1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓ - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

TWO AND A HALF WEEK PASS BY, AND SORA DOESN'T SEE ANY SIGN OF RYLIN CARTER—NOT AT CAMPUS, NOT AT THE DINER, AND STRANGELY NOT AT THE ICE RINK (SHE HASN'T BEEN ABLE TO GO AT ALL DUE TO THE AMOUNT OF STRESS SHE'S BEEN UNDER). It's a double-edged sword, and one that's carefully polished to cause her enough pain when she realizes that something's missing in her life; she tells herself that it's not his air-conditioned car, although it's definitely an added bonus.
To distract herself, Sora instead opens her business back up and accepts an application from poor Steven Wong who's terribly in love with a shy art major named Eliza Sanwal and doesn't know how he should approach her. So Sora pushes back all her personal issues and promises herself that this matchmaking will surely be successful, because Steven seems like a sweetheart and Eliza is nothing short of an angel, so all she really needs to do is drop a few hints and be on her merry way.
She can tell that Adeena keeps worrying about her non-existent sleep schedule, but it's truly fine—Sora has trouble sleeping, anyways, and the lack of time spent in her dorm room always consists of feeling a pang of nostalgia for Rylin Carter and his tempting laugh. She's never missed anyone like this before, and maybe it's just like ripping off a bandaid where if she sees him again, the itch will be satisfied and she'll be able to go back to normal. His sweats and shirt still lie in her closet, and it smells like him—smells like sugared milk and smoke and danger—and Sora's tempted to just breathe in the fabric just so the memories can float back to her.
Sora Lee. Ice Queen. Pretty girl. Baby.
I hate when he calls me that, she thinks as she waits outside the art studio for Eliza Sanwal to show up. And then: No, I don't. I don't hate him, either. Ah, fuck you, Sora—fuck your feelings.
California is unusually hot for the beginning of February, but Sora feels a bit more fashionable today as she walks around in her glossy, black boots and oversized boyfriend jeans while spotting her target stumble out of the door with an enormous canvas in her hand. The painting is slipping quite a bit, and Sora secretly smiles as she comes to the girl's rescue.
"Hey," Sora greets, composure softening just a bit. "Need help with that?"
Eliza sighs out of relief, wipes her brow, and nods gratefully, saying, "Thank you so much. My car's just around the corner."
When they walk, Sora catches a glimpse of the piece, and it's enough to stun her into an awe-filled silence. The acrylic glints in the sunlight, and a scene of Europe unfolds in electrifying colors of azure, crimson, and ivory creams; the ocean lies as a glistening background, and it's—
"It's beautiful," Sora expressed honestly. "Your painting, I mean—you're so talented."
Eliza blushes and laughs. "It's still in the beginning stages, but that means a lot."
How in the hell is it not finished? But Sora lacks an eye regarding fine art, so she's not surprised when Eliza comments on her statement; it seems that things that require a long period of attention and effort immediately lose value to Sora, and if things can't be fixed, then there's no point of staying. After some time, the two girls comfortably fall back into their high-school friendship, and poor Steven Wong is forgotten (she'll have to refund him) along with Sora's matchmaking business. She'll accept another application tomorrow, it seems, to make up for the cash. And so Sora tells Eliza of her situation and squeezes her fingers together behind her back once she hears what she has to say, even if it's not exactly what she wants.
Sora sighs. "And say that in this hypothetical world, the girl got drunk and he had to take him back to his own apartment and clean her up, and—shut up, Eliza, nothing happened."
"Does this girl like him?"
A pause. "That's the problem," Sora admits. "She's too stubborn to admit it, but if she keeps it in for too long, her feelings will come rushing out like a goddamn waterfall, and any potential will be over."
"Ah," Eliza thinks, still resting on her car as the buzz of campus life resumes around them like falling leaves from an autumn tree. Her thick black hair frizzes up a bit at the ends, and Sora thinks that the sight is awfully endearing as she pushes the distractions out of her mind. "Well, it seems that—hypothetically, of course—this boy likes her too. He likes her enough to dress her in his clothes and not ask for it back, and he likes her enough to give her space to think even though he might be panicking himself."
"Shit," Sora swears. "You know you're a genius, right? Why not major in psychology?"
"That's my minor."
"Seems like it," the Korean girl muses. "Should the girl say something?"
Eliza grins, and she's taken aback at how cunning she now looks, irises shining with a ridiculous amount of intelligence. "Yes," she decides. "You and Rylin should definitely talk."
At this point, she isn't even surprised. "You were at the party?" Sora mumbles, head hanging a bit low. The fact that Eliza knew who she was complaining about the entire time sends a jolt of embarrassment and comical shame through her, but it's nice to know that someone understands her other than Adeena and Claire. Maybe this is her fault too—maybe Eliza Sanwal is a genuinely amazing person, and she's been too wrapped up in herself to even notice that she's still the same kind person from high school. Maybe Sora needs to get out more and meet new people (even though it sends shudders through her).
"Yeah," Eliza smiles. "Yeah, I was at the party. He was looking at you like you were the only girl in the world, you know that?"
Sora's breath stutters, and she wants to crawl up in bed and hug her pillow close to her chest like she did when she was eight years old and her dog had passed away. "I do," she murmurs. "I know."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
Her head snaps up to see Eliza loading the painting in her backseat. "What?" Sora asks, tone full of confusion and a little bit of golden amusement.
Eliza rolls her eyes, and if they weren't friends, Sora would've been a bit offended at the words that come flying out of her pink-stained mouth. "You're a genius, but you're a bit dense sometimes, alright? Go get to him first before somebody else can, Sora," Eliza tells her, as if it's completely obvious.
And maybe it is—to everyone but Sora, it seems. And the feeling of missing him is so intense that Sora feels like a different person because lovesick was never a word she was familiar with, but it's exactly what it sounds like: she's sick and in love, and it's bordering a pathetic awareness that she just wants to cover up. And knowing herself, when Sora falls head over heels (not that there's been a past experience), she knows that she'll fall fast and hard, and she needs to get this off of her chest.
She misses Rylin Carter.
And maybe somewhere in Los Angeles, Rylin Carter misses her too.
When Sora Lee was eight years old, she discovered her knack for matchmaking. It started with Ms. Holters six months after her divorce and the single, local mail man; Sora liked to decorate her driveway with odd drawings using colorful chalk, and she picked up a habit of watching their interactions: Ms. Holters's eyes would always light up in the weirdest way, and the mailman constantly scratched the back of his head and looked at the ground whenever they made eye contact. It was odd, she thought. Why can't they just admit it?
She told her parents over dinner about her speculation ("They'll be dating soon," Sora said), and when it became true, Sora felt a surge of young happiness. And Ms. Holters looked happier too, and no one came out exactly on time to get their mail except the middle-aged woman who seemed a little too lonely and no one cared except him.
I'll do this forever, she thought. I'll make people happy.
The scenes from her childhood flicker back to her like hot licks of flame as she runs a hand through her hair and enters her favorite ice rink at eight o'clock in the evening on a Monday morning. Her side business will get particularly busy soon (it's Valentine's Day soon), and so Sora decides that she'll skate later today to get some exercise and clear the fog out of her mind. Mondays are better than Tuesdays (fuck Tuesdays), and it's essentially empty as she grabs her skates and heads to her usual rink at the far right corner, but the noise stops her, because inside—
Inside the rink lies Rylin Carter and about twenty little kids around first grade, clinging to his legs for balance as they stumble across the ice. It's an endearing sight, and Sora bites a knuckle to stop herself from laughing out loud. He's not in his hockey gear right now and instead is clad in a thin long-sleeve and sweatpants; the material is just tight enough to see the slim definitions of his arms and waist and the long, lean expanse of his legs. Rylin's really fucking tall, Sora realizes.
And if she was lost before, she's an absolute goner now. He's wearing an easy smile and bends over to pick up a little girl who had just fallen flat on her face, cooing at her and wiping her tears away. Rylin is absurdly pretty (that's the only word she can think of in the moment) and annoyingly attractive on normal days with golden skin, a sharp jaw, and a beauty mark that she's tempted to kiss. But Rylin with kids?
I hate myself, Sora swears. I'm so weak—and I don't even like children.
And so Sora doesn't skate in rink three like she normally does, but instead opts for rink one, where the ice has too many cracks and isn't as smoothed over as she prefers it to be. Sora doesn't skate in rink three because: one, it's occupied; two, it's occupied with little children and to take it away would be cruel; and three, it's occupied by Rylin with the little children, and it's a combination sent from hell just to torture her.
Two hours pass, and when Sora gets out of the world of ice dripping with sweat and exits to grab her small duffel bag resting on the bench, a carefully-wrapped sweet milk bread lies on top of it, and she immediately knows it's from her favorite coffee shop. There isn't a note, but she already knows who it's from, and Sora grabs her stuff and runs out of the rink faster than she's ever run before only to see that the parking lot is empty. The street lights flicker lazily under the stress of an odd feeling of humidity, and she wants to sit in his car while he drives her anywhere and everywhere all at once. The feeling of being lost in time and being trapped in a kaleidoscope with nowhere to escape except in the low bass of the speakers and scent of masculine cologne and sweet sunflowers is overpowering; the nostalgia of having her heartbeat escalate to a frenzied high, waiting and waiting for his lips to touch hers is—is maddening.
Sora Lee isn't the same Sora Lee she was last month, and although it's an odd transition, it's a welcome change.
Cupid can't be Cupid forever, after all, or else she'll get lonely too.
"Still pining after the arrogant, ice-hogging asshole?" Jonah asks her over the phone, and Sora scoffs as she takes a sip of coffee and shakes her head.
"You're annoying even in the morning," Sora replies. "Why'd you call?"
She can almost picture him shrugging. "Just missed my friend," he tells her, and she feels a warm sensation spreading across her chest. Jonah has that spark, that ability to make someone feel on top of the world with a few sentences. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine." Lies. "Do you have Valentine's Day plans?"
He clicks his tongue. "Yes, but we're indecisive, so I'm not too sure what we're doing yet. You?"
Sora rolls her eyes, murmuring, "I'll be busy with business."
"Ah."
A pause. "What?"
"Nothing," Jonah comments. "But maybe you should cancel and do something fun instead."
And this is something that she's thought of quite a bit, if Sora has to say so herself. But the thought of confronting Rylin is something she'd rather not deal with unless completely prepared, so she responds with a negative. "Maybe," she trails off, "but this is fun for me. Have fun for me with Eloise, okay?"
"I'm worried about you, Sora."
She smiles into the phone even though her heart hurts. "Nothing to worry about," she brushes casually. "And Valentine's Day is, like, a week away. No need to get stressed right now, right?"
Adrian's voice sounds muffled over the phone, and Jonah curses and tells her that he accidentally set off the fire alarm from burning the leftovers, so he really, really has to go. Sora hangs up smiling but feeling lonelier than ever, and more than anything, she just wants Sue to make her a plate of her famous chicken and waffles to eat her feelings.
It seems eating is the only thing Sora is good at.
The next three days are spent completely devoted to Sora's matchmaking business. She helps Jeremy Winslow talk to Emerson Lopez, pairs together Rupi Patel and Matthew Song, and plans a romantic date involving Daniel Grey and his ex-girlfriend, Marie Beaumont. It's an efficient distraction in which Sora dives head-first into the world of tricky words and unstable commitment issues, promising herself that she'll figure out her own problems later.
Although she doesn't admit it, having a regular schedule on a daily basis feels good, and the puzzle of her life is slowly coming together. Valentine's Day is right around the corner, though, and she knows that Adeena and Claire will both be spending the hours with their significant others while Sora gets the dorm room to herself. It's a sad tradition she's kept since freshman year: she buys snacks and orders take-out food just to binge-watch comedy movies on her laptop while also eating for three people and wasting the night away. The couples she sees on campus were put together by her in the first place, so she always tells herself that marveling at her work would be considered selfish and that locking herself inside is the best option.
On Thursday evening, she finds herself in the campus library and dangerously sleepy to the point where she might have to ask Adeena to drive her home instead. Running a hand across the shelf of well-worn books, Sora finds the biography on famous psychologists and skims through it to see if it contains the information she needs for her lecture tomorrow. She's hungry (she's always hungry) and cranky and exhausted, and Sora decides that she's in need of a full eight hours of sleep tonight.
Maybe the sudden irritation has something to do with how Rylin left her a snack after she'd exercised for two hours and didn't even stay for a chance for them to have a conversation. Or maybe she's irritated because she's approaching her period—Sora never has a clue when it comes to her emotions and her body's schedule. It's uneven and random to the point where she doesn't even keep track of it anymore, and she feels the sudden urge to quit.
Feeling the comforting weight of the book in her hand, she sits down in front of the aisle after seeing that all the tables are taken and slides her back against it, the weight on her shoulders impossibly heavy now. She has an essay due tomorrow, an assignment due the day after, and Sora knows she'll have to pull a few all-nighters to make it past a failing grade. Sophomore year, it seems, really has it out for her and the only thing she's able to look forward to is fucking graduation in two years, and it sounds sad even in her inner monologue.
It's the combination of her innermost thoughts and the soft, calming music playing from the speakers that lull Sora to sleep with her neck hanging down like she doesn't have a working bone in her body. It's refreshing to get in a few moments of shut-eye even though she knows her spine will hurt like hell tomorrow, but it doesn't matter to Sora right now—not when she hasn't had dinner yet and the stress of deadlines eats her away bit by bit, anxiety like subtle poison in her nervous system.
She doesn't know how long passes—thirty minutes, maybe?—before the tip of a shoe nudges her thigh and wakes her.
"Hey, Ice Queen," a voice says, and Sora glances upwards groggily to see Rylin putting back books front the beige-colored cart to his right. He works here?
Sora blames it on the lack of sleep she's been getting, but she doesn't even care that he's here even though she's been wishing she could see him for weeks now and instead slumps back down on his leg. Before she knows it, her cheeks are pressed against the oddly smooth fabric of his familiar black jeans and she's looping her arms around his knee in a silent protest. Don't leave, Sora thinks. Stay.
She feels Rylin lean down and tie her shoelaces for the third time (it's a bad habit) and shakes his head at her, taking in her ragged appearance: bags underline her bottom lashes, lips are a bit chalky, and her face lacks a healthy color. But Sora can't care about that right now—not when the most beautiful boy she's ever seen continues letting her lean on him and carefully runs a hand through her hair.
"Thanks for the milk bread," she murmurs, snuggling even further into the denim. People might be staring, but she doesn't mind (Sora never really cares what people think about her)—and when Rylin's hand twirls around her ponytail, a small sound escapes her and she looks up just to see him sit down beside her. "I was hungry."
As if on cue, her stomach growls. "I am hungry," she corrects.
Rylin sighs. "You're always hungry," he insists, and she's missed this tone of his: the way it's low and just the right amount of husky, and the hairs on her arms stand up in attention to his etherealness. "Let's get you something to eat, Sora Lee." He helps her up and she waits behind him and clocks out of his evening shift and nods his head towards the automatic double doors, signaling her to leave with him.
The car ride is filled with her occasional snoring, his acoustic music, and the rumble of the gravel underneath them.
"Which version am I right now?" Rylin asks her with a never-seen-before soft look lingering in his irises, and Sora feels her heartbeat skip in response. Her hands are sweaty and it feels like time is moving fast and slow all at once; it feels as if she's stuck in the ocean and freezing right there on the spot as lullabies tug at her feet.
But she knows the answer to his question before he asks. "You're my favorite version today," Sora whispers.
Rylin hooks her pinkie through his, and she flushes delicately at the feeling. Anywhere else, and she's strong and confident and brash, but when she's with him—when she's with Rylin Carter, everything seems to fade away. "Why?"
Her response is simple: "Because you found me."