Eye In Eye (Edvard Munch)
November 788 U.C., Heinessen
Yang waited on the street outside Jessica’s apartment. The heat had broken during the time that he had been in there, and now it was cooler outside than it was in the house by a significant margin. Sweat dried beneath his shirt and made him shiver. He tilted his head to look at the stars, only faintly visible between the sheen of clouds that now covered the sky and the persistent light pollution of every city on Heinessen. Out of the corner of his eye, he could also see the twinkling fairy lights in Jessica’s top-floor window. The conversation between her and Lapp wasn’t audible, though the windows were open. They must not have noticed him leaving, because if they had, he was sure that they would have chased him. But he was alone on the street, quiet save for the throbbing of distant music from a student party nearby.
It only took a couple more minutes for Attenborough to show up, temporarily double-parking outside the row of tenant cars that lined the street. He didn’t beep, out of deference to the nighttime, but rolled down his window and waved at Yang, as if Yang could have missed him. Yang got into the car without a word, and Attenborough gave him a single look of questioning if he should drive off. Yang nodded, and then closed his eyes as the car pulled away from the curb.
They were silent for a little while.
“Did you tell Lapp and Jessica that you were leaving?” Attenborough asked as they stopped at a red light. “I assume you didn’t.”
“No,” Yang said.
“Text them to let them know you’re with me,” he said. “You can’t disappear. I’ll take the blame if you want.”
He was right, of course, and the sooner Yang did it, the better. He reluctantly opened his eyes and pulled out his phone to compose a text message. Hey. I’m with Attenborough. He needed— he wanted— whatever. It didn’t matter what Yang actually said.
Yang: hey. attenborough called and said he was in the neighborhood and wanted to grab a drink. you two looked like you didn’t want to be disturbed so i headed out with him.
Yang: i’ll see you later
That was the best he was going to get. He turned his phone off and shoved it into his pocket. Attenborough glanced over at him.
“You told them?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good.” Attenborough smiled, then. The streetlights illuminated the point of his nose and made dark constellations of the freckles on his cheeks. His light hair appeared red in the glow of the taillights of the car in front of them. Yang was surprised to see him out of uniform. He was only wearing a tank top and his gym shorts.
“Did I get you out of bed?” Yang asked.
“I was in my bed, but I wasn’t asleep.”
“Well, thanks for sneaking off campus for me.”
“We’ll have to sneak back on, too.” Attenborough laughed. “You’re not answerable to the gate guard, but I am. Out after curfew, out of uniform, bringing a guest back to my room— the holy trinity of violations.”
“You still have your good luck charm?” Yang asked.
“In my desk drawer.”
“Too bad.”
“It’s alright. A little light trespassing is the price you have to pay for me rescuing you.”
The campus that Yang was so familiar with was coming into view, and Attenborough parked his car on the street a few blocks away. The warm and sticky air enveloped them as they walked around towards the athletic complex where the fences were only waist-high chain link, rather than the imposing wrought iron bars that surrounded the academic campus and the dorms.
Attenborough hopped the fence easily, but Yang had to clamber over one leg at a time. He was glad that he hadn’t brought his suitcase— though, of course, this meant that he would need to retrieve it tomorrow. The baseball diamond they had entered onto had a dirt path worn along its edges from thousands of other students doing this same maneuver, and they followed it through the eerie nighttime mist. The silence of campus was profound, and their footsteps made no noise in the soft grass. They kept glancing all around for any signs of pursuit.
But they made it all the way through campus to the student halls, and at least those weren’t cruel enough to lock students out who came home after hours. Attenborough, being a senior, had the privilege of his own room this year, and he let Yang in without preamble, switching on his warm bedside lamp rather than the harsh overhead light. His room was small but neat, though his bed was unmade, and the corkboard above his desk had what looked like stacks of notes an inch thick pinned to it, all jotted in Attenborough’s hasty scrawl. His desk had the most recent issue of the campus newspaper, Liberty Bell , on it, and Yang flipped through it as Attenborough pulled his duvet off his bed and tossed it to the floor, along with his pillow.
“I assume you want to go to sleep,” Attenborough said.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s fine— I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow anyway.” He yawned. “We can do something fun in the morning.”
“I’ll have to see Jessica to at least grab my suitcase. I left it at her house.”
“I had wondered where all your stuff was.” As he spoke, Attenborough tugged his tank top off and tossed it into his laundry bin, along with his shorts, leaving him in his boxers. Yang, who usually slept in pajamas, would have to sleep in his day clothes.
“You can have the bed,” Attenborough said.
“What? No,” Yang said. “I’m not that terrible of a guest.”
“Suit yourself, I guess.” Attenborough sat on his bed, and Yang put down the newspaper he had been thumbing through but not reading, and kicked off his shoes so he could lay on the duvet on the floor. He settled flat on his back and closed his eyes, waiting for Attenborough to turn off the light, still visible as a warm glow through his eyelids.
He could feel Attenborough’s eyes on him, and Yang cracked open one eye to meet his gaze. When their eyes met, Attenborough hastily looked away and reached over to turn off the light.
“It’s very funny that the Hero of El Facil is sleeping on my dorm room floor,” Attenborough said after a second of getting settled.
“Please don’t call me that,” Yang said.
“I’m joking.”
“I’m glad you don’t have clippings from Pretty Woman stuck up on your corkboard.”
“Tabloids are an insult to real journalism,” he said, sounding affronted. “I would never.”
That, at least, made Yang laugh, though it turned into a yawn.
“Was it really bad enough that you needed to be rescued?” Attenborough asked. “I mean, I know being the third wheel isn’t exactly fun, but they must have thought that you would be fine. Like, I know they know it sucks for you that they got together, but they’re not trying to make you miserable.”
It took a moment for Yang to respond. “They’re not?”
“They’re your best friends, Yang. Of course not.”
“Hah.” Yang rolled over on his side, tangling himself in the duvet like a cocoon. The floor was hard, but he didn’t mind.
“Why would you think that they are?”
Attenborough deserved an answer, since he had gotten out of bed and risked punishment to rescue Yang. But still, it took a moment for Yang to compose an answer. “It’s like Jessica doesn’t know that she’s doing things that—” He cut himself off, but Attenborough knew what he meant.
“Like what?”
“She saves my clippings from Pretty Woman .”
Attenborough laughed. “Incredible. But it can’t be just that.”
The feeling of Jessica’s hands on his, the way she hugged him, touches and soft voices. “If it was anyone else, I would have thought she was flirting with me. When Lapp left the room…”
As he squeezed his eyes shut in the darkness, he could picture her face, though he wasn’t remembering her at dinner or in the train station. He was remembering the look in her eyes when she sat on the bed, her hand stroking Lapp’s hair as he laid across her legs. Her expression hadn’t been anything readable in that moment, but it was the peacefulness of the scene that Yang didn’t want to disturb, and that haunted him, when he thought of how she had sat with him on the couch.
“She’s not stupid, you know,” Attenborough said. “And everyone with eyes knows she has feelings for you. She was flirting.”
“She’s not the type of person to cheat on Lapp. And I wouldn’t want to be—”
“He was there, too,” Attenborough pointed out.
“So?”
“And was he acting strangely?”
“Only because it’s a shitty situation— I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Was he uncomfortable?”
“No? I don’t know.”
“Did he mind his girlfriend flirting with you?”
“He might not have noticed.”
“You said she saved your photos from that stupid rag. He couldn’t have not noticed that.”
“He made a weird joke about it.”
“What was the joke?”
“That he should save them, too.”
Attenborough was silent for a second, then his voice broke out in the darkness, completely exasperated. “You can’t possibly be this stupid, Yang.”
“What?”
“I should put you back in my car and drag you back there right this minute.”
Yang didn’t say anything.
“They wanted to have a threesome with you, Yang. This is fucking— hell. It makes me actually mad how oblivious you are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve met Jessica,” Attenborough said. “And you’re right that she wouldn’t cheat on Lapp, no matter how much she might want to. And Lapp is clearly okay with her flirting with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was trying to drop hints, and you didn’t notice. He made a comment about him keeping your pictures. What more do you need?”
Yang suddenly couldn’t help but remember the way Lapp had not put on a shirt the entire evening, the jokes that perhaps weren’t jokes, and perhaps the way Lapp moved when Yang was in his space— something strange and different that had not been there before.
As Yang stayed silent, Attenborough rolled over, his bed squeaking. It seemed like he had given up on the conversation, if Yang was going to take his time processing it, either accepting it or not. But Yang couldn’t quite process it.
“Why?” he asked, breaking the silence of the room.
“Why, what?” Attenborough mumbled.
“Why would Jessica want that?”
“I’m not going to answer that question,” Attenborough said, and pulled his blanket up around his ears.
“Why not?”
“She likes you. That’s all it is.”
“If she liked me, she wouldn’t be dating Lapp. He wouldn’t be living with her.”
“Did you ever ask her if she wanted to be with you?”
“No— I mean—”
“There you go.” Attenborough was clearly frustrated with him. “Now she’s trying to fix that mistake for you, since you clearly won’t.”
Yang was quiet for a second, and this lulled Attenborough into a false sense of security, that the conversation had ended, and that he could go to sleep.
“I think she thinks I’m someone I’m not,” Yang said.
“Someone who would be willing to have a threesome with her? Yeah. Clearly.”
“No— the guy in Pretty Woman .”
“You think this is because you’re famous?” The incredulity in Attenborough’s voice shocked Yang.
It hadn’t been what he had meant, exactly. He meant the stranger in the photographs— carefully smiling and put together. Perfectly composed. A hero. He supposed he could understand why Jessica could be interested in that man.
“What else could it be?” Yang asked.
“She likes you, and you’re back on Heinessen for a little while, and she’s taking her chances. She’d be doing the same if you were still Yang Nobody.”
“How do you know?”
Attenborough made a noise. “If I thought I had half a chance, I’d do the same thing.”
“What?”
“I’m smart enough not to get in the middle of your mess, though,” Attenborough said. And this time, when he rolled over onto his other side, Yang didn’t say a word.
It wasn’t exactly awkward in the morning. Attenborough, having slept better than Yang did , was cheerful, and he retrieved breakfast from the student dining hall— a thermos full of bad tea and a couple bagels that Yang ate mechanically, letting them settle like lead in his stomach.
He sat on the floor as he ate, still wrapped in Attenborough’s duvet and getting the crumbly parts of the bagel topping all over the blanket and the carpet. Attenborough sat backwards on his desk chair, looking down at Yang with an expression that he couldn’t figure out.
“Lapp texted me, by the way,” Attenborough said as Yang ate. “He wanted to make sure you were with me. I told him you were.”
“Thanks,” Yang mumbled around his bagel.
“You fucked this one up pretty bad.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you going to fix it?”
“Why are you giving me advice?”
Attenborough waved one hand behind himself on his desk until he had the school newspaper in his hand. He flipped through it and pulled out one page, which he dropped and let flutter down to the floor in front of Yang. “Old habits die hard. I write the advice column.”
Yang leaned over and looked at the column, in which a student bemoaned that her boyfriend from back home— one who had not made the cut to enter the officers’ academy— had now been drafted, and it was making things weird between them. Attenborough’s advice, delivered under the pseudonym that he had inherited for the column, “Sr. Yessir”, was risible, but kind.
“You had four other bylines in that issue,” Yang pointed out.
“I’m a control freak at that paper,” Attenborough said with a yawn. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
Attenborough snorted with laughter and picked up the newspaper page off the floor, crumpling it and throwing it across the room into the garbage bin. “Before you became everybody’s pet hero, there was a chance that I’d catch up to you in rank eventually,” Attenborough said. “You didn’t graduate that long before I’m going to. But I think that’s out the window, at this point.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“I know,” Attenborough said. “I promise I don’t actually care.”
“Oh.” Yang picked up his second bagel from where it rested precariously on his blanket-swaddled knees and began to eat it. Attenborough watched him for a moment. “Did you mean what you said last night?” Yang asked.
“That’s I’m not going to get involved in your mess? Yeah.”
That answered the question well enough. Yang nodded.
“Hey,” Attenborough said. “I had an idea.”
“What?”
“Can I run a feature on you? For my esteemed journalistic establishment?”
“No,” Yang said flatly.
“It won’t be like Pretty Woman ,” Attenborough said. He took out his phone and pointed the camera at Yang. “Come on, smile.”
“Don’t you dare—” Yang began, but he found the concept of Attenborough printing a photo of him looking like he did actually funny, and he couldn’t help but smile at Attenborough’s pleading, puppy dog expression. Attenborough got his picture.
“I’m gonna call it ‘Hero Watch,’” Attenborough said. “I can see the caption now: Lt. Commander Yang Wenli, the erstwhile Hero of El Facil, was spotted in Thernussen before he ships off next week. Here, Yang enjoys a stolen bagel after a night of breaking campus rules. The heroes of this nation truly know no shame! ”
“You aren’t going to print that, are you?”
Attenborough laughed. “No. But I’m not going to sell it to the tabloids, either.”
“Then what did you take it for?”
Attenborough rolled his eyes. “Finish your bagel. I’ll let you borrow my civvies so you can at least look presentable when you get your suitcase from Jessica.”
Dressed in Attenborough’s clothes, Yang took the bus to meet Jessica for lunch. It was a beautiful day out. It shouldn’t have mattered, but the warm sun and the crisp blue sky made him feel better. They were meeting at a cafe, one that had been a favorite of Jessica’s during Yang’s student days, and he arrived first, sitting down at one of the tables outside. Yang propped his head on his hands and watched down the street as seagulls dove down to eat a discarded sandwich in the road, then scattered when the streetlight changed and the cars rushed through. The birds were all fluttering up in a great white cloud of caws and squawks when Jessica walked down the street.
She was wearing a light blue blouse and grey shorts, and her hair blew into her face with the light breeze. She didn’t see Yang until she came right up to the short, flower-bedecked fence that separated the dining area from the sidewalk. Yang had to get her attention.
“Jessica,” he called, waving.
She broke into a smile— a relieved one, which made Yang feel guilty— and came to sit down across from him. “Hey,” she said, sliding into the wicker chair.
“Thanks for coming,” Yang said.
“Well, I couldn’t keep your suitcase forever,” she said. When he looked confused, because she hadn’t brought it, she clarified, “It’s in my trunk. I’m streetparked down the block.”
“Thanks.”
The waiter came over at that moment and they both ordered drinks. It gave Yang a second to catch up with himself, to figure out what he wanted to say. Jessica wasn’t meeting his eyes, even when the waiter walked away with their drink orders. She was instead looking past his shoulder, down the street. It made Yang want to turn and see what she was looking at back there, but he knew there wasn’t anything. She wasn’t looking at him. He looked down at his hands, then back up at her.
“I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye last night,” Yang said.
“It’s okay, I understand.” When Yang said nothing, she continued. “I knew I was making you uncomfortable. I should have took the hint. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you. I should have— I don’t know.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ve been kicking myself all morning, honestly. I tricked you into coming, and I knew you didn’t want Jean there. I just had expected that things would be different.”
“Like they used to be?”
“I guess.”
“I want you and Lapp to be happy,” Yang said. “I don’t want to be the one to get in the way of that.”
“You’re not. I promise you’re not.”
Yang smiled. “Sure. But I feel like I am.”
“Yang—”
He picked up his napkin and began twisting it around his finger as the waiter came back with their drinks, coffee for Jessica and green tea for Yang. They ordered their sandwiches— long ago memorized orders. It was funny to Yang: he hadn’t ever thought that he would eat here again, so there was a strange and melancholy pleasure in ordering an old favorite.
Jessica dumped sugar into her coffee and then cream so that it was right up to the top of the mug, and she had to sip it carefully. Yang poured his tea from the pot. When he drank it, it was too hot, and it scalded his tongue.
As they were both drinking, there was a slight commotion from two tables over. A young woman, about seventeen, was standing up from her seat, while two of her friends made loud noises of protest. The commotion was enough to attract Yang’s attention, which was unfortunate, because the girl standing up locked eyes with him and strode across the outdoor dining area towards him, weaving between the tables and dodging a waiter to do so. Her friends looked on with mixed curiosity and horror. Yang, who had realized what was coming, looked down at his tea and tried to escape.
“Excuse me, sir, I couldn’t help but notice— are you Yang Wenli?” the girl asked.
Yang reddened to the tips of his ears. Jessica looked like she was about to say something, but Yang said, “Yes, I am.”
“It’s such an honor to meet you! I was wondering— could I get a photo with you?”
“He doesn’t like pictures,” Jessica said, annoyed.
“Oh.” The girl was crestfallen, but still she proffered a notebook and pen. “Could I have your autograph, then?”
Yang silently took the notebook and scribbled his name before passing it back to her.
“Thank you so much!” she said, her previous disappointment forgotten. “I really appreciate— uh— everything you’ve done.”
Finally, the girl’s friends calling her name seemed to get through to her, and she gave a last awkward smile at Yang and then ran back off, nearly bowling over a waiter in the process. Yang sank down into his chair as the girl and her friends loudly discussed him. Jessica glanced behind herself in frustration.
“It doesn’t matter,” Yang said. “Ignore them.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
Yang shrugged and drank more of his tea. “Lots of people read Pretty Woman . If she had taken a photo of us, someone might put it in there saying we’re on a date.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You see how it’s all different now,” Yang said. “We’ve eaten at this place a hundred times, and it’s never going to be like it used to be again.”
“Because you’re famous now?”
“I guess.”
“You know that hasn’t changed the way I see you.”
“It hasn’t?”
“No, it hasn’t.” She looked behind herself at the girls, who all quickly pretended not to be staring. “Being famous hasn’t made you into a different person.”
“It would be better for everyone if it did,” Yang said bitterly. “The man they print pictures of in Pretty Woman looks very functional.” She didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Yang kept talking. “Even Cazerne wants me to be someone I’m not.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.”
Yang looked away and finished his cup of tea. He busied himself with pouring a new one from the pot.
“Even if he does,” Jessica said, “I don’t. And Jean doesn’t, either.”
Yang nodded. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I mean— everyone wants something from me. You know the reason I’m getting shipped out is so that I don’t ever get it into my head that I should run for office. I think that’s the rationale.”
“Really?”
“I think so,” Yang said. “It makes sense. People want me to be a politician.”
“Would you want to?”
“No,” Yang said. “I would make a terrible politician. And I would hate every second of it.”
“I don’t think so. I think you could make a good one.”
“See, you do want me to be someone else,” Yang said. Although he tried to keep his tone light, he wasn’t exactly joking.
“No,” she said. “I think you’d be a valuable elected official exactly as you are. You’re a good man, Wenli.”
“Good men tend to make bad politicians, I’ve noticed. Almost no one gets elected by running a friendly, clean campaign.”
“You could.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious,” Jessica said. “Right now, you have the name recognition and popular trust. You could do well.”
“That’s why I’m being sent away to be a prison guard,” Yang said.
“It will be more difficult when you come back. But it wouldn’t be impossible.”
“I don’t want to be a politician, Jessica.” Though it was a sore subject, talking about this was easier than many other things.
“I know. I’m just saying— the world needs more good men who are willing to take responsibility for things,” Jessica said.
“Then you should run for office.”
Jessica smiled. “Maybe after I finish grad school.”
“Really?”
“No. I don’t know. Probably not.” She didn’t sound sure. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, every time I have to go vote and choose between two terrible options.”
“I think I’m lucky to be a lazy person,” Yang said. “I never look at a person doing a bad job and say ‘I think I could do better.’ Saves me a lot of trouble.”
She laughed at that. “You almost certainly could do better, at most things.”
“You have a higher opinion of me than I deserve.”
“No, I don’t think so.” The gentle look she gave him was almost painful to witness.
“Jessica—”
She hastily looked away, down into her cup. Luckily, the waiter was now coming over with their sandwiches, providing a moment of distraction. When he left, Jessica said, “Well, I guess I’m glad you’re not going anywhere dangerous.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I can’t help it. I worry about you a lot. Honestly, even when you’re safe on Heinessen, I can’t help but worry about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’ll try not to. I just—”
“What?”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I’m fine,” Yang said.
She nodded and ate her sandwich. After a while, she said, “It’s because you and Jean are soldiers. Whenever you’re not right in front of me, I get anxious. When I heard what happened at El Facil— you don’t know how glad I was when you came home safely.”
“I was lucky,” Yang said. “If I hadn’t been told to arrange the citizen evacuation, I would have been ordered onto the ships with all the rest of the officers.”
“I know,” Jessica said. “I have nightmares about the day when you aren’t as lucky. Or Jean.”
“As soon as I can retire with a pension, I’ll stop being a soldier,” Yang said.
“I’m counting down the days.”
“So am I.”
They stopped talking for a moment to pick their sandwiches back up. Perhaps something had changed— the conversation felt a little easier now. They talked about nothing as they ate. Jessica’s grad school. Cazerne helping Yang set up his apartment. The weather.
When they finished their meal, they walked slowly down the street towards Jessica’s car. Before she unlocked it, she leaned on the side.
“I suppose I can’t convince you to come back and stay with me tonight?”
“Probably not,” Yang said. And he felt bad as he did, and like he should let himself be convinced, but whatever chances there had been last night, he had lost them, and he was sure that they wouldn’t come again.
“I wish you weren’t leaving,” Jessica said.
“It won’t be for too long.”
“I’ll miss you. I—” She stopped herself, then gathered her resolve. “I have missed you. I wish you had come to see me before now.”
“I’m sorry.”
She took his hand. He let her do it. “When you come back, will you promise to come visit me?”
If it took him two years to escape the position he was heading to, he didn’t think that he would be held to any promises he made. The situation would surely be different. “Of course,” he said. “I promise.”
