Chapter 6
Michaels & Sons Custom Tailors, Annapolis, Maryland
Later in the day after lunch, they had taken over a small fitting room at the tailor’s, the kind with warm lighting and mirrors that made everything feel more serious than it was supposed to be.
Jackets hung on hooks, garment bags stacked on long metal clothes rods, waiting for pickup, and Fly sat on a low bench pretending he wasn’t watching every second of what was happening.
Than stepped out.
Fly saw it immediately. The way Mei quieted, the way her breath caught just slightly, the way her eyes tracked Than from shoulders to shoes as if she were trying to recalibrate something inside herself.
Than wore the tux like he’d been born in it, broad shoulders filling the jacket, posture easy and grounded, the sharp lines doing nothing but underline what was already there.
Mei crossed the small space between them without saying a word. She reached up, smoothed his lapels, then adjusted his bow tie with careful fingers. Her brow furrowed.
“Lose the vest,” she said decisively. “Just no.”
Than blinked once, then nodded. He shrugged out of the jacket and vest without comment. Mei took the jacket from him, waited as he slipped his arms back in, then brushed at his shoulders, her fingers lingering as if she were fixing something only she could see.
Fly squinted. He saw no lint.
“Yes,” Mei murmured, stepping back. “Just…yes.”
Fly shifted on the bench, a grin spreading slowly across his face. Was she responding to a man in a tux? Or was she responding to Than in a tux?
Than glanced down at his wrists, frowning. “What’s with these floppy sleeves?”
Mei smiled softly. “You need these.” She turned, reached into her purse, and pulled out a small velvet bag.
Than took it carefully, his big hands suddenly unsure as he loosened the drawstring.
Two round metal shapes spilled into his palm with a soft clink.
He stared at them. “They’re buffalo,” Mei said quietly.
“I wanted to get you something special for agreeing to come with me.”
Than swallowed. He stood there for a long moment, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Mei… thank you.” His voice was steady, but Fly heard the weight under it. “It’ll be an honor to wear them.”
Mei beamed.
Than picked one up, tried to work it into the cuff, then frowned again when it refused to cooperate. “I think I’m doing it wrong.”
“Let me,” Mei whispered.
She took the cuff link from him, her fingers brushing his wrist as she slipped it through, then did the other side with practiced ease.
When she finished, Than wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, strong and gentle all at once.
Mei hugged him back without hesitation, her cheek pressed briefly against his chest.
Fly watched them, his grin turning into something warmer.
For crying out loud. Had he really been this blind?
“I got these too,” Mei said, turning toward him with another velvet bag.
When they spilled out, Fly turned the cuff links over in his palm, studying the etched bird.
The wings were flared wide, caught in the long, effortless line of a glide.
Each feather was picked out in black and burnished copper, precise and deliberate.
The body was banded in fine geometric markings, order layered over instinct.
The head was pale, the eye sharp. A watcher.
“Kites,” he said after a moment. “Australian?”
He rolled the metal once more between his fingers.
The bird wasn’t built to muscle its way through the air.
It rode it. Let the thermals do the work.
Patience over power. Altitude before action.
The kind of hunter that didn’t rush, didn’t waste energy, didn’t strike until the outcome was already decided.
Fly closed his hand around the cuff link, the cool weight settling into his palm. Something about it felt familiar. Grounded. That’s why this trio worked. Than got him, and Mei got him. He cherished what they had more than they could know.
Mei nodded. “Yeah. But not because you’re Australian.”
He looked up at her then. She hesitated, just a beat, as if she were choosing her words carefully.
“You’re…a big-picture guy…aerial,” she said finally.
“You always have been. You see things from above. Not in a literal way, obviously,” she added quickly, then steadied herself.
“You’re perceptive. Wide-ranging. You notice patterns before other people even realize there are patterns. ”
Fly felt something shift under his ribs.
“You watch first,” Mei went on, more confident now. “You don’t rush in swinging. You take it all in, figure out what matters, and then you move. When you do, it’s always at exactly the right moment.”
She shrugged, a small, self-conscious gesture. “That’s what kites do. They don’t hover for show. They wait for the current. They see the whole field.”
Fly swallowed. “So you bought me cuff links because I overthink?”
Than snorted.
Mei smiled, soft but certain. “No, smartass who’s trying to deflect emotion. I bought them because you know when not to strike. That’s rarer than people think.”
Fly looked back down at the bird, the long wings caught mid-glide, and for a second he couldn’t find anything clever to say, just the warmth of Mei settling deep in his chest.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“My first thought had been…longhorns.”
His laugh came out easy and genuine. “That would have been appropriate.” He looked up at her, eyes bright. “We had this gigantic bull back home we called Marshmallow.”
Than snorted. “You mean you named him Marshmallow.”
Fly laughed. “He was a big softie. It fit.”
Mei laughed with them, the sound light and happy, and for a moment the room felt full in a way that had nothing to do with mirrors or tuxes or fundraisers.
Than was still tingling from the way Mei had touched him in the tailor’s shop, light, precise, lingering just long enough to register as something he would carry with him all night.
His gut twisted as they stepped out onto Main Street, the late afternoon alive with voices and movement, the world indifferent to the way his chest felt too tight.
Across the street, a cluster of mids spilled out of the coffee shop. One spotted Fly immediately.
“Fly!” she shouted, enthusiasm tipping into spectacle.
Fly stopped and smiled, easy and unguarded, lifting a hand in greeting. “Ladies. Enjoying this beautiful day?”
One of them rose and crossed the street, confidence sharpened by attention. “Ah, the Brain Trust all together.” Her gaze slid to Mei, then flicked back to Than. “You’re very greedy, keeping these two all to yourself.”
Mei’s mouth tightened. Her chin lifted. “We’re friends, Camilla,” she said coolly. “I’m not a cat in heat.”
Camilla laughed softly. “Ooh, meow. Maybe you’ve got more invested, and it doesn’t have anything to do with their brains.”
Than felt it immediately, the shift in Mei. Anger. Not because of Camilla’s jab, but because the attention in the street had settled, predictably and relentlessly, on Fly.
Than closed his eyes.
Was she in love with Fly?
The thought landed fully formed, brutal in its clarity. He hadn’t let himself think it before. Not really. He’d kept his distance because Mei had kept hers. Boundaries respected. Lines not crossed. But now the idea crashed through him like falling cinder blocks, each one heavier than the last.
Than was in love with her.
Oh, Ancestors…this was not good.
“I should get home,” Mei said abruptly, avoiding both their eyes. She gathered her dress over her arm and walked away without looking back.
Fly allowed himself to be pulled toward the table, dragging Than with him. Laughter followed. Questions. Flirting that barely pretended to be subtle. Hands on Fly’s arm. Eyes tracking his smile. Than sat rigid, fury coiling tighter with every second.
Finally, he stood. “I’ve got studying to do.”
Fly rose instantly. “I should head out, too, ladies. See you in the Yard.”
There were groans and disappointed protests, hands reaching to detain him, but Fly shook them off and followed Than down the street.
“Hey,” Fly said, confused. “What’s going on? You don’t like those girls or something?”
Than spun, grabbed Fly by the front of his shirt, and dragged him back into a narrow alley, empty and shadowed. “No,” he snapped. “Those girls are who they are. Who I don’t like is you.”
Fly blinked. “What? Why?”
“Don’t you see what you’re doing to Mei?”
“To Mei?” Fly’s confusion tipped into anger. “What does she have to do with this?”
Than shoved him once, hard enough to make the point. “You’re so blind.”
He turned to leave, but Fly blocked his path.
“Blind to what?” Fly demanded. There was concern now. Real concern.
Than’s chest heaved. He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to let it out. But the thought had been eating him alive.
“You know she’s in love with you, right?”
The words hit Fly like a physical blow. Not because they were true, because Than believed them.
“Mei?” Fly said slowly. “Are you talking about Mei?”
“Yes,” Than snapped. “You’re going to ruin everything either way, because you’re not the right guy for her. If you hurt her, I don’t think I could ever forgive you.”
Fly released his shirt. The space between them felt suddenly enormous.
What Fly had witnessed was the opposite. The way Mei’s attention gravitated toward Than. The quiet gravity between them. But it wasn’t his place to correct him. That belonged to Mei and only Mei.
Than brushed past him, jaw set, already retreating.
Fly walked back toward the dorm alone, the late light fading around him, his thoughts racing.
Panic seeped in, quiet, corrosive.
Losing Mei was inconceivable. She was woven into his life, as permanent as family. The thought that he had the power to hurt her made everything in him recoil. He would die before he hurt either of them.
That alone was bad enough.
But Than…
No.