caffeinewitchcraft:

witterprompts:

“You say some of the strangest things. One would think you weren’t from this time period.”

At this point, it’s just funny not to tell him I know.

At first, I kept it a secret out of anger–who wouldn’t be angry to find out their boyfriend was a time traveler and not actually from Minnesota as Minnesota has/will have ceased to exist by the time he was/will be actually born?

Then, eventually, the anger faded leaving me in this weirdly sadistic phase of torturing the ever-living fuck out of him until he breaks.

“Oh, uh,” he says, pulling at his collar. “I–haha, maybe that was from a movie?”

“Didn’t sound like it,” I say, biting my straw. “If Minnesota isn’t Minnesota next year, then I’ll know you’ve been lying to me and you’re actually from the future.”

He, if possible, pales further. He glances at his phone and seems dismayed by the simple date and month he finds there.

“It’s 2018,” I say helpfully. When he looks up, I give him my best innocent eyes. “In case you forgot.”

“I’m not lying to you,” he says, but his lip trembles. “I–I remember the 90s.”

I widen my eyes. “You remember the 90s? Even after the highly invasive thought experiments in the early 2000s?”

I can see panic flash through his eyes as he desperately tries to remember if I’m bluffing or not. “I was camping during those.”

“Weren’t we all,” I say nonsensically. I don’t know what I mean but, more importantly, neither does he. “Ready to go?”

He jumps at the change of topic. “yes! yes, let’s go. I’ll grab the check.”

“Remember to adjust for inflation,” I call to his back as he heads for the register. People in the diner turn, but I don’t mind an audience. He does. “We haven’t recovered from the recession yet this decade.”

“I’m not from the future,” I hear him mumble almost desperately. He takes longer than strictly necessary signing the check, I’d bet to recover his wits.

After the week he’s had, there’s a lot to recover. Too much even for Mr. Future Man.

I grin around my straw. Saturday we’re going to the beach. I’m planning to make up a tsunami history we don’t have (yet?) and see if I can convince him that California extended another fifty miles before the edges sank in 2008.

 He’d either fact check it in his future pocket book he doesn’t think I know about after and catch on, or wonder if his arrival in the past had caused parts of California to sink.

If that doesn’t break him, I’ll eat my hat.