Always (Indigo Falls #1)

by Loren Leigh

My heart’s pumping about a million gallons per second, my stomach tightening, and my apathy disappears in a whoosh. Just swallowed right the fuck up as I stare back at him. The music from the other room pounds through my entire body, reverberating in every damn muscle and cell. Simkung. It’s Korean for that throb you get in your chest with some people.

“I think about the man I’m kissing. How he tastes. The softness of his lips. The sounds he makes. The warmth of his skin. Among other things.” He. Him.

“If I’ve done something to—‍” “No.” His brow furrows. “I’ll fix it. Whatever I’ve done. I know I can be . . . off-putting.” “Off-putting? I wouldn’t call you that.” “Most people would.” I shake my head, my forehead lining. Is that true? Maybe. “Regardless, you haven’t done anything. Why this sudden interest?” “It’s not sudden,” he says smoothly. “My interest is a constant.”

“How about this time, you don’t rush away. And instead, I’ll show you something.” I blink. “What?” “You’ll like it.” He turns, striding back down the hall toward a far door. “Come on.” My eyes narrow on the darkened room behind him. “You want me to follow you into a dark room?” “Exactly.”

Back in the day, Kepler always humored me by listening to me ramble on about galaxies and black holes and dwarf stars. He’d listen to me chatter endlessly until my brother would call him, and then they would jump into Kepler’s Jeep

“Are you here with him?” A voice rumbles close to my ear, and like smoke slipping around me, I can feel it on every part of my skin, simmering up the back of my neck and down my spine. Christ. I turn and just about lose my shit. Kepler Quinn stands so close to me that I can see those flecks of brown in his eyes. How his bottom lip is slightly thinner than his top. His hair is smoothed back to reveal his high forehead and the sharp edge of his jaw and that goddamn mole. Fuck that mole.

His eyes flick over my face, across my shoulders, down to my hands, and my entire body thumps in response. Simkung. My reaction to him is as vibrant and strong as ever, like it just swallows me right the fuck up.

“Do you know where we’re going?” He turns, walking backwards to look at me, expression unreadable in the dark. “Yes.” I shake my head. “Do you always know where you’re going?” I meant it as a throwaway comment, but he nods, still walking backwards. “Usually.” He holds up his hands. “Now whether I should be going to that place is often debatable.”

“You think we should be friends?” “Absolutely.” A breeze whispers through the willow’s fronds, picking up the strands of his hair. “You should call me.” “Call you?” I gawk at him. “For what?” “For no reason at all. Or you could text me.” He tilts his head, humor edging in his tone. “Or send an exhilarating picture or two.” “An exhilarating picture?” “Or a boring one. I’m not picky.” Now I’m smiling. “You want me to send you boring pictures?” “Absolutely, I do.”

My phone sits on the counter. I snatch it, and before I can think too much, I load up the camera app. I glance around and then snap a picture of the most boring thing I can find: my empty glass sitting on the counter. Then I pull up Kepler’s text and reply with the picture.

Twenty seconds later my phone dings and downloads a picture. A pair of black-and-white Vans on dirt. He’s outside. One of his shoelaces is frayed at the end, and there’s a scuff mark across the white tip of his shoe. For some reason, that makes me smile, and it’s like this huge weight lifts off my chest and slithers away. I head to my room, snap a picture of an empty paper bag on my desk, and then the chair by the window that I never sit in. I send them before I can debate myself. He sends photos back. A balcony railing with his hand resting on the top. A legal pad with equations scribbled all over it. And more. We send each other pictures for the next two hours. And the most boring pictures of Kepler’s life? I don’t find them boring at all.

me,” he says quietly, “it feels like I’m the most obvious person in the world. I leave you Post-its because I selfishly want you to think about me.”

“And I text you because every one of those pictures you send feels like it breathes life into me. I walked with you to the willow because I want every second I can get with you. Even if it fucks up my head a bit, even if I know that it’s crossing a line.” His pupils flare, the gray darkening. “I followed you back here because I wanted to see how you are since I know you had a difficult night. And also, selfishly again, because I imagined shoving you up against the bookshelf and kissing the fuck out of you, even if I’m pretty sure that won’t ever happen. Even if I’ve imagined doing just that ever since that first time I saw you on the Quad.”

“Were you thinking?” he asks. I blink. “When we kissed?” He nods, studying me with a tilted head. “Uhhh . . .” I clear my throat, my mind darting back to the taste of him. Omija and spice. That low rumbling sound he made. The heat of his abs against my fingertips. Fuck me. “I was thinking about a whole hell of a lot.” “Good.”

There’s always been someone else. Even if I haven’t been able to admit it. I don’t know when it began for me with Kepler, but it’s always been there like my own heartbeat, my own breath, the stars above—ever present. And always drawing my attention in the same way that my eyes want to draw down to the lecture well right now.

“Don’t forget to text me.” How could I forget? It’s like he has no clue what he does to me. How much he’s in my head.

The fuel line was kinked.” Two hours later, the mechanic leans heavy forearms on the desk between us. “Hard kink.” I almost laugh at hard kink but manage to pretend I’m an adult.

“I was working on this when you called.” His right brow hitches. “It’s the secret to the future of our universe.” I huff out a laugh, despite myself. “You wrote the secret to the future of our universe on a Post-it?” “Can you think of a better place?”

Every equation in physics is an attempt at predicting the future. It gets pretty abstract, but if you take this equation and expand it, it lets you predict how the systems of our universe evolve over time.” He drags in a breath. “Not that it works. Complex systems are too difficult to predict. But sometimes the exercise of exploring what could happen brings us to a new place.” He pauses. “Like you showing up at the end of my office hours so I can give you a ride home.” “That’s a prediction?” “No.” He shakes his head slowly. “Just an exploration of what I hope for.”

“I let you into things,” he says quietly, but firmly. “I’ve texted you fifty-six photos. I also took you to the willow.” I draw in a breath. “Was the tree that important to you?” “I’ve never brought anyone there before.” He leans back farther, crossing his ankles, his legs long and lean. And my stupid dick twitches against my stupid zipper, shooting little sparks up to my stupid stomach. There’s too damn much going on in my head. Frustration. Desire. It all twists together into a funnel cloud of confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me the willow was that important to you?” I dig my hands into my hair, tightness binding in my chest, pulse thumping. “That was before we even kissed,” he says evenly. “I didn’t know if you would even care that it was important to me.” “Of course I fucking care,” I shoot at him. “I’ve cared for fifteen years, Kepler. And after all that time, I don’t even know where you live. I’ve got no clue about your parents or where you live or anything. It’s like you’re conjured out of starlight.” His eyes darken to molten gray. “Why does it matter what the walls around me look like? What kind of vehicle I drive? All of that is material. Just packaging that doesn’t—‍” “Because I need this to mean something.”

“You’re surrounded by so much. People are drawn to you because you have so much life. I don’t have that. Things are . . . empty. I’m empty. And I don’t want you to see that.” Empty? My mouth drops open. “I’ve never thought of you as empty, Kepler. Never in my life have I even had a glimmer of that thought.” He shakes his head, emitting a breathy laugh with way too much sarcasm tucked in it. “You also don’t think I’m off-putting, which I know for a fact is true. Maybe you’re not the best judge when it comes to me.” “Maybe not, Quinn. But I gotta tell you, I like everything I see.” His shoulders stiffen. “Everything?” “Everything.” I just set the truth out there, good idea or not. “And it’s full, not empty. There’s nothing you could show me that would make me think less of you.”

“I’m trying to let you in. Sending those pictures . . . it’s new for me.” “You seem so calm about it.” “I’m not.” He leans forward, a palm pressing to his chest. “I’m not calm at all. Not even a little fucking bit. And I promise you, this means something to me.”

Maybe I still struggle to read Kepler’s thoughts on his face, but as soon as his tongue brushes mine, I feel them. Washing over me, his want, his need, the cup of his hand on the nape of my neck. It’s the way he kisses me. With that same intensity he has when he studies me. One-hundred-fucking-percent. Like he’s thinking about a hell of a lot. How I taste. The softness of our lips. The sounds I make. The warmth of our skin.

He holds it up. A little ball dangles on the end of a silver chain: a tiny likeness of the sun, a solar flare shooting off it. It’s bright orange, like the seats to his Jeep. And the orange in my hand, I guess. “You got me a solar flare,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on it. “Yeah, I did.” He keeps staring at it, hand raised, and keychain swinging like a pendulum. That almost-smile graces his lips, and then it expands, spreading across his face as he glances up. Kepler Quinn is smiling at me with a kind of delight I haven’t seen on him in years.

He tells me about his dissertation, and I can’t pretend I understand half of it, but his intelligence lights me up, so much that I actually mumble a “that’s hot” in the middle of his explanation about nanokelvin temperatures.

“Adelard said you read one of my essays.” His fingers tighten around mine. “Not one.” My steps slow. “How many?” He shrugs a shoulder, eyes a dark gray in the low light. “I’m not sure. At least a dozen. Maybe two dozen. Whomever I’ve run into that has used your services.” “Two dozen,” I repeat. “Why?” “Because I like your words,” he says simply. Like it’s obvious. Like he’s not completely blowing my mind. Like it’s normal to read two dozen college essays just because you like someone’s words. “You’re serious?” “It was a way that I could get closer to you.”

“Why do you call me Jin instead of Jae or Jae Jin?” He pulls back and meets my gaze, smoky gray eyes so close I can see the brown flecks. “It’s not disrespectful?” “Well, my halmeoni would never do it, but it’s not something I’ve personally ever minded.” I frown, not really wanting to talk about Halmeoni right now. “Just wondering. You’ve called me that since we were kids.” His teeth run over his bottom lip. “Because you once told me what the hangul meant.” I pause, trying to read everything I can on his face. “Treasure,” I say. “It means something like treasure.” He squeezes me tighter. “Exactly.”

“You have a view of my place,” I murmur. “Yes.” A snowflake falls on his lashes, and he blinks it away. “Can you see my window?” He laughs softly. “It’s too far to see anything except for the light. But I can see that, and sometimes I just stand here, knowing you’re over there.” A smile expands across my face as I rest my forearms on the railing, brushing off the thin layer of snow. “That’s stalkerish of you.” “It is.” He drags in a slow breath, stepping behind me, hands landing on either side of the railing, lips close to my ear, his chest to my back. “I’m absolutely guilty of looking for that light. Just to know you’re there.”

after thinking back on it, I’m not sure he’s really my type anyway.” I try to piece together what Dex’s type is from who he’s dated over the years. There’s nothing they all have in common—other than Dex. “What’s your type?” He laughs and flips open his binder. “No clue. I feel like I haven’t met them yet.”

“You’ve been my constant. For longer than you can possibly guess. You're as bright as starlight for me. Brighter.”

Spread out across the table are at least twenty of Dex’s pencil drawings. The image of us at the treehouse is on top of a scattered pile. There’s more—all four of us at a lake, Dex is pushing me in, Shin yelling something, and Kepler with a broad smile. There’s one I’ve never seen before with Kepler and I huddled over that old telescope. And, holy fuck, the way he’s looking at me in Dex’s drawing. How did I never see it? Even with the way he’s so enigmatic and baffling, I should have seen it. Our history is laid out before them. All that we are in Dex’s smooth, detailed pencil strokes. So lifelike that they could be photographs.

“I could explain to you all the years of our history.” His voice is soft and warm and full of so much emotion that it hits me low in the gut. “I could tell you about the treehouse and the telescope, the way that this man lives in my soul, that first moment I saw him on the Quad five years ago, how he’s my constant, how he fills me up. But you can see all that because it’s spread out on the table before you. It speaks for itself. So, ‘how long has it been going on?’ I’ll just distill it down to one word.” His eyes warm to a light gray. “Always.”

“This says ‘Kepler Quinn’.” He hitches a brow. “I suppose it might.” I blink, shaking my head. “Why would it say that?” “Because it was mine,” he says with a shrug. “My grandfather bought it for me. And then I gave it to you because it seemed like you needed it more.” I’m staring across at him, manual held loosely in my hands, my mouth hanging open. “You gave me your telescope?” “You didn’t have one,” he says simply, going back to fidgeting with the focus knob. “I think this is jammed.” “Wait, step back a minute.” I’m staring at him, heat racing up my throat. “I didn’t have one, so you gave me yours?” “I did.” He glances up, his brow lining, like he’s not sure why I’m reacting like I am. Like giving me this telescope was the simplest thing in the world. To him, maybe it was.

All I can think is one thing. One simple, true thing that has fluttered in my heart for so long that it’s become a part of me. I squeeze my eyes and lean closer to his ear to let it out. “I love you. I always have.”

I lean back to settle a palm over his sternum, flatting it right over that thumping heart. He’s staring at me, eyes reddened. I’ve never seen so much emotion on his face. Ever. And I’m pretty sure I’ve left him speechless. That’s probably a first for Kepler Quinn. “Simkung,” I nod to my hand flat over his heart. “You have it too.”

“You’re my universal constant. Something that will never change.” That genuine smile expands over his face, the one I’ll never get tired of. “I love you to the depth of my ability to love.” I laugh. “Shit, that was a good ‘I love you’.” “It’s my first.” His smile falls as he tips forward, his forehead pressing against mine. “If you want to hear it simpler, then here it is: I love you too. Always.”