There's no point in pretending my stomach isn't doing its best impression of a zombie. If Angel wants to drug me, he's more than capable of doing it with or without food. And oh my goodness, does this chicken smell divine! I don't hesitate to dig in; the meat is so tender that it neatly cuts as soon as I slice with the knife. Noice.

“We’ve met before,” he confesses as I take my first bite. From that point on, I decided to chew slowly. “I was accompanying my cousin to Heroescon when I saw you. Lakan was just starting his comic, Clear Closets, Opal Stones-”

“Your cousin is the creator of the webseries Clear Closets, Opal Stones?” I’ve barely swallowed the food before I squeal. “I remember that day. I was so excited. I’ve literally been reading it since I was nineteen, and I was over the moon when he posted online that he’d be a vendor…” I slowly tamp down as he owl blinks at me with a tilted head. I supposed, puzzled? Yeah, puzzled. 

Why would he be…oooooh. Yeah, focusing on the wrong thing. 

Yes, I should probably make a timeline. Let's see. That happened when I was twenty, so that means Angel's been stalking me for four years. Oh, so he's the committed type. I don’t think I’ve kept up with a hobby for more than six months, let alone a person.

Well, that’s actually an entire lie. I did follow Sasha around for seven months back in high school, and then Eddie around for a year…and a half. I wonder how they're doing; I know I traumatized them. I should write them a-

Don't you even.

Right, right. Respecting boundaries.

What am I supposed to be thinking about again? His revelation. I'm supposed to be shocked.

“He’s…and you’ve liked me for…woah, this is crazy-eeee,” I stretch out, trying to sound flabbergasted. Wait, I should sound more concerned. “Th-that was so, so long ago.” Nailed it. 

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. Maybe not, then. I stuff my mouth to stop myself from slipping up more.

“Yeah. You got there early enough to get a limited spot on Lakan’s admin sign-up.”

“But I only talk to him and other admin,” I say with a full mouth. Yet he doesn’t cringe, only offering me a glass of water.

“Exactly.”

This doesn’t make sense. Out of the dozen people who help plan events or beta read, I consistently talk to only five. (Sometimes, Lakan, too, but I try not to message him too often since he’s busy.) 

“But…I don’t participate in the channel unless necessary.”

Angel says nothing as I struggle to finally catch up, the ghost of a smile making his dimples appear. The private thread for beta readers, LakansAnonymous, is the only place I’ve ever shared links to my Pinterest board, talk about what food I cooked, and everything else personal to me that I couldn’t tell anyone in real life…

I’m so stupid.

“Who are you in Anonymous?”

“Venus.”

He keeps his face blank as I digest this, and without that, I don’t really have a baseline for reacting to news like this; thus, I chew another bite. The more the silence stretches, the more I see him fidget. 

Shit, I’m making him nervous.

“Well, that maths.” As I continue to eat, my brain slowly recalls just how much I talked to who I thought was Ven, some closet enby from Richmond, Virginia, who was up at the oddest hours. They weren't big on talking about their personal life-

I wonder why.

But was more than willing to listen as I vented about my frustrations, failed relationships,

Delusionships.

And wanting to go back to school. I also sometimes talked to the others individually, especially Trina (shecago_shicago).

Wait, is he also Trina? She wanted waaaay too many details. 

“Are the others real?”

“Very. But I will admit Trina is, uh," he stalls, and I tense. 

They totally fucked. Look at how he's scrubbing his face.

He is rubbing at his scruffle a little too long for my liking.

Nooo. What if she's just, like, an ex? We can handle that. 

Oh. My. God. But what if he says they're currently together? What if she wanted to know all that shit because she needed to know what her boyfriend's future girlfriend would be like?

I'm so gagged right now. This is juicy. 

You're going be a third wheel, Keisha. Again. Hahahahaha. 

"Trina is, actually, a family friend. She grew up with Lakan. And sometimes we’d talk about you. Or, as of late, I'd get her to ask you questions so I could find out more about your likes and dislikes. Bit of a wingwoman. Even helped me pick some of the decor.”

I let out a relieved sigh as the tightness in my chest loosened. 

Yayyyy, we don't have to beat her up. 

We should get her a thank you card. A real MVP.

I had to agree. I would hate to hold a grudge against the closest thing I have to a best friend. 

With my head finally quieting again, I go back to eating now that I'm satisfied with the answer, although Angel doesn't seem to believe it. His shoulders, which had been climbing up to his ears, lower centimeter by centimeter, and his eyes search me for a reaction the longer I continue to devour my meal.

It’s difficult for me to piece together what is likely a more appropriate response because what am I supposed to say to this? ‘Oh no, you're related to my favorite comic and became my online friend to get to know me better? Ew! And y-you talked to my online bestie to help make the house pretty for me. Disgusting. Oh, the horror.’ 

Ehhh. It is a little weird. It's giving Edward Cullen energy.

But is it criminal if she's okay with it? Bella can be fine with an old ass man sitting in her room at all hours of the night watching her sleep. Why can't Keisha be okay with Angel harmlessly learning about her from a distance?

Bella was a dum-

Exactly. In this day and age, privacy is an illusion. It’s not like I told them to keep my stuff a secret. And seeing how the decor is on the nose, it clearly worked in my favor. 

Knowing I’m not going to pass as normal by the point, I don’t bother faking revulsion.  

“So you‘ve been planning this for a while,” I gesture to the house with a spin of my fork. 

“I wanted you to have the home of your dreams when you came here.”

“And us meeting in Walmart was pre-planned?” 

“Yes.”

I don’t know whether Angel laughing at my meltdown is better or worse now. He also knew exactly where I was. He freezes immediately as I squint at him across the island.

“Did you, like, keep an eye out for me or have some sort of tracker…?”

“One of the links I sent as Ven had a Trojan horse virus. I’ve known where you were for the last year and a half.”

Oh, so either he can code or got friends. Maybe he can help you get that picture deleted from that site.

True. 

Keisha, he's waiting again.

I hum again, mopping up the last of the mashed potatoes with my final bite of chicken. “So, you didn’t need me to give you directions.”

“I was never going to leave you behind in Statesville.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s what they all say.”

As if prepared for such a response, he holds out a hand. “I'll prove it to you.”

Satisfied but secretly hoping he’ll give me dessert after this, I take his hand. I do feel a hint of apprehension as he leads me down to what seems to be the basement. He's so unrelenting in his pace that I don’t have time to dwell on the bar or personal library down here as he leads me to a hidden door. 

The room is decent but tiny—just enough to get creative with. I didn't know what to expect when the lights came on, but it was not this. Even the voices are sat and silent as I take it all in.

I'm not one to have a big head about myself—I wasn't raised that way. But I'm going to go on a limb and call this a shrine. Posters and nicely framed pictures I sent in the chat and posted online were all around. There were even some professional [candid] photos, making me believe he may have hired a PI once upon a time. 

Instead of a formal altar, there’s a 19th-century Italian-styled settee–with the most gorgeous burgundy cushions–beneath a painting. If the size indicates anything (maybe a 16" x 24"), it cost a pretty penny. The closer I stare at the painting, the more my jaw drops.

It’s a heavily Madonna-inspired painting of my face with a serene expression. The blasian baby in my arms knocks the air out of my lungs. I look ethereal in it—all sweet, pure, and worthy. And the baby was stinking perfect: caramel skin, hooded eyes, and a button nose, and though the hair was short, you could see curls forming.

I feel my shoulders trembling the longer I stare. 

“I’ve wanted you from the first day I met you,” he whispers into my ear. I tense as his arms wrap around me, a lingering kiss pressed to my temple. “You were my light in the darkest. You gave me something to dream about. You’re why I get out of bed in the morning.”

I tune out the rest of his declarations, focusing on the real problem at hand: How the hell am I going to live up to this?