My headache hasn't gotten any better, and I've been resting off and on at my apartment for hours. Thank God the party was on a Friday. If I had to go to class today, I'd be a monster. My memory of last night is a little hazy. Vivienne's hookup with that rude girl, breaking that guy's arm, and having that grilled cheese with that stranger. What was his name? Ty? No, that isn't right.

My phone rings, and I groan, rolling over to grab it. It's Violet. What does she want from me now? I briefly debate ignoring her, but I end up accepting the call.

"Hello?" I mumbled into the phone.

"Eryk? You sound rough; are you hungover?"

"Yes. Do you need something? My head is killing me, and I want to sleep the day away."

"I was calling to check on you. You kinda disappeared last night. But sleeping all day isn't the best way to handle a hangover. You need juice, carbs, and something greasy. Why don't we grab breakfast? I know a place that serves the best eggs benny you've ever had. Plus, they're open till two," she said animatedly.

There is no way out of this, is there?

"Fine. Text me the place, and I'll be there in like forty minutes. I need to wake up," I grumbled.

"Awesome. See you there," she replied.

"Yeah, I'll see you guys there."

Dealing with everyone is going to be a struggle. I need to get cleaned up and presentable. Maintaining my established image is important for my long-term goals. Which means I don't get to roll out of bed and throw something on. I have to try.

Fresh out of the shower, I dry off and use my cordless hair dryer as I choose an outfit. I grab a white, sleeveless undershirt, black boxer briefs, and matching socks. I button up a charcoal Oxford shirt next, grab some navy blue slim-fit chinos, and put on my raised-heeled, lace-up, slate-colored boots. It's twenty degrees out and windy, so I put on my black peacoat and head out the door.

The breakfast spot everyone is at is about fifteen minutes away, but I'd rather not walk there in the cold. There's a bus stop a few buildings down from my apartment, and I head over there to wait. Quinstin's public transport is among the best in the state. The bus stop is enclosed, with plenty of comfortable seats, proper lighting, and, best of all, heat. It's a Saturday, and the sidewalks are full of people who, unlike me, have already started their day.

I pass so many faces, people I'll never meet or see again. But with my helmet, I may wear one of these people's faces. The bustling city is such a drastic change from New Farford that even months later, it still surprises me. Quinstin is a place where you cannot ever truly be alone. There are too many people, too many places open all hours, and something is always going on. How many of them have the potential to trigger? What powers would they give?

I slip into the bus stop, holding the door open for someone leaving. There are twelve other people in here, and I take a seat on one of the cushioned benches by the corner. The pleasant warmth of the heat lamps is a welcome respite from the biting cold. A couple of feet away, an older woman is sitting with her arms around a young girl, who is sitting on her lap. The little girl keeps sneaking glances at me and fails horribly to disguise her actions.

"Tiana, stop staring. It's rude," the mom whispered.

"He's got pretty eyes," Tiana said, unabashedly.

"I'm sorry about this. She's at that age where she's fascinated with everything," the mother apologized.

"Don't worry about it. It's a very nice compliment to receive. Thank you, Tiana. I got them from my mom."

"Your mommy sounds pretty," Tiana said.

"She is. Oh, looks like my bus is here. It was nice meeting both of you," I said, getting up from my seat.

"Likewise. What do we say, Tiana?"

"Bye, mister," Tiana exclaimed.

I get most of my looks from my late mother. From the green eyes to sandy brown hair, even our noses look similar. It's no wonder Daniel feels sad seeing me. The bus is filled enough that I can't get a seat. I hold onto one of the poles as the bus pulls away. That little girl and her mother helped center me for what I'm in for at breakfast. Having to pretend and act while nursing a throbbing headache is going to be a test for my patience.

Yaz's Table is an Egyptian breakfast cafe that's on the nicer end of fancy, yet remains casual. The large, paned windows let in plenty of sunlight, and I can see people enjoying cocktails and artisan coffees from the street. The sign is a large red oak plank with the restaurant's name written in gold cursive.

I text Violet that I'm here, and she tells me to tell the hostess. As soon as I open the door, I'm hit with a symphony of scents that could rival the greatest orchestral composition. Roasting coffee, freshly baked breads, sizzling bacon, and the sweetness of sticky maple syrup all blend together perfectly. The hostess is wearing a red shirt with the same gold cursive lettering as the sign and a sheer white blouse over it. Her hair is held up with a headband, and I can't see the rest of her outfit because she's behind a podium. The name tag clipped to her blouse read Camilla.

"Good morning. Are you here for dine-in or takeout?" Camilla asked.

"Dine in, but I'm meeting some friends who are already here," I said.

"Okay, do you know the name of the party you're joining?" She asked.

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"Violet or Graves, and there are probably five people."

"Hmm. I do have a Violet, but it isn't for five; it's for two," she said.

What? Nothing can ever be simple.

"Was it a girl with freckles and a pixie cut?"

"Yes. Oooh, is this a date? You're a lucky guy; she's so pretty," Camilla remarked.

"Mhmm," I agreed halfheartedly.

"Alright then, follow me, please."

Damn it. I shouldn't have assumed it was our friend group going out. I've made it a point to never hang out with just us before. Fuck. This isn't a coincidence.

Camilla twists and turns around tables of guests eating, and everyone is dressed nicely. It seems I picked the right outfit for this outing. We continue toward the back of the restaurant, where the booths are. Each booth has a half-moon-shaped couch bench set against the wall. The booths are divided by raised walls, allowing for privacy.

This is getting worse and worse. This is too intimate for this not to be considered a date. Finally, at the second-to-last booth, the hostess stops, and I see Violet. She's wearing a low-cut, tan sweater that shows too much cleavage, not by coincidence, black tights underneath a cream-colored skirt, and knee-high black leather boots. She looks nice and has clearly taken the time to get ready. Fuck. I'm going to have to navigate this breakfast without encouraging her, but also without ruining our friendship. I've put in too much work to ingrain myself with the group. My headache is pulsing strongly, and all I can think about is having another drink. Hair of the dog would help take the edge off. Violet is sitting in the very center of the booth, which means no matter what side I pick, our legs will be touching. I underestimated you, Violet. I have been checkmated.

"Thanks for the invite, Violet," I said, sliding into the booth.

"I figured you could use it after last night. I remember Aubrey mentioning you're pretty new to drinking, and I remember some of my first hangovers. Plus, like I said earlier, the best Eggs Benedict you'll ever have," Violet smiled sweetly.

"Thank you for thinking of me and my struggle. You're right that I'm nursing a throbbing headache. I gotta confess I thought that everyone else was going to be here," I laughed mirthlessly.

"They were all busy," she said a little too quickly. "And if everyone were here, it would only aggravate your headache more. With only the two of us, it'll be quieter. Plus, this place is more intimate and laid back, so you can just relax."

"I guess you're right. I just need a menu," I said.

"We can share mine," Violet said, inching closer to me.

The black leather-bound menu is large, but not quite as extensive as those at chain places. The back of it has several adult iced coffees and a multitude of breakfast cocktails. They are far too sweet for my taste, but I can understand the appeal. Violet reaches her hand across me to point at one of the items, and our hands accidentally brush. She's so forward that I keep getting caught off guard.

"I don't know how hungry you are, but we could split something," Violet suggested.

"My stomach is pretty empty," I replied.

"Well, I know you hate sweet stuff, so why don't we get the shakshuka? It's hearty, and the naan it comes with should help absorb all that booze inside your stomach."

She deftly navigates around my dismissal and doubles down on sharing.

"I'll trust your recommendation since you've been here before," I said.

"Wonderful. You'll love it," Violet said.

Our waitress comes around, introduces herself, and asks about drinks. I get ice water with lemon, and Violet gets a coffee with an espresso shot. Before I can even speak, Violet orders us the shakshuka with garlic naan. The waitress leaves, and I feel Violet's knee touch mine and stay there. I need to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"So, how was your night?" I asked.

"It was fun. I went undefeated in air hockey and got to hang out with everyone, relaxing for a night. I've been so stressed out, and it's only the first semester," Violet sighed.

"Is it the workload? I know you're a poli sci major, but did you take too many classes?"

"No, school is actually the easiest thing in my life right now. It's everything else I'm struggling with. I have a lot of people expecting me to be perfect, especially my parents, and it can be overwhelming. Sorry, I'm oversharing and ruining the mood," Violet said.

"You don't have to apologize for talking about what's bothering you. I'm happy to listen; that's what friends are for."

She looks a little frustrated at my comment. Good. This isn't a date, and I don't need a girlfriend. Especially not one with superpowers. Violet seems like she's the type who would appreciate honesty. I'll have to be direct. This might alienate me from the friend group, but that's preferable to getting trapped in another relationship.

"Violet, I'm not oblivious to your feelings or your advances. But."

"But?" Violet repeated.

How brutal do I need to be?

"But I'm not ready for a relationship. I don't know if Aubrey told you, but I'm fresh out of an over-two-year committed relationship. I don't know what you're looking for, but I doubt I can give it to you. Sorry," I said.

The silence utterly engulfs our booth. Violet doesn't look like she's taking this well. She looks down at her hands, interlaced together and subtly fidgeting. The waitress comes back with our drinks, takes one look at the atmosphere, and immediately retreats. She's lucky enough to be able to escape from the situation.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say that this has gone catastrophically wrong. Who would've thought tricking you into an ambush date might not work as a confession?" She asked self-deprecatingly.

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but I'd still like for us to remain friends. I understand if you want space, though. I am really hungry, so I'd like to stay and eat, but I'll leave if you want to be alone," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Your understanding does not make this any easier. But I'm not going to make you leave hungry. Let's eat, and then we can put this behind us," Violet said.

The waitress comes back holding a large steaming cast-iron skillet. The bubbling sauce is a deep, violent red, promising to be plenty spicy, and the poached eggs look incredible. She slides it onto the table on top of a folded towel and then places a cylindrical stack covered in tinfoil on top of a plate. She cuts open the tinfoil, revealing the garlic naan piled high. My stomach growls audibly, and Violet laughs, relaxing for the first time since the botched confession.

"I hope you two enjoy. Let me know if you guys need anything at all."

"Thank you, it looks delicious," I replied.

We both dig in, ripping the naan and dipping it into the shakshuka. We eat in silence, the sounds from the restaurant filling the dead air between us. Violet is correct; I do love this meal. The delicious, spicy sauce, the slices of peppers and onions, the perfectly runny eggs, all getting soaked up in the garlicky goodness of the naan, is heavenly. One good thing came out of this disaster of a morning.

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