Whatever I had fallen asleep on, it was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I was still fully clothed, including my jacket. Blinking slowly through the grogginess, I felt my mascara sticking. Beside me was a small table, and on it was my phone, plugged in. I checked the time: Thursday, eight o-two AM. As my vision finally cleared, I recognized the room and realized where I was. Out of curiosity I turned to look outside. I counted thirty-eight windows across the street.

When I finally stood up from the futon, I could see into the kitchen. Harmony was asleep over the back of a kitchen chair. They were pretty cute in their disheveled state, both hands clutching an empty mug, but I felt bad they’d slept in the kitchen. We must have talked late into the night, though I couldn’t remember who fell asleep first.

I found my stuff still in a pile by the door. I checked for my wallet and keys out of nervousness. Everything was there, so I pocketed them, and looked for something to leave a note on. A sketchbook was the best I had, so I painfully tore a small piece to leave on the kitchen table.

                        Thank you for trusting me. Stay strong.

Ray.

I made my way softly out the door and down the first few steps before taking to a normal pace. My fatigue subsided on the street and was replaced with millions of questions I had about everything that had happened the night before. It almost hurt to contend with. I walked slowly back toward campus to find my dorm. The students were out in force that Thursday morning. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. I found myself wondering if they always did that, without variation. Even the corner bodega I’d noticed the night before was packed with people trying to get coffee. I needed coffee. I needed a shower. I needed to clear my head.

Opening the door to our dorm exposed me to a shrill but muffled alarm tone, ringing incessantly. Concerned, I scanned the living room to find Sammy on the couch, half covered with a blanket, drooling on herself. There was an open bottle of wine on the table next to where her feet were propped up. What had I missed? I followed the sound of the alarm to Sammy’s room, and turned it off.

As I reentered our living room, I saw food from the night before, still in the various pans on the stove. Two plates were set out, each used. That seemed like a good sign. I quietly packed the leftovers in containers and consolidated the dishes into the sink. I plugged the bottom and filled it up with hot soapy water, then went to take a shower. Sammy stirred but remained asleep.

I dropped my backpack on a pile of clothes, but still felt its weight on my shoulders. I peeled my jacket off and tossed it on the growing pile, then my shoes followed suit. No use, I was still bent over in exhaustion.

I didn’t understand how I already felt responsible for Harmony. I sighed and turned on the water so it would warm up.

Time travel. Or more specifically, a time loop. Even if there was another explanation for what was happening, it would hardly be less unbelievable. I wiped off some makeup and considered my face in the mirror. It could have been a dream. I could have fallen asleep in the library with Harmony and then gone home with them. My face turned red at the thought. I leaned out of the bathroom and fished for my wallet. There was a taco bell receipt inside. At least that was real. I looked back into the mirror which had slowly steamed up. I needed more answers and fewer questions. I finally stripped away my last layer of clothing and shed Harmony, Sammy, and the whole world as I stepped into the shower. The pellets of scalding water grinded away at my anxieties.

[drawing]bathroom[/drawing]

About half an hour later, I, carefully wrapped in a towel, tiptoed back into the living room to find Sammy stretched all the way across the couch. She was awake, and on her phone. The wine was unmoved.

“Thank you for starting the dishes.” She said despondently as I emerged.

“Oh… uh, no problem. You alright?” I straightened up and walked over to the fridge which I opened absentmindedly, unsure what I was looking for. Eventually, I retrieved a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread.

“Am I too butch?” Sammy asked, startling me.

“Uhm, what? No, of course not! I mean, unless you want to be…? Is that what your date said?” I enquired, searching for the missing context.

“No...” Sammy answered, sitting up and putting her phone down. She pulled a blanket over her shoulders, which admittedly were quite impressive. I sat down beside her, careful not to wet anything important.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m just being dramatic.”

“I have time, and I care about you. Talk to me, I’ll listen. But also, like, you totally don’t have to. I care about you either way.”

“Nah, I can talk about it. It’s just… Well… Carmen didn’t say that much actually. She came over, I joked, she laughed, I cooked, we ate, it was all great. She didn’t seem all that talkative, so I tried to keep the conversation going by myself. It was tough, girl… Eventually, I gave up and suggested we watch a movie. I thought that would be less forced and easier since we didn’t really know each other. She agreed and we started to scroll through Netflix. I thought everything was cool, but when I sat next to her, she backed away from me a bit… Fuck me, maybe I read into it too much? I dunno…” Sammy said as she arched her back to relieve tension.

“I don’t know either, but maybe she just wanted to take things slow, you know?” I suggested.

“But see, after she moved back, I moved back too and asked her how she was feeling. She played dumb and pretended nothing happened. So, I asked again explicitly how she was feeling about the date, and she said she didn’t know. I asked her if she wanted to watch a movie or to go home, and she said she didn’t know again. I felt like a fool for thinking we were even hanging out.”

Sammy put her hand on her forehead and then rubbed her eye with her palm. I sympathized with her frustration but could also imagine she might be a bit intense on a first date. I waited for her to continue.

“It annoyed me a bit. Like, shit girl, first dates are awkward, but how am I supposed to fucking know what you want. It definitely didn’t seem like she wanted to watch a movie or even be here, but I didn’t want to kick her out if she was just feeling anxious.” Sammy looked to me for help.

“No, yeah, I totally get that. What did happen?” I asked.

“Well, I just decided to put The Office on for a bit. White people like that shit right? If it was anxiety, I wanted to give her some space. We watched about ten minutes before she started scrolling through Instagram. I got zero vibes from her. I might’ve just cooked dinner for a straight girl.”

“Oh Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“I mean it’s whatever. I told her I had homework after the first episode, and she said ok and left.” Sammy sighed deeply before going limp and letting her head roll back over the edge of the couch.

“I could tell you were looking forward to it though. So, I am genuinely sorry that it didn’t work out.” I consoled.

“Honestly, me too. She was super hot, but super boring.”

“You can do better than that.” I laughed.

“You know what? I can. That bitch ain’t worth my wine.” Sammy proclaimed, grabbing the wine bottle for emphasis. We were both surprised at how light it was.

“Not any more bottles, at least” I smirked.

Sammy got up ceremoniously and laid the bottle in our recycling crate as if it had died a glorious death in combat. Together we mimed weeping and then looked at each other with a solemn, silent, nod. A brave warrior had died that day for the good of our prosperity. Carmen had been defeated.

Sammy turned on the faucet and rinsed her face once before digging into the soaking dishes. I maneuvered around her to put away the eggs and bread I’d retrieved earlier then retreated to my room to get dressed. I’d make breakfast later.

Staring aimlessly into my closet, I thought about my schedule: mostly studio work, then art history in the evening. I wondered if Harmony would be in art history. Fuck, I’d forgotten about Harmony. I checked my phone. One message. I opened it clumsily, closing a few other apps by accident. The message took a maddening amount of time to load.

Thank you for the note, for listening, and everything that has yet to come. How are you feeling? They asked.

I sat down and breathed purposefully, trying to figure out how to respond.

            I’m ok. We should talk again to figure out what to do. And I want to know if a seizure happens. Please be careful. I sent.

I set my phone down in front of me like an offering.

My phone gazed back at me, foreboding disaster for a second, but nothing happened. I remembered to breathe again. Was I ok? All the Harmony nonsense needed to slow down. I gingerly retrieved my phone again and opened messenger. I scrolled up to see my brief texts with Harmony before our conversation. Some stuff about class. A joke about their old band T-shirt. It looked so silly now, like it was a life-time ago.

I exited messenger and spun through Instagram. Some cute food rolled by, and then Tsuki popped into my feed. I stopped. She had posted a picture with her roommates at Brown eating Korean Barbeque. My throat clenched.

I reminisced about high school. Four months wasn’t long, but I barely recognized that life. Living with my parents and Paul, the three of them fighting constantly. Sculpting in the school studios in between classes while Tsuki pestered me about her newest crush. She was always after someone, a hidden gem in a cesspool of Getson trash. I missed her pestering. She was my best friend from the day we met. And the only other Asian girl in our entire school. We’d been practically inseparable for three years, why had that changed? My guilt and jealousy stirred in one another. Over the summer I had gone to Japan to see family, and she took summer classes at Brown. The school that eventually accepted her. And not me.

I left too though, I went all the way to Chicago, so it was partially my fault.

I liked the photo and then dropped back onto my bed with a sigh. A short while later I had jeans and a sweater on, makeup applied, and boots laced up. I reemerged into the living room to try again at breakfast. Sammy had finished the dishes and changed into her gym clothes. She cocked her head at me in mock surprise.

“Where are you going looking so cute?” She teased.

“Oh, nowhere, I’ll probably go to the library, or something. Studying. Art.” I shrugged.

“Didn’t you study art history last night? HOLY shit, I totally forgot! I didn’t even ask about your night! Tell me how it went? You, Harmony, you didn’t come back, so…” She looked at me, raising her eyebrows in anticipation. I laughed nervously. Shit.

“It wasn’t like that, you know. We’re just, we’re just friends…” I bit my lip.

“Girl we’ve talked about this, I know how you look at them. You’re head over heels for Harmony.”

“They were just, like, having some anxiety issues. Nothing happened.” I covered.

“So, you didn’t make eye contact or talk at all, you just spent the night cuddling their beautiful body?” Sammy stroked her thigh.

“No, not… We talked a bunch and then I fell asleep, I think. We didn’t even sleep in the same bed. Nothing happened.”

“Did you want something to happen?” She asked, giving up on her jokes. I was taken aback by the question. Sammy could tell and came over, dropping her gym bag and sitting down. I could spare a little honesty.

“I thought I did at first. Especially when they said they liked me too… But I think, I’m pretty sure things are different than I expected. They know how I feel, it’s just… I don’t think it’s meant to be. They have a lot going on right now, so I’m going to try and respect that. Harmony is kind, attentive, and honest with me. In the craziest fucking way… but I think I feel ok letting them go.” I said, sitting down too. It felt like a lie.

“Are you sure, Rachel? You sound kinda sad.”

“I am, a bit. I thought that… fuck.” I wiped my face, tears flowing freely over my cheeks.

“Oh, baby girl.” Sammy wrapped her arms around me.

“…I don’t know why I’m crying over a dumb crush… It’s not like I really knew them that well. But it still really sucks you know? They like me.”

I sniffled.

“When we got coffee last week, they ordered me a caramel latte ‘cause they knew I would like it. I never get caramel lattes but they’re so good… It’s not fair. I thought… I thought it was enough that we liked each other… But it’s not. Harmony doesn’t want to date me. I like them and they like me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” I said, curling in Sammy’s shirt.

She lifted me off the couch and into her lap, cupping me like a baby in her arms. I could tell she was crying too. So, we sat there. Together. Learning how to breathe.

--

I was a few minutes late to art history. Luckily, the door was propped open so I could slip in nonchalantly. I snuck down to my favorite row and found Harmony spread over two seats in the middle, waiting for me. They waved with a pen. I glanced about hesitantly then shuffled into the seat beside them.

Considering Harmony had already taken the class a few hundred times, I was surprise to see them. Did they want to talk to me?

“Hey Harmony.” I whispered

“Ray. Long queue at the panda express?” They smirked, knowing I’d just been in line. Likely because I’d been late to class on that particular day before for the same reason. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

“Maybe. Did you sleep well on that chair?” I cut back.

“It wasn’t so bad with a belly full of food, but when I woke up, I regretted it. I should consider getting a couch.”

“You should consider making that place inhabitable.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Harmony reflected.

“Getting, like, some food and a desk would be a good start.”

I pulled out my art history notebook and wrote the date on it. The professor was still going over last week’s material, so I leaned over and whispered to Harmony.

“Uhm, Harmony? Why, why do you always call me Ray?”

“You wrote Ray on the note you left me this morning.” Harmony answered, eyeing me suspiciously.

“But you called me Ray before that. I’m pretty sure you called me Ray the first time we met.” I answered

“This iteration?”

“Yeah.”

“It probably comes from an earlier iteration. Should I call you Rachel?” Harmony asked, genuine worry rising in their voice.

“No, Ray is fine, I think. I just wonder where it comes from.” I said, calculating whether Okaasan would have told them in a previous life. It seemed unlikely. Had I told Harmony I wanted to be called Ray? How many lifetimes ago?

“I thought it came from the note. You’ve left notes like that before. If it bothers you, I can call you Chell. Portal’s cool. Or Rachel. I like Rachel.” My full name sounded foreign in their mouth. Ray had grown on me.

“I do like Portal, but you can keep using Ray for now. However, I reserve the right to change it to Chell.” I said, sitting taller in my chair to look down on them.

“This was a triumph. I’m making a note here, huge success.” Harmony said, reaching for my notebook. My heart leapt.

“It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction.” I answered.

Harmony and I talked the whole class. It was strangely different from any way we’d talked before. Occasionally, I would still catch Harmony subconsciously mouthing along to my words, so I’d switch up my sentence at the last second to throw them off. That felt good. When they asked a question, I took my time before answering. I was careful to think through my wording. Exactly what I wanted to say became clearer, and though I ended up speaking less, I was saying more.

Not once did we talk about the elephant in the room. Harmony didn’t do small talk, but it was close. Loose talk. Comfortable talk. It felt easy now that everything was out in the open for us. I watched the way they spoke and smiled and looked me in the eye. Harmony seemed happy.

Class let out, and we got up to follow our row out of the auditorium. We were still laughing at how bad Professor Wilson’s memes were. As we made it outside, the brisk Chicago air blew right through my jacket. Harmony nervously started to wave goodbye.

And then I hugged them.

“Is this ok? I’m sorry. I should have asked first.” I said, realizing we’d never hugged before.

“Yes. Thank you. I wanted to hug as well, but it didn’t feel fair to ask.” Harmony said. They wrapped their arms around me and held on tight.

After we let go, it was my turn to wave nervously goodbye.

--

I found my way to the dorms and opened the front door to a waft of spicy paprika and garlic. Sammy was in the kitchen cooking up a storm: there were several pans going, the microwave was beeping, the whole living room was steamy, and a new bottle of wine guarded by two glasses sparkled on the counter. It was sort of romantic.

“Surprise, Rachel!” Sammy yelled, holding two spatulas in her hand.

“What is this? I mean, thank you, I think?”

“We were both sad bitches this morning, so I decided I’d make some yummy food for us. And… I smuggled more alcohol into the dorm!” Sammy was in a good mood. I liked her usual peppy self.

“You know… This is amazing, Sammy. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Well, you’d probably eat ramen and pop-tarts every day for one thing.”

I laughed her statement off with a gulp, realizing how true it was. I could make some things, but not a feast like this. Also, pop tarts were so easy, why not? I dropped my stuff, shed my jacket, and rolled up my sleeves.

“So, uh, how can I help?” I asked.

“No no no no, you sit here, have some wine, and tell me about your day. I wanna see your face.” Sammy directed me to one of the glasses.

I grinned to myself; she must’ve already had a glass.

“So, what was studio like? Any interesting characters?” Sammy asked, returning to the stove.

“Uhm. Alright, uh… I think Greg is the most interesting. He’s a painter.”

“What’s Greg’s deal? Greguh. Grehhg.” She repeated his name in different voices. I could tell she was trying to get a feel for his character. Something she’d done before.

“He’s from LA. Skinny kid. Very… Artiste. He always wears capris and a loose shirt, chest a little exposed like he just came from a mental wellness retreat. And long hair which he ties up when he works. Oh, and when he works, he always puts on the same beige jumpsuit. Never risk the clothes.” I described. Sammy was into it immediately.

“Oooh, I’m picking up a Fonzie vibe. No?”

“Mm. Not quite. Gayer. Think Nigel, Devil Wears Prada. But if he spent too long in bed with Andy Warhol.”

“Make me a man right now. Where is he?” Sammy yelled and dropped her spatulas. I nearly choked on my wine.

“That’s not even the best part. Greg… has been working on a series.”

“A series?”

“A series.”

“Pornos I hope?” Sammy winked.

“Unfortunately, not. But they do involve a tremendously long piece of wood.” I insinuated.

“Tell me.”

“He stands, like, eight feet away from his easel, palette on the ground, holding a long thin dowel with his brush taped to the end of it. He gingerly dips the brush in the paint and then applies it in extremely small doses to the canvas. All while groaning like he’s about to give birth in the middle of the studio.” I explained, demonstrating Greg’s squat.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. But Greg might be shitting himself. I have no idea.”

“Is the painting… Good?”

“I… Gah. Fuck. I don’t know? I’m never looking at the painting when he’s working.” I laughed.

“Girl, you need to take me to studio sometime. My mans is waitin’ for me.”

“Sammy, this guy’s name is Greg Walton-MacVarnovsky.” I said, enunciating his name with emphasis.

“Fuck I think I came.” Sammy looked down at her pants.

“You’re saying all this but you probably will meet him eventually. Then what?”

“Oh, we won’t meet till the wedding. You know how it is.” Sammy said dismissively in her British accent.

“Ok, well, what about you? Anyone get the stick out of your coach’s ass?” I asked, Sammy sighed.

“Tacos first, coach after.” She said, beckoning me into the kitchen.

We ate so much. I felt like I was going to explode, but Sammy went back for more at least two times after I stopped. It was lovely. I could tell that Sammy had really internalized her lab partner’s rejection and was trying to work through it. She was spoiling me because it made her feel good. And wanted.

I felt the urge to tell Sammy that she didn’t need anyone else’s affirmation to be valuable. I wanted to tell her that one girl’s indecisiveness wasn’t worth her sadness. But I didn’t really know if those things were true. Affirmation was undeniably part of why I was in art school. It shaped so much of whether I believed in myself, how could I tell Sammy it didn’t matter? Sammy was the closest thing to a professional athlete I’d ever met, she probably had to deal with affirmation on a scale I couldn’t imagine. Being sad and disappointed over something was ok. We were right to be excited about someone new, and that’s why it hurt to let go. It turned out I really needed the attention too.