Chapter 7: The Deviled Egg Intervention
The air by the river carried a damp, green smell, undercut by the distant tang of bus exhaust. Dexing shifted the grocery bag in his arms, the plastic handles digging into his palms. It contained two containers of overly-mayonnaised potato salad, a box of deviled eggs sweating in their plastic coffin, and a six-pack of expensive sparkling water Bear had insisted on buying.
“This is it,” Dexing said, his voice tight with a nervousness that felt ridiculous. It was just a picnic. A boring, mandatory-social-function picnic.
Riverside Park was a narrow strip of contested greenery between the bike path and the water. The international students’ association had claimed three tables under the rusting skeleton of a pergola. A handful of people were already there, arranging bags of chips and conversing in the politely enthusiastic tones of people who shared nothing but a home country code on their student visas.
Bear walked beside him, a silent monolith in dark jeans and a simple grey t-shirt. He carried nothing, his hands loose at his sides, but his presence felt like carrying an extra gravity well. He was scanning the area, not with paranoia, but with an habitual, tactical assessment—exits, sightlines, group dynamics.
“You’re making it worse by trying not to look like you’re scoping the place,” Dexing muttered.
A faint grunt. “Habit.” Bear’s eyes finally settled on the group. “Which one is yours?”
“The one that looks like a UN subcommittee on awkwardness.” Dexing led the way. He saw faces he recognized from orientation: Anya from Ukraine, deep in debate with Marco from Brazil about the best brand of Ukrainian sunflower oil; Somchai from Thailand smiling placidly while two engineering students from Shanghai argued loudly about a programming language.
And then he saw Kai.
Kai was at a separate bench, slightly apart from the main group, facing the river. He wasn’t alone. Professor Chen sat beside him, elegant in a light summer blazer. They were leaning close, heads almost touching, speaking in low tones. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a napkin between them. This alone would have been surprising—Chen was famously private—but it was the detail of their connection that made Dexing’s steps falter.
A long, silver-grey silk tie, unmistakably Professor Chen’s, was looped loosely around Kai’s left wrist. The other end was held casually in Chen’s hand, resting on his own knee. It wasn’t a restraint, not exactly. It was a tether, a continuous, elegant point of contact. Kai lifted his sandwich with his free hand, took a bite, and said something that made Chen’s usually stern mouth curve into a small, private smile.
Dexing stopped dead. The plastic bag rustled loudly.
Bear, following his gaze, saw it too. Dexing felt the man go very still beside him, not with shock, but with a sudden, deep focus. The casual assessment was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp attention. He didn’t speak.
Kai, sensing their presence, turned. His eyes widened, flicking from Dexing’s frozen face to Bear’s imposing figure behind him. A slow, delighted, utterly mischievous grin spread across his face. He didn’t look ashamed or startled. He looked thrilled.
“Dex!” Kai called, waving with his sandwich-hand. “You made it! And you brought a… friend.” His eyes danced over Bear, taking in the tattoos, the posture, the quiet intensity. The grin turned knowing. “Wow. Okay.”
Professor Chen turned more slowly. His expression didn’t change, but his fingers shifted slightly on the silk of his tie. His gaze moved past Dexing and landed on Bear. There was a beat of profound, silent recognition. It wasn’t the recognition of a professor for a student’s guest. It was the look of two men seeing each other across a crowded room of a very different kind.
“Magnus,” Chen said, his voice calm, neutral. He gave a slight, acknowledging nod.
“Professor,” Bear replied, his voice a low rumble. He returned the nod. The formality was a pane of glass, and beneath it, an entire history vibrated.
Dexing’s mind was a whiteout. The potato salad was a lead weight in his arms. Kai. Chen. The tie. Bear. The deviled eggs. It was a surreal collage that refused to make sense.
Kai, utterly at ease, broke the silence. “Well, this is fun. Dexing, you didn’t tell me your ‘coffee’ was with a legend.” He glanced at Chen. “I see you know each other.”
“Mr. Bjornson is a former student and a valued specialist with the archive,” Chen said smoothly, his academic persona clicking into place like a well-worn mask. “A pleasure to see you in a social context, Magnus.”
“Likewise,” Bear said. His eyes darted to the silk connection between Kai’s wrist and Chen’s hand. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Not judgment. Comprehension.
Dexing finally found his voice, though it came out thin. “Kai. Professor. This is… Bear.”
“Charming,” Kai said, his eyes sparkling. He wiggled the fingers of his tied hand. “Don’t mind us. Just a little… tutorial. Professor Chen was explaining the concept of symbolic binds in pre-modern literature. Very hands-on.”
Chen’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent reproof at Kai’s teasing. He didn’t release the tie.
Anya called over from the main table, waving at Dexing to bring the food. The normal world, with its potato salad and small talk, impatiently demanded its due.
“We should…” Dexing gestured lamely with his bag.
“Of course,” Chen said. “Please, don’t let us disrupt the event.”
Dexing moved woodenly toward the association table, feeling Bear fall into step beside him. He could feel the man’s energy, no longer diffused, but coiled and directed. As they set down the food, Dexing whispered, “You know. About them.”
Bear unfolded a paper plate with deliberate care. “I know Chen. His… proclivities are his own business. The otter,” he said, with a surprising hint of dry humor, “is a new development.”
“He’s my roommate,” Dexing hissed, as if that explained anything.
“It explains his lack of survival instincts,” Bear murmured back, selecting a deviled egg. He looked across the scattered tables, the microcosm of displaced youth, then back toward the bench by the river. “Chen doesn’t do public. Ever. This is a statement.”
“What kind of statement?”
“A claim.” Bear took a bite of the egg, chewed thoughtfully. “A warning. To anyone looking. And an indulgence. A risky one.” He shook his head, a faint, almost paternal disapproval in the gesture. “Sentimental.”
The word hung in the air. Dexing looked at Kai, who was now laughing at something Chen had said, his head thrown back, the silk tie catching the afternoon light. Chen was watching him with an expression of naked, unguarded fondness that Dexing had never seen on the man’s face. It was more intimate than a kiss.
“You’re not… upset?” Dexing asked, confused by Bear’s calm analysis.
“Why would I be? They’re adults.” Bear took a sip of sparkling water. “But it complicates your landscape, doesn’t it? Your professor is in a relationship with your roommate. And your professor is my… mentor. Of a sort.” He met Dexing’s eyes. “Small world. Getting smaller.”
The afternoon unfolded in a bizarre two-channel broadcast. On one channel, Dexing made stilted conversation with Anya about grain exports. He passed plates, smiled politely, and tasted nothing. On the other channel, he was hyper-aware of the bench thirty yards away, and of Bear, a silent, observant pillar at his side.
After an hour, Kai and Chen rose. Chen carefully, almost reverently, unwound the tie from Kai’s wrist, folded it, and placed it in his blazer pocket. The simple action felt more charged than any goodbye kiss. Kai sauntered over, looking utterly pleased with himself.
“Dex, this was a blast. Professor Chen has a seminar to prep. I’m gonna help him.” His grin was infectious and utterly unapologetic. He glanced at Bear, his playful demeanor softening into something more genuinely curious. “Nice to meet you.” He didn’t offer a hand, just a respectful nod that Bear returned.
Chen approached more slowly. He stopped before their table. “Li Dexing. Thank you for the invitation.” His gaze shifted to Bear. “Magnus. It is good to see you out.” The phrase was weighted. Out of the archives. Out of the shadows. Out, perhaps, in a way Chen himself was cautiously, riskily, trying to be.
“Professor,” Bear acknowledged again.
Chen’s eyes held Bear’s for a second longer, a silent communication passing between them. Then he turned, and he and Kai walked away along the river path, not touching, but moving in a perfectly synchronized orbit.
The picnic dwindled. People left in twos and threes, leaving behind crumpled napkins and empty soda cans. Dexing and Bear were left alone at the littered table, the late afternoon sun stretching the shadow of the pergola long and skeletal over them.
Dexing began mechanically cleaning up. Bear helped, his large hands gathering trash with efficient sweeps.
“So,” Dexing finally said, the word exploding the quiet. “That happened.”
“It did.”
“You’re not… surprised.”
“I’ve known Chen for fifteen years,” Bear said, stuffing bottles into a recycling bag. “The surprise was the boy. He’s bright. Cheeky. Vulnerable. Not Chen’s usual type, which tends toward the… severe.”
Dexing thought of Kai’s effortless social grace, his otter-shirts, his loud music. “He doesn’t seem vulnerable.”
“Everyone is,” Bear stated, tying the bag shut with a sharp twist. “Some just hide it behind better decoration.” He straightened up and looked at Dexing. The intensity from earlier had banked back down to a watchful ember. “Today was a success.”
“Was it? It was a disaster. My worlds just crashed into each other.”
“They didn’t crash. They acknowledged each other.” Bear leaned against the table. “You wanted normal. Normal is messy. Normal is your mentor dating your roommate and accidentally showing you a part of himself he hides from the entire university. Normal is complicated, interconnected. It’s not a separate, clean space. It’s this.” He gestured at the remains of the picnic, at the path where Chen and Kai had disappeared.
Dexing sat down on the bench, the adrenaline leaching away, leaving him tired. “What now?”
“Now,” Bear said, sitting beside him, the wood groaning under his weight. “You go home to a roommate who will, undoubtedly, have many, many questions. And I go back to my quiet apartment. And we both think about the fact that there are no separate worlds. Only people, trying to live in them.”
The river flowed, brown and indifferent. The city hummed. The checkered umbrella above them flapped softly in a rising breeze.
Bear stood, offering a hand. Not to help Dexing up, but to shake. A formal, strangely final gesture. “Thank you for the potato salad, Li Dexing. It was profoundly boring. Just as advertised.”
Dexing took his hand. The grip was firm, warm, lasting a fraction of a second longer than necessary. A connection, deliberately made and deliberately released.
“You’re welcome,” Dexing said.
Bear nodded once, turned, and walked away, following the same river path but in the opposite direction. Dexing watched him go until he was swallowed by the dappled light under the trees.
He was alone with the trash and the fading day. The silent, secret understanding of the special collections room was gone. The cautious normalcy of the coffee shop was gone. In its place was something more complex, more dangerous, and more real—a tangled web where his teacher, his roommate, and this enigmatic, wounded man were all inextricably linked. He wasn’t an observer anymore. He was in the web.
He pulled out his phone. There was already a text from Kai.
Roomie. YOU have SO much explaining to do. Bring more deviled eggs. :-P
Dexing stared at the message, at the cheerful emoji. He looked back down the empty path. A faint, shaky smile touched his lips. He was in the web. And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was falling. He felt, strangely, like he was finally finding something to hold onto.
He felt, strangely, like he was finally finding something to hold onto.
The plastic bag handles were slick, cutting into his palms as he gathered the last of the trash. He worked quickly, stuffing bottles and crumpled napkins into a bin until the table was bare. Around him, the park emptied, the chirping of sparrows replacing the fading chatter of his classmates.
He walked home under a sky bruised purple and orange. The image of Kai’s wrist, loosely bound by that silver silk, played on a loop behind his eyes. It wasn’t shocking, not really. It was the profound normalcy of it that stuck with him. Chen’s hand, resting on his knee, holding the other end.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket. Kai. He didn’t look at it.
The dorm hallway smelled of microwave popcorn and cleaning spray. He fumbled with his key, the metal scraping loudly in the quiet. He pushed the door open to their shared room.
Kai was already there, sitting cross-legged on his bed, holding a single deviled egg. He looked up, his expression a perfect blend of innocence and wicked glee. “You’re back,” he said, popping the egg into his mouth. “And you brought no leftovers. I’m wounded.”
“You were busy,” Dexing said, dropping his keys on his desk.
“I was! It was very academic.” Kai brushed crumbs from his shirt. “So. Magnus Bjornson. You’ve been holding out on me, roomie.”
“There’s nothing to hold out.” Dexing sat on his own bed, facing Kai. The distance between their beds felt like a canyon. “We had coffee. You saw.”
“Coffee. Right.” Kai leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Dex, that man isn’t a ‘coffee’ date. He’s a whole three-course meal with a shaved head and prison tats. Professor Chen’s specialist. How does that even happen?”
“The library.” It sounded pathetic even to him.
“You met a guy like that in the library?” Kai laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound. “What was he doing, bench-pressing the Dewey Decimal system?”
Dexing thought of the lamplight on Bear’s hands, the delicate tools, the whisper of thread on parchment. “He was restoring a book.”
Kai’s laughter died. He blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Dexing lay back on his bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling tile. “He learned in prison. Seven years. He told me that.”
The room got very quiet. Kai’s flippant energy evaporated. He uncrossed his legs, letting his feet hit the floor. “He told you that,” he repeated, softly.
“Yeah.”
“And then you invited him to a picnic.”
“It seemed like the normal thing to do.” Dexing propped himself up on his elbows. “Unlike, you know, getting tied up with a professor’s tie in a public park.”
A slow smile spread across Kai’s face. “Touché. That was… a moment. I didn’t know you’d be bringing a plus-one from the underworld.” He grew serious again. “Chen knows him. Like, knows him. From before.”
“I got that.” Dexing sat up fully. “What did Chen say? After we left?”
“Not much. He was quiet.” Kai picked at a thread on his comforter. “He asked me not to mention… the tie thing. To anyone. Especially not to Magnus.”
“Why?”
“He said Magnus respects discretion.” Kai met his eyes. “He also said Magnus is a good man. Complicated, but good. He used that word. Complicated.”
Dexing’s mind churned. Chen, the austere professor, was vouching for Bear’s character. It added a layer of legitimacy, but also more weight. “What’s between them? It didn’t feel like just professor and student.”
“I don’t know,” Kai said, and he sounded genuine. “Chen doesn’t spill secrets. He just… has them.” He grinned again, suddenly. “But you! You’re full of surprises. First the museum, now a convicted felon bookbinder. My quiet little Dex.”
“Stop.” Dexing threw a pillow at him.
Kai caught it, hugged it. “I’m just saying. Your taste is… intense. And a little scary.”
“It’s not like that.” Even to himself, the denial sounded weak.
“Okay.” Kai didn’t press. He stood up, stretching. “I’m going to shower. Professor’s giving a guest lecture tonight and I promised I’d be there.” He paused at the door. “Just be careful, okay? Complicated is one thing. But seven years is a long time.”
The door clicked shut. Dexing was alone with the hum of the mini-fridge and the echo of Kai’s warning. Careful. He was trying to be. But careful felt like building a wall, and every interaction with Bear felt like a door being opened in that wall.
He grabbed his phone. He stared at the blank message screen. His thumb hovered over Bear’s contact, which was just a phone number—no name, no photo.
He typed three words. Thanks for today.
He deleted them.
He typed again, his heart beating a dull rhythm against his ribs. The potato salad was terrible. We should try a different brand.
He stared at the words. It was stupid. It was safe. It was something.
Before he could overthink it, he hit send.
The response came almost immediately, a single vibration in his hand.
I know a place. Thursday. I’ll text the address.
No question mark. Just a statement. A plan.
A wild, unfiltered rush of something—anticipation, fear, excitement—flooded through Dexing. It was happening. Another door. He typed back Okay, then stood up, needing to move.
He went to the tiny kitchen alcove to make tea, his thoughts a jumble of silk ties and prison sentences and lamplit books. The kettle whistled, a sharp, shrill sound. He jumped, rattling the mug on the counter.
He was pouring the boiling water when his phone vibrated again on the Formica. He glanced down, expecting another text from Bear.
It was a news alert. A headline about a local sentencing. A violent assault. His eyes skimmed the words seven-year sentence and repeat offender.
A cold wave washed over him, unrelated to the steam from his mug. Seven years. The number was no longer an abstract fact shared in a quiet room. It was a headline. It was a victim. It was a real person Bear had hurt, badly.
The pristine image of those skilled hands healing the torn page blurred. It was superimposed by a different image, one his mind conjured from nothing and everything: those same hands clenched into fists, swinging, connecting.
The certainty of the mug in his hand vanished. His fingers went slack.
The ceramic mug hit the edge of the counter with a sickening crack before plummeting to the floor. Boiling water and shattered pottery erupted across the tiles at his feet.
Dexing stared at the sharp white shards swimming in steaming water on the floor. His breath came in short, sharp pulls. The headline’s words—blunt force trauma, prior convictions—seared behind his eyes, overwriting the delicate image of needle and thread.
“Whoa, what happened?” Kai’s voice cut through the fog. He stood in the doorway, hair damp from his shower, eyes wide at the mess.
“Slipped,” Dexing muttered, the lie automatic and thin. He bent down, hand outstretched toward a large piece of the mug.
“Don’t! You’ll cut yourself.” Kai moved quickly, grabbing paper towels and the small dustpan from under the sink. “You okay? You’re white as a sheet.”
Dexing straightened up, his fingers trembling. He leaned against the counter. “Yeah. Just clumsy.”
Kai began sweeping up the fragments, glancing up at him. “Bullshit. This is about your giant Viking librarian, isn’t it?” He dumped the first load of wet ceramic into the trash. “Did something happen after I left?”
“No. Nothing happened.” Dexing watched the steam rise from the wet floor. “I just… looked up something.”
Kai paused, dustpan hovering. He didn’t ask. His silence was a question mark.
“Seven years is a long time,” Dexing said, echoing Kai’s own words back to him. “You read a headline and it’s just words. Then you realize the words are about a person who couldn’t get up afterward.”
Kai finished cleaning and stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. He looked at Dexing, his usual playful glint replaced by sober understanding. “You saw a news article.”
“It just popped up. About another case. Same sentence.” Dexing pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It made it real.”
“It was always real, Dex.” Kai’s voice was quiet. “You just got to know the person before you knew the crime.” He tossed the paper towels. “So what now? You cancel Thursday?”
Cancel. The word felt like a slamming door. Dexing saw the special collections room, the amber light on Bear’s focused face. He heard the flat, unadorned confession: I hurt someone. Badly. There had been no excuses, no mitigation. Just the stark, ugly truth.
“I don’t know,” Dexing breathed.
His phone still lay face-up on the counter, next to the kettle. The screen had gone dark. He picked it up, his thumb smearing the condensation. He tapped the screen, and the last messages glowed back at him.
I know a place. Thursday. I’ll text the address.
Okay.
Two lines. A compact. He stared at the letters. Bear’s directness was a cliff face. You could either climb it or walk away.
Kai sighed, reading his friend’s conflict. “Look, Chen says he’s good. And Chen doesn’t say anything lightly.” He put a hand on Dexing’s shoulder. “But Chen isn’t going on a date with him. You are.”
“It’s not a date,” Dexing said instantly, too quickly.
“Right.” Kai’s smile was small and knowing. “It’s just two guys getting food after a deeply unsettling picnic and a shared history of restoring old books. Super casual.”
Dexing almost smiled. The world, which had tilted violently a moment before, righted itself a little. Kai’s presence was an anchor to the mundane, to their shared, messy life of laundry and loud music. Bear existed in a different stratosphere of consequence.
But Dexing had been the one to text first. He had been the one to invite him to the picnic. He had asked for this.
A strange calm settled over him, cold and clear. He was not the victim in the news article. He was a person holding a phone, with a choice. Fear was a valid reason to walk away. Curiosity was a valid reason to stay. He could hold both.
He unlocked the phone. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. What did you say to a man who had done terrible things, who was trying, in his own way, to be better? What did you say when your own hands were shaking?
He typed slowly, deliberately.
Just saw a news story. A bad one. It rattled me.
He sent it before he could think. It was not a question. It was not an accusation. It was a statement of his own state, a piece of the truth hurled into the space between them.
The response was not immediate. Dexing waited, the silence a physical pressure in the tiny kitchen. Kai watched, saying nothing.
The phone vibrated once.
I know.
Two words. No defense. No explanation. Just a brutal, shared acknowledgment. Bear lived with those headlines every day. They were the fabric of his life now.
Another vibration.
You can cancel Thursday. No offense taken.
Dexing read the words. A clear, clean exit. A respectful out. All he had to do was say yes, thank you, and this whole complicated, terrifying experiment would be over. He could go back to a life where his biggest concern was finals and his most complicated relationship was with his otter-obsessed roommate.
He thought of the careful stitches on the ancient parchment. He thought of Bear’s tired eyes in the café, saying You saw me fixing something first. He thought of the profound, awkward normalcy of potato salad.
He looked at the clean floor, at Kai’s concerned face, and then back at the phone.
He texted back.
Not canceling. Just needed to say it. Send the address.