“I’ll wear rainbows out with you. I don’t give a shit,” he nearly growls as he pulls me close unexpectedly and hugs me.

I’m not used to affectionate acts like this—my family definitely isn’t touchy-feely, and neither was Julian—so it takes me a second or two to relax and rest my cheek on his chest. When I imagine badass Quan decked out in rainbows and people’s confused reactions, I smile and say, “That would be something.”

“Something awesome, yeah.”

He hugs me tighter, and happiness expands in my chest. I love this, being held by him, feeling safe.

“It was thoughtless of me to ask, but thank you for staying,” I say.

“It was no problem,” he says. “Are you feeling better now?”

“I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

A barrage of emotions wells up at his suggestion—fear, excitement, anxiety, uncertainty, and, greatest of all, hope—and I swallow it down. “You have somewhere you need to be, remember?”

“I can be late. It’s just kendo practice with my cousin and brother. Then teaching kids’ class later.”

“You’re the only Asian I know who actually does martial arts,” I comment, intentionally skirting around the issue.

He laughs. “I guess I’m a walking stereotype, then. Guess who my childhood idol was? Hint: There weren’t a ton of options.”

I gasp. “No.”

“Bruce Lee, yeah,” he says with another laugh. “My calligraphy is that quote of his translated into Vietnamese. You know the one.”

“Be water, my friend,” I say in a deep voice that is my approximation of Bruce Lee.

“Yeah, but the whole quote, starting with ‘Empty your mind,’ ” he says.

As the realization hits me, I pull away and look at the tattoos on his arms like I’m seeing them for the first time—the waves, the sea creatures. It appears he tried to take Bruce Lee’s advice literally. “I can’t believe it. You’re dorky.”

A huge grin covers his face, though he looks almost shy. “A little, yeah.”

I touch my fingers to the fish that’s inked onto his forearm and trace the scales on his smooth skin. I can’t stop smiling. His dorkiness delights me. This shy side of him, too. “This looks like a sea carp.”

“It’s a koi fish, and don’t go accusing me of putting freshwater fish in the ocean. My arms are different bodies of water from the rest of me.”

I laugh helplessly. “That’s such a dorky thing to say, Quan.”

“You like it.”

“I do. You might even be more—”

He cuts me off with a deep kiss that makes me cling to him. He tastes clean, faintly of my toothpaste, but salty, mysterious. When he pulls away, I bite back a protest. I could kiss him forever.

“Tomorrow night, right?” he asks, watching me carefully.

I put on a smile and nod, but I feel slightly panicked. Tomorrow is the last time I’ll see him. Ever. That’s been the biggest benefit to our interactions since this started, but it doesn’t feel that way now. Something’s changed.

Even so, it’s a reminder of why I’ve been seeing him in the first place. I can tell him things that I can’t tell other people. Because he doesn’t matter.

Except he does.

But I really won’t be seeing him after tomorrow. That’s what we both want. Well, I used to. I don’t know what I want anymore.

“You asked about yesterday.” I can’t bring myself to look him in the face, so I focus on his T-shirt as I say, “My therapist told me something.” My heart beats so hard I can feel it in my throat. This moment is loud, weighted.

He takes my hands in his and holds on. “What did she say?”

“She said I’m—” Something occurs to me, and I gaze up at him curiously. “Do you think I’m anything like your brother?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I … don’t know? I haven’t thought about it before. Why?”

“We’re not similar at all?”

“You’re a lot prettier than he is,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.

I shake my head, though I smile, too. “That’s not what I mean, but thank you.”

“Then what do you mean? I won’t be a dick, I promise.”

That’s when I realize that I trust him. Over the past weeks, he’s proven time and again that he respects me, that he won’t hurt me. I can tell him things. Not because he doesn’t matter. But because he is kind.

“She told me I’m on the autism spectrum,” I say. And there it is. The words are out. It feels real now.

“Is that it?” he asks, like he’s still waiting for me to share the big news.

A disbelieving laugh spills out of me. “That’s it.”

He tilts his head to the side and looks at me in a considering way.

When he doesn’t speak for the longest time, my insecurities catch up with me, and I say, “If this changes things and you don’t want to meet tomorrow, I completely understand and—”

“I want to meet tomorrow,” he says quickly. “I was trying to think of similarities between you and my brother.”

“And?”

“Honestly, you’re both really different, and I don’t even know what to look for. I’m not a therapist or anything. What do you think? Does it feel right to you?” he asks, and I can tell that’s what matters to him. He trusts me to know myself. I didn’t know how important that was to me until now.

I get to be the expert on me.

I touch the center of my chest and nod slowly as my eyes sting. “It fits. When my therapist described autism to me, when I read about it, I felt understood in a way I’ve never been before. I felt seen, the real me, and accepted. All my life, I’ve been told that I need to change and be … something else, something more, and I try. Sometimes I try so hard it feels like I’m breaking. Like my music right now, no matter what I do I can’t get it to be more. Being told that it’s okay to be me, it’s …” I shake my head as words fail me.

He touches his thumb to the corner of my eye, wiping a tear away. “Then why are you so sad?”

“I don’t know.” I laugh, but a knot is forming in my throat. I swipe at my eyes with my sleeves. “I can’t seem to stop crying.”

He gathers me closer and holds me tight, pressing his cheek to my forehead, his skin to my skin. His calmness spreads to me, the steady beating of his heart, the even rhythm of his breathing.

When his pocket buzzes, we’re both startled.

“It’s just my phone,” he says. “Ignore it.” But it keeps buzzing.

“You should answer. It might be important.”

With a sigh, he breaks away from me and lifts his phone to his ear. “Hey … No, sorry, I just got held up with something … I probably won’t make it today—”

“No, no, please,” I hurry to say. “You should go. I’m okay, really.” I don’t want him canceling his plans on my behalf, especially when I’m not having any sort of emergency.

“Hold on a sec,” he says into the phone before putting it on mute and focusing on me. “Are you sure? I can stay, and we can get breakfast or something. Whatever you want.”