Nothing in this apartment smelled like home. Greg climbed to his feet, padding to the boxes he’d stashed by the door. He opened the box with his clothes, breathing in the whiff of hibiscus and aspen.
Gods, he missed Dale, and it hadn’t even been a day.
One by one, he opened the boxes. Breathed in lungfuls of hibiscus. Then he opened his textbooks, pressing his nose to smooth paper.
If he thought hard enough, he could imagine Dale’s cheek pressed against his back, the soft ends of his hair tickling Greg’s skin. Greg opened the last box, wishing he had the self-restraint to leave one box sealed, to try and trap the air from Dale’s apartment.
In the box, he found some things he’d forgotten about: a free mug from the campus bookstore, a cluster of used pens, a stuffed goat plushie Dale had bought on a whim, and tucked down the back of Greg’s shirt.
There was a paper crane behind the goat. Frowning, Greg pulled it out. Lightning print covered its surfaces—his favorite in Dale’s stack of origami paper. The crane perched in his palm, its wings elegant and pointed, not a fold out of place. One Dale had made, then.
Through his stay at Dale’s apartment, Greg had folded twenty, maybe thirty cranes. It was nowhere near the thousand Dale wanted, and Greg couldn’t fathom why Dale would return just one crane, and not all those Greg had made. Had this crane fallen in by mistake? Or had Dale given this to him?
We’re at four hundred now, Dale had said last night.
Greg flipped through the rest of his textbooks, looking for the origami squares he’d used as bookmarks. He found ten sheets.
At his desk, he made creases through the paper. You can’t fold them like a production line, Dale had said. That’s cheating. For cranes to count toward the thousand, you have to fold them with your heart. One at a time. And when you’ve got a thousand cranes, your wish will come true.
So Greg folded the first crane, running his nail along the folds like Dale did. He brought the corners together, tucked the sides in, flipped the paper around. Fifteen minutes later, he had one crane.
For the rest of the night, he folded the cranes, remembering Dale’s hands on his, Dale’s breath on his cheek, the way Dale had watched his handiwork intently.
Then Greg thought about next week, next month, and what it would be like if Dale wasn’t there. He shoved the thought away, bowing his head, working on the ninth crane. Please let the baby be okay. Please let Dale be okay.
It was well past midnight when the tenth crane was done. Greg leaned back into his seat, his eyes tired, his mind unable to rest. He picked his phone up, opening his speed dial list. Dale’s number was at the top.
He tapped on Dale’s name, pressed the phone to his ear, and closed his eyes.
The dial tone rang twice. Then it clicked like someone answered it, and Greg’s heart skipped, just like it had all the other times.
An automated voice said, “The number you’re calling is currently unavailable. At the tone, please leave your message.”
He sighed. The phone beeped.
“Hey,” Greg said, his voice rough with fatigue. “I don’t know if you’ve listened to my other voice messages. Just wanted to say I miss you. I’m sorry for everything, okay? I didn’t mean for my dad to show up. He switched cars, I had no idea. I just... I wish I’d been better with all this. I’m sorry. I know it’s better that I don’t see you anymore, but I just—just wanted to say I love you. That’s all.”
He wanted to say so much more—wanted to tell Dale he missed his laugh, wanted to say he missed having Dale in his bed, having Dale’s lips on his skin, but maybe that would be too much. Dale had left. He wouldn’t want to hear why Greg wanted him back, what Greg missed about him. Greg couldn’t return Dale his job.
So he shut up, hitting the End Call button.
From the living room, Greg fetched one of the boxes his things had been packed in. He tucked the cranes carefully into them, then set the box beside his desk.
Tomorrow, he’ll buy some paper, and fold more cranes for Dale. For their baby.
30
Dale
In the first days after The Apex, Dale adjusted to not having an alpha again. It wasn’t easy. He was afraid to step outside his apartment, for fear of his neighbors recognizing him. Of someone spilling the news, or a nosy alpha coming along, smirking when he said, So I heard you were sleeping with your student.
Worse, maybe the cashier at the grocery store would know, or maybe rumors had spread about him at school. Maybe Greg had found someone new, and he’d tell his omega, I knocked Professor Kinney up.
Greg wouldn’t do that. But he could, and Dale remembered Bernard Hastings’ eyes burning into him, revulsion and scorn dripping off his lips.
He wasn’t fit to be a professor. Like Bernard said, Dale had breached the first rule of teaching. But Dale still needed income, so he sent in applications to the childcare centers in Meadowfall, hoping someone would think him employable. Maybe he should move to Highton instead, where no one would recognize him. Maybe he should move before his belly grew too big.
But he’d also promised June he’d stay here for now, and he didn’t want to break his word.
Secretly, Dale wished he’d glimpse Greg in town somewhere. In the grocery store, or in a sporting goods place, or maybe on the road.
The days passed, and the hole in his chest lingered.
Three weeks after The Apex, Dale landed an interview.
The childcare center was looking to fill a permanent position. It was on the other side of town, far away from Bernard Hastings’ home. In the daytime, children ran through the center playground, watched over by two
