Psync by Zile Elliven

Chapter Eight

Eli

Hauling himself out of bed the next morning was such a chore he nearly gave up and flopped back down to let sleep take him. The only thing keeping him upright was the fear he’d get sucked back into the restless dreams he’d been having all night. He kept drifting on the edge of sleep all night, occasionally slipping into dreams, like a rock skipping across a pond.

All he could remember was an endlessly boring grayscale world. Portraits of people Eli had no memory of scrolled past, each one emanating a heavy burden of responsibility from it. The only tolerable thing about the world was the ever-shifting ribbon of blue that threaded its way through his dreams.

Last week, Nate had told Eli his abuelita believed if you scratched your head after you got out of bed in the morning, you’d forget your dreams. Eli scratched until his scalp hurt.

His memories were still there, but he cared more about the pain now, so he decided to call it a win.

The shower was still closed for repairs, so if Eli wanted his friends to be willing to be within four feet of him today, he was going to have to go downstairs again.

He crept into the shower room and then stopped himself when he realized he probably looked like a pervert. He took a deep breath, dug his nails into the palms of his hands, and entered.

The room was empty.

All the tension flowed out of him, and Eli nearly flopped to the floor in relief. Of course, he wouldn’t be here now. It was way later than it had been when Eli took a shower yesterday.

He still hurried his way through showering and had just finished getting dressed when he heard the door open. His shoulders immediately began to creep in the direction of his ears.

But instead of the stylish black ponytail he’d been fearing, it was shaggy sun-streaked blond that adorned the head of the person who came around the corner.

“Hey, it’s you! Are you on this floor too? Or are you a tourist from upstairs?”

“Tourist, I’m afraid.” Eli admitted with chagrin. “Hopefully our shower will get fixed soon so we can stop encroaching on yours.”

“Don’t sweat it, man.” Ash began to strip down with an ease that showed the guy had never been anxious about anything a day in his life.

Eli’s gaze hit the floor, and Ash kept talking. About everything. He’d been chatty when Eli had met him the day before, but from his performance now, Eli had a feeling it was the guy’s natural state.

He talked about his major—physical education—his dog back home, his favorite pair of shoes . . . anything that popped into his head seemed to be free game.

As Eli began gathering his bath supplies to leave, Ash said, “If you leave here in the morning, word to the wise, go by the north entrance, not the south. Every morning the bubble tea girls are there.”

“Bubble tea girls?”

“That’s what I call them anyway. Every single morning a group of girls meet up and get their caffeine fix outside our building and they get so hyper one of them always ends up spilling their drink everywhere. I’ve gone through two pairs of sneakers this week. It’s brutal.”

“Sounds that way. Thanks for the advice.” Eli vowed to never, ever, ever leave by the south entrance again, whatever time of day it was. What if someone spilled something on him? What if (shudder) they tried to help clean him off?

Hard pass.

It occurred to Eli that he was standing in a room he really shouldn’t be lingering in if he wanted to avoid a certain person.

“I gotta go, bye!” Eli shouted as he raced from the room.

He didn’t want to wait for the elevator and chance getting caught, so he took the stairs back to his floor. He didn’t stop looking over his shoulder until he reached his room.

Today was Saturday, and he was planning to check out the club fair with Alice and Nate. None of them had any idea what clubs they wanted to join, but they had agreed it would be nice if they could join one together so they could spend more time with each other. Alice had one class with Eli and one with Nate. Otherwise, there was no overlap for any of their trio.

Today he decided to go with the lightweight, linen pullover he got on his last shopping trip. It had a hood—just in case—but he thought sunglasses would be enough protection. He’d be with a group of friends, which usually helped counteract the effects of the Thing.

What would his life be like if he didn’t have to spend so much time and energy managing his various quirks? He’d have more fashion options at the very least.

Leaving through the north entrance, he hurried to the main quad where the club fair was being held. He probably should have set a meeting place with Nate and Alice rather than assuming he’d find them easily. Silly him, assuming things.

Once at the main quad, he realized his mistake. Easily half of the 22,000 people on campus were milling around, poking through booths, and enjoying exhibits. How the hell was he supposed to find his friends?

Just as anxiety began stirring in his stomach, he laughed at himself and smacked his forehead. He had a phone, duh.

After several minutes of using it for its originally intended purpose, however, he was beginning to wonder if either of his friends ever bothered to use theirs.

He tugged on a hoodie string.

Well, he could always look around until one of them decided to call him.

A delicious smell caught his attention, and he was about to chase it when he realized with all the excitement and stress of being at the fair, the likelihood of him actually being able to eat something was nil. He’d wait until he was with friends and try then.

A cheer went up from the crowd, and he followed it, using his small size to dart between people until he reached a makeshift fence. It was an archery exhibition, which was too much for his little geek heart to resist.

He’d tried archery a few times, but with his little noodle arms and extreme dislike of repeatedly getting wacked in the forearm by a bowstring, he didn’t get far.

The crowd cheered again when the archer—a tall, willowy blonde woman—hit the center of the target. People pressed against his back.

Too Close! Wrongwrongwrong.

One hand clung to the railing too keep his balance and the other yanked his hood up over his head. What was he thinking diving into a crowd like that? Of course, people were going to accidentally touch him if they were packed this close together.

He squeezed back out and found a small, empty area near a fence post. His view was partially blocked, but at least he had some space to breathe.

Part of him wanted to get the fuck out of there and run all the way back to his room, but another, louder part of him—the part that had sent him running toward the archery event in the first place—was begging him to stay, to watch, and to have fun. He patted the anxiety pill he had in his pocket. He could always take it if he needed to.

He would stay.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he reached for it, praying it would be his friends coming to rescue—ahem—find him, but he stopped midmotion.

The next archer took to the field. Eli could only see the back of him, but something about his long, muscled lines and the way he walked was familiar. Half of his upper torso was bare and glistened with sweat from the hot sun. His black hakama pants fluttered in the breeze. Unthinking, Eli inched away from his secluded position to get a better view.

The way the archer’s hands moved to position the bow was sheer art. His arms lifted the impossibly long bow and settled it into position as he took aim. Eli reached a better vantage point and held his breath, spellbound as the archer centered himself.

It was Eli’s favorite form of archery—kyudo, the ancient tradition of Japanese archery. He could have ten panic attacks today and still consider it worth coming out.

Tension built around the archer. Eli waited, sharing the tension, his heart beating loudly. The energy shifted, and the archer released the arrow. When it hit the center of the target, Eli felt like he’d been struck in the chest.

The archer turned, and Eli got a look at his face.

It was Haruka.

And he was staring right at Eli.