33. An Idiot Who Might Need an Ambulance
An Idiot Who Might Need an Ambulance
LEO
I'm an idiot. A complete, absolute, probability-defying idiot.
Because I'm the one who suggested the Sayaka Miki costume. I'm the one who helped Max with the fittings, adjusted the corset, and made sure the skirt flared just right when he walked.
I'm the one who found the perfect shade of blue for the twin tails and spent hours crafting that gold sword, and now I have to watch the entire Pasadena Comic Con fall in love with him.
Max is about twenty feet away, talking to a guy dressed as some generic anime protagonist, messy wig, oversized sword, the usual. The guy is leaning in. Laughing at whatever Max said. Touching Max's arm to admire the glove detail.
My jaw tightens.
The costume looks incredible on him. The fitted blue corset hugs his waist, the layered skirt swishes when he moves, and the long white gloves make his hands look elegant. The gold accents catch the light every time he gestures, which is constantly, because Max talks with his whole body.
He's bright. Stunning. A little dramatic. He's beautiful, and I did this to myself. So fucking stupid.
"Excuse me?" A girl in a Miku cosplay is standing in front of me, phone already raised. "Can I get a picture with you? Your Beelzebub is so good!"
"Sure." She bounces next to me, peace sign up, while her friend takes the photo.
"The bunny ears are perfect," the friend says. "They're so soft — are they real fur?"
"Faux. I made them."
"You made them?" Miku girl beams. "And the open shirt is such a serve. Very true to the episode."
"Thanks." My eyes drift back to Max. Different person now, a woman in an elaborate Victorian ball gown, complimenting his sword. Touching his sword.
Is this what it means when someone sees red? Max is showing her how the hilt detaches, animated and excited, and she's looking at him like he's her next snack. Miku girl is still talking. I've missed whatever she said.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you're here with anyone." She twirls a pigtail around her finger. "We're going to the mixer tonight, if you want to—"
"I'm here with him." I nod toward Max without thinking. "The Sayaka."
"Oh!" Her eyes go wide. "That's your friend? You guys should enter the pairs contest. You'd totally win!"
"It's not a pair’s costume."
"Still! You look great together!"
I don't know what to say to that. The girls wave goodbye and disappear into the crowd, and I'm left watching Max laugh at something the Victorian woman said. Great together. Right.
A guy bumps my shoulder; tall, dark hair, sharp jawline, dressed as someone I don't recognize.
He looks me over slowly, taking in the open shirt, the bare chest, the bunny ears, and grins like he likes what he sees.
"Hey, nice Beel. Very accurate." His eyes drop to my open shirt and linger there a beat longer than necessary before coming back up. "You here alone?"
"No." I can't be bothered with more than one word right now.
"Shame." He looks me over one more time, unhurried, and appreciative. "Real shame." He winks and walks off. I barely register it. Max is on the move now, drifting toward a vendor booth, and I follow automatically. Like a satellite caught in his orbit.
This was supposed to be fun. Three days of panels and costumes and geeking out over merch. We've been planning this for months. But ever since… everything... It's been awkward. Stilted. I've been using the other guys, so I don't have to talk to Max alone.
I've made sure we're never alone, because if we're alone, I might say something stupid like I'm in love with you, or please don't date other people, or I know I said we should be friends, but I lied.
Max pauses at a snack booth, examining the rainbow of cotton candy on display. He's got the main bag slung over one shoulder, his idea, so he'd have easy access to the badge ribbons and water bottles. I've got a snack stash in my jacket pocket.
A guy in a cosplay of Tanjiro Kamado from Demon Slayer approaches him. Starts talking. Max smiles, and my hands curl into fists at my sides.
"Hey! Beelzebub!" I turn. Two more girls, both in matching school uniforms from some anime I should probably recognize. "Can we get a photo? The bunny ears are killing us!"
"Umm. Sure." They sandwich me between them, phones clicking. One of them rests her hand on my chest, on the bare skin where my shirt hangs open, and she giggles.
“You're warm."
"Human body temperature is approximately 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit." She laughs like what I said was charming instead of awkward. I glance back toward Max. He's still at the snack booth. The wannabe Tanjiro is gone, thank god. Max is examining a package, turning it over in his hands.
The girls say something else to me, but I don't hear it. I give them a vague nod, already moving toward Max. He's so focused on the package that he doesn't see me approach. His brow is furrowed in that cute way it does when he's reading ingredient lists or calculating nutritional percentages.
My chest aches. I love him, and I have no idea what to do about it. Without thinking about it, I pull a package from my jacket pocket, the snack stash I've been carrying, and dump a few crackers into my mouth without looking.
I only mean to steal one stupid snack. Something salty. Something crunchy. Anything to keep my hands busy while I wait for Max to come back with the badge ribbons and my sanity. I don't look at the package.
Stupid. I should always look at the package. The first bite is fine. The second taste is wrong, sweet and salty in a way that makes my stomach drop before my brain even catches up. I chew and force it down anyway, because I'm already mad at myself and apparently committed to making this worse.
Then my mouth starts to tingle. Just a little at first. Easy to ignore. Easy to pretend it's nothing. I lick my lip and get the same weird prickling numbness, like my tongue has fallen asleep and is trying to wake up angry.
No.
No, no, no.
I start to pat my side, feeling around for my bag. The bag that has my EpiPen in it isn't there because, of course, the bag is with Max and not with me, and, of course, I haven't told him what I need to tell him, and now I'm standing in the middle of an anime con with a throat full of mystery food.
I look down at the wrapper, but the words on the front blur and bounce. Peanut… No, I'm fine with those. Bees… Why would there be bees? I'd feel a sting, wouldn't I? Crackers aren't… What was I… Shrimp. Fuck. It's shrimp.
Something I should have checked two minutes ago when I was still just an idiot in love with my best friend instead of an idiot who might need an ambulance.
My throat tightens on my next inhale, subtle enough that I almost convince myself I'm imagining it, until I try to swallow and the motion scrapes like there isn't enough space in there anymore.
My heart slams once, hard and stupid, and my eyes shoot across the crowded aisle, over faces, cosplay armor, tote bags, vendor booths.
Where is Max? I can't see him. Why am I this tall if I can't even see Max over a crowd?
I try to take another breath, and it comes out high and uneven. I've started to panic. My fingers shake around the snack wrapper. My skin goes hot. Then cold.
"Help,” I try to say, but it comes out rough, wrong, barely a voice at all.
Someone brushes past me. Someone laughs nearby.
The con keeps roaring around me as if nothing in the world has changed, as if I'm not suddenly trapped in my own body, as if my throat isn't turning traitor one breath at a time.
I search harder, stupidly, frantically… our bag, Max's bag, the one with my EpiPen, but Max is somewhere in this crowd, and I can’t find him, and my throat is getting smaller by the second.
Not enough air. Not enough… There. Max.
Near the end of the aisle, turning with a water bottle in his hand. Everything in me lurches toward him with a desperate, animal kind of relief. I try to call his name. What comes out is wet and wrong, a gurgle, but it's enough.
Max looks up. His face turns white… I think he sees me as I go down.
"Where is your pen? What pocket? Leo, what fucking pocket?" I don't think I've ever heard Max say fuck before. He's digging through the bag with shaking hands, frantic, and I want to help him, but I can't make my body cooperate. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where is it, Leo?"
There's shouting around us somewhere, a crowd forming, and then Max shrieks, and there's a sharp pain in my thigh.
He found it. So maybe I'm not going to die.
Max's face swims above me, pale and terrified, his hand gripping my arm so tight his knuckles are white, like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. I want to tell him I'm okay. My mouth won't cooperate yet.
"An ambulance has been called. First aid is on their way."
I don't know who said that. My throat feels a little less like it's trying to kill me. Air moves easier. In and out. In and out.
I think I can breathe again.
That's nice.