meta nature wasn’t taboo, but those who were cautious or strategic rarely shared it openly. A single word could expose a person’s vulnerabilities, and meta nature was far more than a personality trait—it was an entire classification of power.
Bee didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she sipped her tea with the calm detachment of someone perfectly comfortable with silence. She wasn’t going to volunteer anything unless it suited her.
Kavi smirked beside me, finally breaking the quiet. “He’s just making sure you’re not one of those ‘meta frauds,’ Bee.”
Her gaze flicked to him, unimpressed. “And you thought this was the way to introduce him to me?”
Kavi shrugged, his smirk widening. “Hey, you always say you like interesting jobs. He’s interesting.”
Bee sighed and turned back to me. “I belong to Creatures of Life,” she said simply, placing her tea cup down with deliberate care.
That answer gave me the confirmation I needed. Creatures of Life belonged to the Hive classification of meta natures, a stark contrast to the more individualistic Unique types. While many Hive meta-natures organized themselves around energy systems like Qi or Mana, or hierarchical ranks and titles, this one was uniquely defined by species—a vast taxonomy of mythological beings. Fairies, dryads, elves, banshees, spirits, and angels were just a few within its catalog.
It was an ecosystem unto itself, one that blurred the lines between myth and reality.
Such a meta nature was vanishingly rare in many parts of Earth, though it flourished on worlds where technology hadn''t taken root. Though, I remembered the European continent remained an exception, hosting significant populations - particularly in its ancient forests and remote mountains.
Their existence, however, was far from idyllic. The Creatures of Life faced a complex web of internal struggles and conflicts. Among them, those with significant power often dreamed of creating a separate world for their kind(they had separated themselves from humanity, calling themselves nonhumans). They called it Forever Heaven, a utopia where they could live as they believed nature intended, free from the pollution and chaos of human civilization.
This ideological divide would eventually erupt into open conflict, tensions would rise between their factions and humans on earth and everywhere else. At one point in the future, these struggles escalated into an outright war against humanity as they sought to claim what they saw as their rightful place in the world.
I could spend hours, maybe even days, talking about the complexities of their politics and history—their victories, betrayals, and inevitable losses. But now wasn’t the time to get lost in the future.
Instead, I focused on the defining trait of this meta nature: the transformation.
Unlike other Hive meta-natures, which often augmented their users with abilities or powers while keeping them physically intact, the transformation of Creatures of Life was absolute. It didn’t just tweak appearances or enhance abilities—it rewrote the very essence of the person. On a cellular level, their biology shifted, adapting to the taxonomy of the randomly given species. But it wasn’t just physical. Their alignment—metaphysical, emotional, and sometimes even moral—was altered. They became something new, entirely and completely, leaving behind the human identity entirely.
Though magical, the Creatures of Life had one notable limitation in my eyes—they couldn’t bestow magical spells or powers on others. Their abilities were intrinsic, woven deeply into their transformed beings. They could heal, manipulate nature, and bend aspects of reality within their domains, but protective enchantments for others? That was beyond them. It was a curious gap in their capabilities, and while the fact was a little disappointing, it didn’t affect my mood much. After all, they could still perform magic on others, which was more than enough for my purposes.
Interestingly, the Creatures of Life had a counterpart: the Creatures of Night or Creatures of Death. These beings represented the other side of the transformative spectrum. Their taxonomy included vampires, werewolves, dark spirits, merfolk, zombies, skinwalkers, and demons. While both meta natures fundamentally transformed their users into otherworldly creatures, the traits and alignments of the two couldn’t have been more different. They were two sides of the same coin—opposite in expression but similar in transformation.
Of course, iIt was important to remember, though, that meta natures themselves weren’t inherently good or evil. The name demon, tied to the Creatures of Night, didn’t automatically brand someone as malevolent, just as the name fairy, associated with the Creatures of Life, didn’t guarantee virtue or kindness. The individual behind the transformation mattered more than the nature itself. Choices and character dictated morality—not the species one was born or changed into.
As I observed Bee—or Fae, as her true nature suggested—her species became obvious. The translucent wings, the subtle glow of her skin, her strange presence that filled the house… she was undoubtedly one of the Fairy kind.
Fairies, like her, were known for their profound connection to life energy and a deeply ingrained sense of empathy. It explained a lot—her reluctance to turn away visitors, even ones like me who’d arrived uninvited. Her power may have been deeply personal, but her nature leaned toward care, even when it was begrudging.
Yet another concern nagged at me. Fairies, for all their power, rarely worked with mind magic. Their gifts were rooted in the physical and environmental—healing, growth, nature manipulation, unity. It was a magic of life and connection, not the delicate and dangerous art of tampering with the mind.
After the effort I’d spent finding her, I could only hope my needs wouldn’t exceed her capabilities.
I decided to voice my concern. “I was wondering,” I began cautiously, “if you’d be able to shield my mind from outside interference—things like mind magic, memory reading, and mental attacks.”
Bee’s fingers stilled as she set her cup down carefully, the faint clink of porcelain breaking the silence. Leaning back, she fixed her gaze on the now-empty cup, her expression distant. For a moment, it looked as though she were reading something invisible within its depths.
I sat quietly, watching her perform what I assumed was some form of magical assessment—or perhaps she was simply gathering her thoughts. Either way, the silence stretched, and I had no urge to fill it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bee looked up, her expression calm but thoughtful. “I don’t have what you’re looking for,” she said simply. “My proficiency lies in healing and nature.”
Her answer was honest, and it immediately dampened my mood. Still, I tried to read between the lines, holding on to a faint hope that she wasn’t entirely without options. I remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.
Bee studied me for a moment, her sharp gaze assessing. Then, after a pause, she spoke again. “But,” she said deliberately, her tone shifting, “there is another method that might help. However, it’s a lot more dangerous.”
My curiosity piqued, and I gestured politely for her to continue. “Please, do tell.”
Bee nodded slowly, her wings shifting subtly as if echoing her thoughts. “I could scramble your thoughts,” she said evenly. “Make them significantly harder to read or manipulate. It would confuse anyone trying to access your mind, but it’s not without consequences.”
Her words struck a nerve. Wasn’t I already dealing with this exact issue? The disappointment settled in my chest, but I tried to keep it from showing on my face.
“Scramble my thoughts?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “Think of it as encrypting your mind. It would make you harder to read, harder to influence.”
“But,” I interjected, shaking my head, “wouldn’t that make it harder for me too? To think clearly, to function?”
Bee’s gaze didn’t waver. “It would,” she said plainly. “You’d struggle to organize your thoughts, distinguish between memories, or focus on the present. Over time, your mind would naturally begin to heal, but it’s not a clean process.”
It was, admittedly, a practical solution for someone younger—someone whose mind was still a blank slate, a fresh memory card ready to be written on. For someone like me, however, with centuries’ worth of memories crammed into an already overburdened mind, it was a death sentence. Scrambling my thoughts further would annihilate my sense of self. I’d lose the tenuous grip I had on reality and likely become delusional—or worse.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“This won’t work,” I said at last, shaking my head with a sigh of resignation.
Bee’s expression didn’t change. “Then there’s nothing more I can do to help you with your cause,” she replied plainly, her tone emotionless. The wings on her back stilled, their subtle movement ceasing as if mirroring her finality.
I felt a sinking weight in my chest. The options left to me seemed dismal—either track down someone else with the necessary skills or slowly spiral into madness as my thoughts and memories continued to overflow.
But then, like a light cutting through fog, I suddenly looked at it from a different perspective. I''d been so fixated on finding spells to shield and reorganize my memories that I''d missed something simpler. What I needed first was a way to calm my mind, to focus my thoughts before more timeline memories drove me toward confusion and delusion.
“What about something to calm my mind?” I asked, placing the cup back onto the table with deliberate care. “Something to help me focus my thoughts. At least temporarily, while I figure out my next steps.”
Bee’s brow furrowed slightly, and she tilted her head, studying me. “Calm your mind?” she repeated, her tone thoughtful.
“Yes,” I said quickly, leaning forward. “I don’t need something permanent right now. I just need… clarity.”
She tapped her fingers lightly against the table, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. “I can do something like that,” she said. “It won’t solve your problem, but it can help steady you for a time.”
I exhaled, relief trickling in around the edges of my worry. “How?”
“A brew,” she explained, her tone practical. “A tea infused with specific properties. It can calm your thoughts, sharpen your focus, and give you a sense of order. But it’s temporary.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That simple, huh?”
Bee smirked, the small curve of her lips carrying an edge of amusement. “You were expecting me to chant over a cauldron?”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted with a shrug.
Bee chuckled softly, the sound light but not mocking. “Every person channels their magic in a way that’s unique to them,” she explained. “Some brew potions, others rely on tools or trinkets. For me, my magic manifests through tea. It’s just the form my meta nature takes.”
Her explanation caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought about magic being expressed through something so ordinary—or so creative. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it made a strange sort of sense.
“Does that mean the tea we just drank was…” I trailed off, my brow furrowing as I looked at my empty cup.
“Laced with anything?” Bee finished, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded.
“No,” she said simply, her lips twitching with faint amusement. “I save the magic for when it’s needed. That was just tea. Normal, comforting, boring tea.”
“Good to know,” I muttered, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, there wasn’t much point in thinking about it now. The deed was committed.
Before departing, I made sure to leave the address for the magical tea delivery. I also asked for Bee’s personal contact information, but she politely declined. It didn''t particularly bother me - I''d gotten what I needed, or at least part of it. If necessary, I could always reach her through Kavi''s convenience store connection.
The payment terms were clear: I’d pay her once the tea was delivered. Bee wasn’t interested in upfront deals, which was a refreshing change from the usual transactional nature of magic users. Of course, there was still Kavi’s fee to consider—the helping and meeting fee, as he liked to call it. What a sham.
As I walked toward Jade’s house, the conversation with Bee lingered in my mind. Her approach to magic was so different from what I’d encountered before. It made me wonder how many other unique expressions of power existed out there, hidden in plain sight.
My thoughts drifted to meditation as I walked. Maybe it was time to take it more seriously. Organizing the chaos of my time-jumping memories seemed impossible, but if meditation could help even a little, it might be worth the effort. There was that upcoming event with the renowned Guru—what was his name again? It had seemed irrelevant at first, but now, it might actually be useful.
Still, I couldn''t abandon my search for a proper mage or wizard. At least I had time on my side - in this period, they hadn''t yet been driven underground or become scarce. Besides, the real challenge wouldn’t be locating someone with the necessary skills. It would be finding one willing to help without charging an arm and a leg—or demanding favors that could turn into their own brand of chaos.
ヽ(°〇°)? ?? (Hold your horses! If romance makes you cringe, this is your cue to step off—feel free to skip the rest of the chapter.)
As six o''clock struck, I found myself at Jade''s door, knocking softly. The worries about magical teas and memory protection retreated to the background - they couldn''t overshadow this moment. The door opened almost immediately, as if she''d sensed my presence.
Jade stood at the door in a fitted white long-sleeve top, paired with a dark gray pleated mini skirt that swayed softly as she moved. Her thigh-high cream socks were scrunched just above her knees. For a second, I just blinked, caught off guard. She’d never worn anything quite like this before—her elegant posture and youthful playfulness combined in a way that was entirely new—but the thought came and went quickly as her right hand lifted toward me. Her hand hung there in the air, hesitant yet deliberate. Surprised but without hesitation, I reached out and took it gently. Her fingers were warm, and as she led me inside, an odd, unfamiliar feeling settled in my chest.
The entire time, she didn’t speak. Her head was bowed, her typically confident stride replaced by smaller, almost shuffling steps. It wasn’t like her at all. My mind raced to interpret the change. Was it shyness? Embarrassment? Something else entirely? Her silence left me fumbling, searching for answers in the way her shoulders hunched slightly or how she occasionally glanced at me without meeting my eyes.
She led me to her bedroom. To be honest, I had imagined her room to be… well, extraordinary—like her. But I was merrily letting my imagination run. As I stepped in, I found it to be as simple and cozy as could be.
It was cozy like the rest of her house. Plants hung from the ceiling in suspended pots, their leaves draping softly in the glow of a desk lamp. Her bed was irresistibly fluffy, the blankets slightly rumpled and adorned with an assortment of pillows. Two stuffed animals sat among them: a penguin and a T-Rex, both clearly well-loved. A small desk and chair occupied one corner, paired with a compact sofa chair that looked like it had seen its fair share of naps. It was unassuming yet inviting.
“It’s… nice,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop myself.
“Nice?” she repeated, finally glancing at me.
“I mean, I was expecting something with neon lights or… I don’t know, action figure shelves,” I joked , trying to ease the tension.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t bite back with her usual quick wit. Instead, she motioned toward the plush carpet in the center of the room, bypassing the bed entirely. I raised an eyebrow but followed her lead, sitting down cross-legged as she settled across from me. Despite the clear understanding of why I was here—our moment in the stairwell still fresh in both our minds—she seemed reserved, almost hesitant now.
I wondered if she was hungry. "Have you eaten anything?” I asked softly.
She nodded briefly, the gesture barely perceptible. “Hmm,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
I, on the other hand, was starting to feel the pangs of hunger, but the thought of making something for myself felt insignificant in the moment. Not yet. Not before she said—or did—whatever was clearly weighing on her.
Her eyes finally met mine, the hesitance in her expression fading just enough for her to speak. “What… do you think our feelings are entirely ours? And not because of the strangeness in our meta nature?”
I let out a slow breath, understanding now what had been holding her back. She wasn’t questioning just me—she was questioning us. In my eyes, the problem wasn’t as daunting as it seemed to her. Just a week ago, I’d felt the same weight of uncertainty, the same wariness of emotions that seemed to surge without reason. But over time, I’d come to understand those feelings, to dig deeper into their roots. What I found was clarity, a quiet confidence in the truth of my emotions. Whatever strangeness our meta natures brought to the table, it didn’t feel like it had planted false feelings within me. If anything, they had only made me more aware of what I already carried.
I reached out, taking both of her hands in mine. They felt colder than usual, while mine, oddly enough, seemed warm today. I gave her hands a gentle squeeze, anchoring her to the present, and locked eyes with her.
I glanced at her, unsure how to begin. The silence between us felt fragile, like it could shatter with the wrong words. “You know, when I’m alone, I think a lot,” I started, my voice quieter than usual.
Jade tilted her head slightly, “Big thoughts or little ones?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light, though I could see the tension in her posture.
“Big, usually,” I admitted, cracking a faint smile. “Lately, when I close my eyes, I’ve noticed something strange.”
Her brow furrowed, and she shifted slightly where she sat. “Strange how?”
“Your face,” I said simply. “It keeps showing up. I can''t focus on thing anymore like I used to.”
Her expression shifted, her features softening slightly.
“It’s not like you’re looming over me in the dark or anything,” I went on, keeping my tone light but honest, “It’s just… comforting. A reminder that someone cares. That I’m not alone.”
Jade blinked, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Taking a breath, I decided to push just a little further.
“Close your eyes,” I said softly.
She hesitated, her brows knitting together in mild uncertainty. “What’s this about?”
“Just… trust me,” I replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Close your eyes for a second.”
She sighed but relented, closing her eyes slowly.
“What do you see?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
At first, she didn’t say anything. There was a long pause, and I held my breath, waiting. Her expression shifted subtly, like she was searching for the right words. “You,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I see you.”
I exhaled deeply, not realizing I had been holding my breath. Still, I kept my outward composure, maintaining a calm and steady expression. I couldn’t let her see any hint of weakness—not now. If I faltered, it might make her question herself all over again.
“And how do you feel when you see it?” I asked gently, though my voice wavered slightly despite my best effort.
She stayed quiet again, the pause long enough to make me second-guess everything. She always had a way of making moments like this stretch into eternity. But then, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile.
“Like I’m not falling,” she admitted softly. “Like I can… hold on to something. I could keep going, even when I don’t want to. Like I’d want to.”
Her words made my heart race, sending a jolt of electricity through my chest. Before I could respond, she pulled her hands from mine and opened her eyes, breaking the moment.
“You really think you have it all figured out, don’t you?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and a hint of challenge, as if daring me to prove her wrong.
I hesitated, unsure how to answer without sounding either overconfident or completely clueless. “It’s not that I have it all figured out,” I said carefully. “I just think... sometimes things fall into place when you stop overthinking them. Whatever brought us here—whether it’s something bigger than us or just chance—what matters now is what we do with it.”
She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as though trying to suppress a smile. “Hmm,” she murmured, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide—for now.
Then she hit me with the big one. “Then, how much do you love me?”
I blinked. My brain screeched to a halt like a car narrowly avoiding a deer. What kind of question was that? We had just started liking each other, love was yet too far in the future. Was this a test? Did I need to ace it before earning the privilege of kissing her again? Or was it some kind of emotional landmine designed to obliterate me if I answered wrong?
I wanted to dodge, but Jade''s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away. “I’m serious,” she said quietly.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I tried to find the right words. “I can’t measure it for you,” I said finally. “I don’t know if there’s a way to put it into numbers or comparisons or even words. But it''s more than you could fit in your heart,” I said, gently poking her chest with my finger to emphasize the point.
She immediately pouted, an adorable little frown that almost made me forget we were even having a conversation. “Excuse me! My heart is very big, thank you very much!”
I rolled my eyes, unable to help myself. If your heart were really that big, you wouldn’t feel the need to question it so much, I thought, but wisely held my tongue. Jade didn’t need logical answers right now—she needed reassurance. I could see that, clear as day. This was new for both of us, and while I might compartmentalize my emotions like a professional, Jade needed time and affirmation to let her feelings grow naturally.
It was in the nature of men to adapt quickly to circumstances, to compartmentalize emotions and move forward. For women, on the other hand, love often came with a depth of care and consideration that went far beyond the surface—a capacity to nurture and cherish that sometimes surpassed what men were capable of.
“Really?” I said, narrowing my eyes at her theatrics, though I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “How can you be so sure?”
She met my gaze with a sly smile, her silver eyes catching the dim light in a way that made my stomach flip. “Because every time I look at you, my heart grows a little bigger,” she said, her voice soft but with a playful edge. “At this rate, I’ll need a new chest to contain it.”
Her expression was overly serious, almost pained, like this was a genuine medical concern.
I tried to muster a reply, something sharp or witty to regain the upper hand, “That’s… incredibly cringe.”
Her grin widened, clearly pleased with herself as if she had forgotten the concept of embarrassment. She leaned in slightly, her silver eyes glinting with victory. “You like it. Don’t deny it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking my head, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me.
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she shot back.
I suddenly felt my face heating up from her words. Her silver eyes sparkled mischievously, and I knew I’d lost this round. Why were our roles suddenly reversed? I stared at her, dumbfounded, wondering how she’d managed to turn the tables so effortlessly. Shouldn’t I be the one saying these things, making her blush? But no, there she was, basking in her triumph while I struggled to form a coherent thought.
Perhaps some weight had been lifted from her heart, letting her relax and lean into the moment. Her usual guardedness had vanished, replaced with a softer, freer version of herself that I wasn’t quite prepared for.
I couldn’t help but smile as I stared at her, looking so happy, so at ease. “You’re so unpredictable,” I said quietly, my voice softening, almost reverent.
“Unpredictable?” she echoed, tilting her head curiously. The playfulness in her eyes gave way to genuine curiosity. “Why would you say that?”
Instead of answering right away, I reached out, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers intertwined with mine without hesitation. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was comforting, warm, a moment we didn’t need to fill with words. Her gaze softened, and the usual mischief in her eyes melted into something deeper, something that made my chest tighten and my heartbeat quicken. I didn’t know what it was—connection, vulnerability, or something else entirely—but it pulled me closer to her like a magnetic force I couldn’t resist.
I leaned in slightly, closing the small distance between us. My voice dropped to a whisper, soft enough to barely disturb the air. “Because you’re making my heart beat.”
Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her grip on my hand tightened, just enough to let me know she’d heard me.
For a moment, we stayed like that, the world around us fading into the background, leaving just the two of us.
“You’re not supposed to stop it,” Jade said softly, her voice steady even as her cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink. She was finally feeling embarrassed and it was very fun seeing her squirm. “You just... let it happen,” she added.
“Yeah,” I couldn’t help but smile, leaning in a little closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with mine, “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”