One (One Universe)

him, his scent distracting me for a split second, “we don’t want them to mess it up.”
    “Them who?”
    He shrugs and plunks down in his desk chair, turning his attention to opening the letter. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about this.
    I fall backward on his bed, doing a quarter-turn to bury my face in his pillow. I know my expression shows how upset I am, even though his explanation makes sense to me, I guess. I don’t want him to see it. I try to think of something that makes me happy. Flying over a field with Elias, the wind whipping through my hair. The burning recedes from my chest a bit.
    Then I remember I didn’t practice a damn thing that day, power-wise. I go light, levitating over the bed. Here in his room with his scent, I can imagine what it would be like right next to him, without him holding on to me. It feels awesome, being completely untethered to anything and anyone. Even imagining it. I can almost hear the slap of tree branches whipping by and the sound of cars or animals or people or whatever is around, distorted by my motion.
    Elias murmurs, “Hey, Floating Beauty,” and pecks me on the lips.
    My eyes snap open, and I shriek, plunk down onto the bed, and slap at him playfully. He interrupted my daydream and scared the crap out of me.
    He sits down, puts a hand on either side of my face, closes his eyes, and kisses me properly, slow and lingering for a few seconds, then pulls away with a satisfied, “Mmmmm.”
    “Me too,” I say, and he smiles.
    He glances at the time on his cuff. “You’ve gotta get out of here in a few,” he says, bringing his lips to mine again, the intensity of his kiss not matching his words.
    I sit up next to him and swing my legs over the side of the bed because I am dangerously close to offering to hide under the covers until lights-out time. And as much as that idea attracts me, I know I’d probably just have another Homecoming night-style freak out and embarrass the both of us.
    I stand up, and Elias does, too, slinging his bag onto his desk. I step into my shoes, and Elias shrugs out of his sweatshirt, handing it to me. “Got cold out there, Mer.”
    I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and the drive home is so long.” My collection of Elias sweatshirts, nightgown-length on me and used for just that purpose, grows by the week.
    I pull the sweatshirt down over my head and smooth the static from my hair. “What’d your sisters have to say?”
    His face falls, but then he gives me a smile. The sad one again, with a hint of worry. The faking-it one.
    “What is it?” I ask.
    “Oh, nothing.”
    “Elias. I haven’t known you for that long, but I know that look.”
    He eyes me for a minute, then says, “The girls and I thought security might be tight at the Hub. We were right. No internet, no TV, no calls. So…it’s an inside joke.” He holds the paper out toward me and points at something on the back corner.
    I lean in to read the tiny, perfect cursive writing, which does not match the print on the other side. I read aloud, “Doris locked. You’ve got to break it down.” I look back up at him. “What the hell?”
    “Inside joke. Uh, knock-knock joke,” he says, taking off his glasses and pressing the heel of his hand against his right eye. “Knock, knock. Who’s there? Doris. Doris who? Doris locked, that’s why I’m knocking.”
    I still look at him, one eyebrow in the air. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
    He smiles. “It was always kind of our code. Because they can teleport in, you know? So if they wanted to let me know they were coming in, it would be, ‘Doris locked, but I’m coming in.’ Or whatever. They’re the ones who started the joke a few letters back, in little writing like this, on the flipside of the paper. Barely caught it the first time. And now…this answer…I don’t know. Worries me. That’s all.”
    I want this look on his face to go away. His love for his sisters is coated in worry, and I want to make it go away. I walk a few steps to him, stand on tiptoes, and tug on his arm so he’ll bend down to kiss me. He does, but it’s distant, distracted.
    “I’m sure they’re fine. Just want a visit, probably. Right? And you’ll see them soon at the Symposium.”
    “Yeah.” He forces another smile. If he thinks he’s getting away with that without me noticing, he either thinks I’m stupid — and I know he doesn’t — or he doesn’t realize how much I care about him.
    He glances at his cuff again and then