#kk bye

You were not sure what would be better than your best friend finally putting himself out there on the dating scene (to distract you from your ever-looming crush on the man), but you worm it out of Alex after guessing a myriad of things he would never do. Solo vacation to a random country for only two nights. Not a date but a scheduled hook-up. Adopting a family of bunnies.

All guesses that would shock you, but his response still manages to make you crack up laughing; the school's annual trunk or treat. When he clarifies it's the elementary school and yes, he's with the high school, but no, it's not just for the elementary school teachers and parents and they needed some extra trunks, he signed up. On a whim. And has been planning it for the past two weeks. Without telling you!

The initial silliness of Alex doing this subsides into something that has you rubbing the heel of your hand against the ache in your chest. You're about to ask him what time it starts when he sends: DO NOT COME.

Your first reaction is to make a joke about how that's okay and it's hard for you to come anyway, but you don't think lunch-break Alex will appreciate that right now. So you settle on asking why, to which he says he knows you will make fun of him. Very true, very valid.

The thing is, you would be making fun of him out of love, but if you told him that, he'd give you that look with his overbearingly blue eyes and you'd fold, because of course you would.

But that ache in your chest grows the more you sit on this information, the more time barrels on and you picture Alex in his post-school rush trying to prepare for an event like this, which he would seldom choose to do unless he had a good idea for it. You assisted him at some after-school bake sale months ago, and he deemed you a good helper (he needed help fending off PTA moms). So why can't you show up here? To support him at least, you reason. He never truly minded Halloween, but you wouldn't call it a very Alex holiday either unless it involved being safe in his house and people-watching the trick or treaters and their parents on his block.

You never did good with boredom. The choice felt clear.

"I knew you would still come," are the first words out of Alex Nilsen's mouth while you stand there, jaw dropped, taking in his appearance and trunk decorations.

The sky has already darkened into night, and the sound of kids laughing and parents ushering them through the lines of cars fill the air. Not a single kid is at Alex's car, which gives you time to gape.

He nudges your mouth closed.

"Go ahead. Say whatever you're going to say," he tells you, his shoulders drooped.

He's decked out the trunk of his car to look like a zombie tailgate. He's got his small grill set up on the ground, with plastic and oddly realistic looking body parts cooking, and a camping chair that he must've thrown red dye on to look like blood. The trunk itself also contains a multitude of these body parts (did he buy the entire stock at the store?), and football helmets that he splattered fake blood on.

Alex himself is wearing a tattered football jersey of an unidentifiable team, and a, yes, blood splattered long sleeve underneath it. And the pants! Khakis still. But blood splattered. He did rip at the hem of the pants a little.

"Did that hurt your brain," you point at the hem of his pants. His poor khakis.

"Brains," he says, with a shrug, stretching out his hand towards you like he wants your brains. You quickly surmise you would give your brains to a starving hungry zombie Alex if he needed them. He's messed up his hair and given himself a slightly green hue on his face (With what? Did Alex know how to do that?), and darkened under his eyes. He looks like a sickly football fan who is not happy to be at a tailgate, which might be what he was going for?

"This is ridiculous," you say slowly, backing up a little to take in the entire image. You store it away in your head, then come back closer to him, "I'm actually very impressed."

You could live in the way his shoulders cease their drooping and his eyes glimmer, "You are?"

"It's unique! And you look…"

Shoulders droop again.

"You look zombie-like! You do!"

"Okay. Thank you, then. Even though I told you not to come," he mumbles and sinks back down in the camping chair. You lean against the open space at his trunk next to him and tug at a strand of his hair that's sticking up. He used hairspray.

"You already said you knew I would still come, and frankly, I'm offended you didn't ask me to do this with you. I could've zombied your face much better."

"You were busy," he tilts his head back, glancing at one of the jerseys he has hanging, then at you, "you can take that one down."

You don't need to be told twice. Shrugging it on, you flick his arm, "I was busy with work, sure, but I would've done this with you. A tailgate is more enjoyable with multiple people. And I am very fun. By the way, what team is this?"

"It's…not any specific team."

You blink at him, "You got random blank jerseys? Where do you even find those?"

"I found a store, I don't know, it didn't feel right to…zombie-fy a real team."

"You are an odd one, Alex Nilsen," you say and pat his head. You wonder if he enjoys it, because he doesn't stop you.

Alex huffs, grabbing the bucket of candy—no that's not candy.

"Alex."

"Hm?"

"Are those fruit snacks?"

He looks into his bucket, but then two kids come barreling over in Star Wars costumes, beaming when they say, "trick or treat!"

Alex smiles and uses his teacher voice as he holds out the bucket, claims the fruit snacks are brains, and the kids giggle. They happily take the little packages.

Alex looks back at you with a slight quirk of his lips. Rare Alex moment. He's smug.

You flick him again. It's a reflex. "I think they'd still prefer chocolate."

"I have a whole theme going," he gestures, then leans back in his chair, "I can't break the illusion."

"You're a rather articulate zombie, then."

"I'm a zombie that hails from a semi-intelligent society that has football games and tailgates and can speak fairly well."

"Semi-intelligent," you repeat and fuss over his hair, "fuck, how much hairspray did you put in this?"

"Don't curse here," Alex swats at your hand without much effort, so you keep at it, both attempting to make it look better, but also messier. You're surprised he lets you until again, you notice his shoulders relax.

After the next wave of kids that come (two of which do not take any fruit snacks but their eyes do linger on Alex's bounty of fake body parts and laugh), you nudge his shoulder, "Hey."

He tilts his head back yet again, and you will yourself to not follow the line of his throat, "it's sweet you're doing this. Even if you look more like a sickly man than a zombie and that you're handing out fruit snacks to kids on Halloween."

"They like the fruit snacks. The fruit snacks are a hit," Alex deadpans, and then reaches out to pat your knee. Your eyes get stuck there.

"Thank you, though. Since I signed up, a bunch of the other high school teachers did and they had enough to fill the courtyard."

"Aw. Good zombie," you pat his head again, but this time he does shake his head, like a dog.

"You really love patting my head."

"I feel perceived."

Alex gives you a long look, the hint of a smile on his face, his hand still lingering at your knee, then more kids come up and the spell breaks. He taps his fingers on you before he turns to give his brain spiel.

Your face feels hotter and you busy yourself adjusting your jersey when Alex turns back, "I am always perceiving you."

"That sounds vaguely threatening."

You can hear his eye-roll.

"I meant that I know you," he says, his hand coming back up to your knee and squeezing it before he looks out at the courtyard. Is it possible to feel your heartbeat in your knee? The skin feels scorched, even through your pants.

You clear your throat, "can you save me some brains?"

Alex looks at the contents of his bucket to calculate how much he has left, then back at you, "I have three more boxes at home."

An invitation, an Alex invitation. If that meant eating fruit snacks with him at midnight and falling asleep on his couch watching your rescheduled marathon, then it would be the best thing you could have hoped for. You nod and with the most seriousness you can muster, you say, "only if you also make those pancakes in the morning."

Alex gives you a nod back, mimicking. your serious tone, "deal."