Punk rock/garage band Conner Kent x popular/spoiled ReaderÂ
Asks/ Requests are open!! Part 1 Metropolis Database
For the first few classes, Conner was always early, always in the same seat, slightly in the back, like he didnât want to be noticed but didnât care enough to hide either.
And every time, without fail, you found him.
Youâd pause in the doorway, eyes flicking across the room until they landed on him, and then, like something settling, youâd move. Direct. Certain. Like you had already decided. âHey,â you said, sliding into the seat beside him, your bag resting neatly at your feet.
âHey,â Conner replied, watching you for a second longer than necessary. âHowâve you been?â
âIâve been good. Just⊠getting used to college life.â You adjusted your sleeve absentmindedly. âAnd you?â
You glanced up at him, one brow lifting slightly. âThatâs it?â
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. âWhat, you want a full report?â
âI mean, I gave you one.â
âYou said âgoodâ and then made it sound nicer.â
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. âOkay, fair.â
There was a beat. Not awkward, just⊠there. Comfortable. Conner leaned back in his chair slightly, studying you. âYou always this put together this early in the morning?â
You glanced down at yourself, then back at him. âYou always this observant?â
âOnly when somethingâs off.â
Your eyes narrowed just a little, amused. âAnd Iâm off?â
âJust, not used to seeing Timâs friends like this,â he responded honestly.Â
A few days later, the pattern didnât break. Same seat. Same quiet âhey.â Same way you found him like it was instinct. Conner was already there, slouched slightly in his chair, one leg stretched out, notebook open but mostly untouched. Heâd gotten there earlier than he needed to, again, but he didnât think about that too hard.
The door opened. He didnât look up right away. Didnât need to. There was a shift, subtle, almost nothing, but he felt it anyway. Like the room had adjusted around someone. A second later, he glanced up.
You stood just inside the doorway, scanning like you always did. Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just⊠precise. Your gaze moved across the room once, twice, then landed on him. And stayed.
Something in his chest tightened, quick and sharp, before settling. You adjusted the strap of your bag and started toward him. Direct. Like youâd already decided. âHey,â you said, sliding into the seat beside him. Your bag rested neatly at your feet, aligned just a little too perfectly with the leg of your chair.
Your sleeve shifted slightly as you reached for your notebook, smoothing it down without thinking. Conner watched the movement for a second, then looked away before it became obvious. There was a pause. Not empty. Just⊠there. Comfortable, in a way that still felt new.
He leaned back slightly, chair creaking under his weight, eyes flicking toward you again. You were already writing something, neat, deliberate, like every word had somewhere it needed to be. Conner exhaled quietly through his nose, like he was making up his mind. âWeâve got rehearsal later.â
Your pen paused mid-word. You looked up at him, not surprised, just attentive. Like you were already reading between the lines. âYeah?â you said.
He shrugged one shoulder, gaze drifting for a second before landing back on you. Casual. Too casual. âYou could come.â A beat. âIf you want.â
You didnât answer right away. Instead, you studied him. Not in a way that felt awkward, just⊠focused. Like you were trying to figure out what part of that was real and what part was deflection. âAre you asking me,â you said slowly, your voice softer now, âor pretending youâre not?â
Connerâs mouth twitched, something almost like a smile pulling at the corner. He looked down at his notebook, tapping his pen once against the page. âTake it however you want.â
You let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, your gaze dropping briefly before lifting again. There was something different in your expression now. Lighter. Less controlled. âWhat time?â you asked.
Connerâs eyes flicked back to yours, brows lifting just slightly. âSo thatâs a yes?â
You tilted your head a fraction, like you were considering pushing back, then didnât. âI didnât say no.â
He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. You didnât. âSix,â he said.
You tapped your pen lightly against your notebook, once, twice, like you were
sealing the decision into place. âOkay.â
âOkay?â he echoed, a little more curious now.
This time, when you looked at him, you smiled. Not the polished one. Softer. Realer. Something that lingered just a second too long. âIâll be there.â
Conner nodded once, leaning back again like it didnât matter. But his grip on his pen tightened just slightly. And for the rest of class, he didnât write a single thing.Â
He told himself it didnât matter. It was just rehearsal. You said youâd come, sure, but people said things all the time. It didnât mean anything. Didnât mean youâd actually show up. Didnât mean he should be thinking about it this much.Â
The classroom door opened. His head lifted. Automatically. A girl stepped in, laughing with someone behind her. Not you. Conner blinked once, then looked back down at his notebook like nothing had happened.
You werenât even in this class. He flipped the page, scanning over notes he didnât remember writing, eyes skimming without actually landing on anything. Focus. It was stupid. He wasnât the type to wait on anyone. Definitely not like this. Definitely not in a room youâd never even walk into. And yetâ
He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening slightly before he forced himself to look back down. By the third time it happened, he didnât even bother pretending it wasnât automatic. By the fourth, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, staring up at the ceiling like that would somehow reset his brain.
It didnât. Because even when you werenât thereâ
In the way his eyes kept drifting to the door without permission. In the way every voice in the hallway made his attention sharpen for half a second before dropping again. In the way he caught himself wondering what you were doing right now. What class you were in. If you were thinking about later at all. His jaw flexed. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose. âGet a grip,â he muttered under his breath.
The guy next to him glanced over, confused. Conner didnât look back.
By the time rehearsal rolled around, the garage already smelled like dust, old amps, and whatever Bart had eaten an hour ago. It clung to everything.
The air was warm in that stale, unmoving way, the kind that came from the door being half-open but not enough to actually let anything in. A single standing lamp in the corner cast a yellow glow over the space, mixing with the weak strip of daylight bleeding in from outside. It wasnât dark, but it wasnât bright either. Just⊠dim enough to feel enclosed.
Cables snaked across the concrete floor in loose, overlapping lines. One amp hummed faintly near the wall. A chipped coffee table sat off to the side, buried under sheet music, empty cans, and a screwdriver no one ever moved. Someone, probably Bart, had left a hoodie crumpled on top of a speaker.
ââIâm just saying, it hits harder if we start with it,â Bart said, pacing in quick, restless loops that took him dangerously close to tripping every few steps. âLikeâimmediate impact, no buildup, justââ His foot caught on a cable. He stumbled, caught himself, kept going. ââboom.â
Cassie didnât even look up from where she sat on the arm of the couch, her guitar resting across her lap. âIf you fall, Iâm not helping you.â
âThat was intentional.â
âThat was not intentional.â
Tim sat in a folding chair near the corner, laptop balanced on his knee, the faint blue light from the screen reflecting in his eyes. His fingers moved steadily, barely pausing. âIt was not intentional,â he said.
Bart pointed at him. âYou werenât even watching.â
âI donât need to be.â
Conner leaned back against the wall near the amp, arms crossed, one foot braced behind him. The wood paneling was cool through his shirt, grounding in a way the rest of the room wasnât. He wasnât really listening. Not fully. His attention kept drifting, slipping, pulling toward something just out of reach.
The door creaked slightly as someone walked past outside. His head turned. Just for a second. Then back. Bart stopped mid-step. ââŠOh.â
Conner didnât look at him. âDonât.â
Cassieâs hand stilled on the strings. âWait, what?â
Bartâs grin spread slowly, like heâd just figured something out. âHe just checked the door.â
âI didnât check the door.â
âYou checked the door.â
âI looked at the door.â
âThatâs checking the door.â
âThatâs notââ Conner cut himself off, pushing off the wall and running a hand through his hair. âDrop it.â
Cassie shifted slightly, turning toward him now, interest sharp and immediate. âOh, no. Absolutely not. Who are we waiting for?â
Bart let out a loud gasp. âWeâre waiting for someone.â
âWe are,â Bart said, already turning to Cassie. âHeâs been weird all day.â
âIâm always weird.â
âYeah, but like, specific weird,â Bart shot back.
Tim didnât look up. âYou checked your phone six times in the last ten minutes.â
Conner shot him a look. âYou counting?â
Cassie leaned back a little, balancing easily as she watched Conner, eyes narrowing just slightly. âIs this the girl?â
Bartâs entire face lit up. âOh my god, it is.â
âIt is,â Cassie cut in, pointing at him with her pick. âThe one from campus. The one you keep disappearing with.â
âI donât disappearââ
âYou left mid-conversation yesterday.â
âYou were talking about cereal.â
âIt was not important.â
âIt was very important,â Bart said, offended. âThere are tiersââ
âFocus,â Cassie said, not even looking at him now. Her attention stayed locked on Conner. âSheâs coming here?â
Conner hesitated. Just for a second. ââŠMaybe.â
Bart made a noise like heâd just won something. âNo way.â
Cassie laughed, shaking her head slightly. âOh, this is gonna be so bad.â
âSheâs just coming to watch,â Conner said, pushing himself off the wall fully now and grabbing his guitar from where it leaned against the amp. The strap slid over his shoulder in one practiced motion. If he started setting up maybe theyâd stop talking.
Bart turned slowly, looking around the garage like he was seeing it for the first time. Then back at Conner. ââŠWe should clean.â
âWe should definitely clean.â
âWeâre not cleaning.â
Cassie glanced around too this time, the cables, the clutter, the half-broken stool in the corner. ââŠWe should clean.â
âWeâre not cleaning,â Conner repeated, sharper now.
Tim finally looked up. Not quickly. Not dramatically. Just⊠lifting his gaze, studying Conner for a second longer than usual. âYou know she wonât care about this,â Conner added.
Tim tilted his head slightly. âYeah.â A beat. âBut you do.â
Cassieâs brows lifted. Bart went, âOhhhââ
âShut up,â Conner muttered, dragging a hand through his hair again, more restless this time.
Bart grinned. âYou like her.â
âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
âYou invited her here,â Cassie cut in. âThat already says enough.â
âThat says a lot,â Tim added.
Conner exhaled sharply, shaking his head. âYouâre all annoying.â
âAnd youâre nervous,â Bart shot back.
âYou just checked the clock again.â Conner stilled.
Then, very deliberately, did not look at the clock. Cassie watched that happen and actually laughed. âOh my god.â
Bart followed her gaze. âWhat time is it?âÂ
No one answered. Tim glanced once. â5:56.â
The number sat in the air for a second. Too close now. Bart clapped his hands together once. âAlright. Everyone act normal.â
âNo one here is normal,â Cassie said.
Tim shut his laptop with a quiet click. Conner adjusted his grip on his guitar, fingers tightening slightly around the neck. âSheâll be fine,â he said, more to himself than anyone else. But even as the words left his mouth, Connerâs attention slipped, unwilling, automatic, back toward the open garage. His eyes flicked to the door again. And this time something was there.
Not yet. Just light. Headlights, cutting through the dim, uneven glow of the garage in a slow, deliberate sweep. The beam stretched across the concrete floor, long and clean, sliding over tangled cables, the edge of a scuffed sneaker, the leg of the couch. It didnât belong there. It was too sharp. Too controlled. The low hum of an engine followed a second later.
The kind of sound that didnât rattle or stutter or strain, just existed, steady and precise in a way nothing in this space was. Bart stopped mid-step. ââŠNo way.â
Cassie turned toward the opening, her hand stilling against the strings of her guitar, brows pulling together slightly. âWhoââ
The car came into full view as it pulled up just outside. And it didnât just arrive. It settled. Low to the ground, sleek, polished to the point where the fading daylight caught along its surface and held there, reflecting clean lines instead of breaking against them. It looked like it had been placed there, not driven. Like it belonged somewhere else entirely, and had somehow ended up here by mistake.
Bart took a step closer to the garage opening, like he couldnât help himself. âNo. No, thatâsââ
The engine cut. The sudden quiet pressed in, heavier now. Then the driverâs door opened. And you stepped out like you belonged to the car. Not in a way that tried to draw attention. Not exaggerated. Just⊠natural. Like it had never occurred to you that you might not.
Your shoes met the pavement with a soft, controlled sound, low heels, completely impractical for the uneven street, but you didnât falter. Not even a slight shift in balance. The fabric of your outfit caught the light as you moved, something understated at first glance, but the kind of understated that only worked because it was expensive. Clean lines. Structured. Perfectly fitted in a way that didnât need adjusting, except you adjusted it anyway. A small motion. Your hand smoothing over your sleeve as you rounded the front of the car. Unconscious. Habitual. Like you were fixing something no one else could see. You closed the door behind you with a quiet click.
Bart just stared. ââŠNo.â
Cassie let out a short, disbelieving laugh under her breath, pushing herself up from the couch. âOkay.â
Tim didnât move. But his gaze sharpened. Subtle. Focused. Taking in the details the others didnât even know to look for, the car, the way you moved, the way nothing about you felt uncertain for even a second. Connerâ
Conner didnât look at the car anymore. Just you. Because even dressed down, even trying, in your own way, to make this feel casual, there was something about you that didnât translate to a place like this. Not wrong. Not uncomfortable. Just⊠separate. Like you had stepped into the wrong setting and decided it didnât matter.
You paused at the edge of the garage. Just for a second. Your gaze moved across the space, quick, efficient. The cables, the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the dim lighting that didnât quite reach the corners. You took it in the same way you took everything else. Without reacting. Without hesitation. Assessing.Â
Then you stepped inside anyway. No pause. No adjustment. Like you had already decided you would. âHi,â you said. Your voice was softer than the room, but it carried anyway, cutting cleanly through the lingering quiet.
Bart blinked. Once. Then again. âHi,â he echoed, like he was still catching up.
You gave him a small smile, polite, practiced, just enough to acknowledge him without giving anything more.
Cassie watched that, interest flickering immediately, something sharper settling behind her expression. Tim gave a slight nod. âHey.â
Your eyes lingered on him for a second longer than the others. Then your attention shifted back to Conner. âYou werenât kidding,â you said, glancing around again, your tone light, almost thoughtful. âThis is⊠very you.â
It wasnât cutting. It wasnât dismissive. If anything, it sounded like you meant it. Bart leaned toward Cassie, not even attempting to lower his voice enough. âThat felt like judgment.â
âIt wasnât,â you said lightly, not looking at him.
You tilted your head just slightly, like you were considering correcting him, then didnât. Cassie let out a quiet laugh under her breath.
Conner exhaled slowly through his nose, something close to a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it. âYou made it.â
âOf course I did,â you said. Like there had never been a question. Like there had never been a version of this where you wouldnât.
For a moment, no one moved. The air in the garage felt thinner somehow, stretched tight between the four of them and you sitting just off to the side. The hum of the amps, the faint buzz of electricity, even the distant sounds from the street outside, all of it seemed to dull, like the room itself was waiting.
Then Bart clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cracking through the quiet.
âOkay, yeah. Cool. Great,â he said quickly, a little too loudly, like he needed to fill the space before it settled again. âWeâre doing this.â
Cassie huffed a quiet laugh, already reaching for her guitar, fingers brushing over the strings as she adjusted it against her shoulder. âRelax.â
âI am relaxed,â Bart shot back immediately, which only proved that he wasnât. He dragged a hand through his hair, already shifting his weight again. âIâve never been more relaxed.â
âYouâre pacing again.â
âI pace when Iâm relaxed.â
âYou pace when youâre thinking too much.â
âIâm notââ Bart cut himself off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he was resetting. âWhatever. Are we starting or are we just standing here?â
Tim had already reopened his laptop, the soft glow lighting his face again as his fingers moved, steady and precise. âWe should probably start.â
Cassie slid off the arm of the couch, adjusting the strap of her guitar into place. Then, almost as an afterthought, she glanced toward you and gestured loosely. âYou can sit.â
You looked at the couch. Not just at it, at it. The scattered papers, the uneven cushion, the hoodie thrown across the back like it had been dropped there hours ago and forgotten. Your gaze moved over each detail quickly, efficiently, taking it in the same way you had taken in the rest of the garage.
Then you crossed the space. No hesitation. You moved things aside, not carelessly, not with the absent shove someone else mightâve used, but deliberately. Papers stacked instead of pushed. Fabric folded instead of tossed. You adjusted the space until it made sense, until it was usable. Then you sat. Even that felt intentional.
Conner noticed. Of course he did. His fingers settled against the strings of his guitar, but his attention drifted, just for a second, back to you. You had already leaned back slightly into the couch, one arm resting along the top, your posture relaxed but not careless.
You were watching. Not idly. Not like someone killing time. Focused. Present. Like you meant to understand what you were seeing. Something in his chest shifted.
âAlright,â Cassie said, testing a chord. The sound rang out, sharp at first, then settling as it filled the space. âFrom the top?â
Bart grabbed his sticks, spinning one once between his fingers before catching it, the motion quick and practiced. âFrom the top.â
Tim shut his laptop, grabbing his bass from itâs stand. âReady.â
Conner pushed off the wall, stepping forward into place. The strap of his guitar settled more firmly across his shoulder as he adjusted his grip, fingers finding their position without thinking. He glanced at you. Just once. Then looked away. âYeah,â he said.
They started. It wasnât clean. It never was. The first chord rang out just a little too sharp, Bart came in half a beat early, Cassie adjusted mid-strum without missing a second, and Tim muttered something under his breath as he corrected it, the sound tightening piece by piece. For a moment, it was messy. Unsteady. Then, it clicked.
The rhythm locked in, settling into something solid, something intentional. The sound filled the garage, pushing into the corners, vibrating faintly through the floor beneath their feet. And Connerâ
Conner changed. It wasnât obvious at first. But it was there. The tension in his shoulders loosened, bleeding out as he leaned into the movement instead of holding himself back. His focus sharpened, everything narrowing down to the timing, the sound, the pull of it. His fingers pressed more firmly into the strings, each movement more certain than the last.
He didnât look at you. Not again. But he knew you were there. He could feel it. A low, constant awareness, sitting just under everything else. Every shift of his weight, every step forward or back, every note that rang a little stronger than it needed to, it was all threaded through with it.
You didnât move much. You didnât fidget, didnât reach for your phone, didnât let your attention drift the way someone bored might. You watched. Your gaze moved across the room, following the rhythm as it built, the way Bart leaned into the beat with restless energy, the way Cassie anchored everything with steady precision, the way Tim adjusted without ever making it obviousâ
Conner. Your attention stayed on him longer. Not obvious. But consistent. Like you had already decided he was the center of it. He felt it. Even without looking. It pressed under his skin, something restless, something sharper, something that made his next chord hit harder, cleaner.
Bart noticed first. A quick glance over, a grin flickering across his face before he snapped back into the rhythm. Cassie caught it next, the shift, the edge, and without saying anything, she matched it, letting the sound build around it instead of against it.
Tim noticed everything. Of course he did. His gaze flicked briefly toward you, then back to Conner, something thoughtful settling in his expression before he adjusted again, subtly tightening the sound, pulling everything into place. The music built. Layer by layer. Until it wasnât just noise in a garage anymore. It was something fuller. Something intentional. Something that filled the space you had stepped into, and somehow made it feel like you belonged there.
When it ended, the last note lingered for a second before fading into the quiet.
Bart exhaled loudly, dropping his shoulders. âOkay, yeah. That was better.â
Cassie nodded once, satisfied. âYeah.â
Tim closed his laptop halfway, glancing up. âIt was.â
Conner adjusted his grip on the guitar, rolling his shoulders slightly as the tension settled back in now that the music had stopped. For a second, he didnât look at you. Then, he did. You were already looking at him. And something in your expression had shifted. Not just interest. Not just curiosity. Something more certain. âYouâre good,â you said. Simple. Direct. Like it wasnât a compliment. Just a fact.
Conner let out a quiet breath, glancing away for half a second before looking back again. âYeah?â
âI wouldnât have stayed if you werenât.â He didnât respond right away. Didnât have anything to say that wouldnât feel like too much, like more than he meant to give. So instead, he just nodded once, shifting his weight slightly.
Bart, of course, broke the moment. âOkay, wait,â he said, pointing between the two of you. âWhat is happening hereââ
âNothing,â Conner said.
âSomething,â Cassie corrected.
Tim didnât say anything. He just watched. The quiet that followed the music didnât quite settle before Bart broke it, the way he always did. His sticks hit the snare with a loose clatter as he stepped forward, like he physically couldnât hold himself back any longer. âOkay, hi. Hi, Iâm Bart.â
The words came out fast, overlapping themselves a little. You blinked, like you were just now pulling your attention away from Conner and back into the rest of the room, and then you smiled. Not polite. Not practiced. Just easy. âHey.â
Conner felt it before he really processed it, that shift. The way the room changed around you when you did that. Cassie huffed out a laugh under her breath, pushing herself up from where sheâd been leaning. âHeâs been waiting to say that for, like, ten minutes.â
âYou literally walked over here.â
âI walk places,â Bart shot back, gesturing vaguely like that proved his point.
You laughed at that, soft at first, then a little brighter, and shifted on the couchâtucking one leg under you, settling in like you planned to stay longer than just a few minutes. âI like him,â you said, glancing at Cassie.
Bart didnât miss a beat. âI like you.â
âI make quick decisions.â
âThatâs not a good thing,â Tim said from behind them, voice flat.
âItâs an efficient thing.â
Cassie shook her head, but she was smiling now, stepping closer. âIâm Cassie.â
You looked up at her, still smiling. âI know. Conner told me.â
Cassieâs brows lifted, something curious flickering behind her expression as her gaze slid, quick and subtle, toward Conner. Conner looked away immediately. The wall, the amp, the floor, anything but them.
Bart, of course, went the opposite direction. âWait, what did he say about me?â he asked, already leaning in like he was expecting something important.
You paused for a second, like you were actually thinking about it. ââŠNothing.â
Bart froze. âThatâs crazy,â he said, completely serious. âThatâs actually insane.â
You laughed again, this time fuller, the sound cutting through the room in a way that felt⊠lighter than everything that had been there before. âIâm kidding,â you said quickly. âHe said you talk a lot.â
Bart considered that. Then nodded. âThatâs fair. I do talk a lot.â
âThatâs okay,â you said, a little quick, a little bright. âI like people who talk.â
Cassieâs smile shifted at that, something softer now, less assessing. Tim walked over, slower than the rest, his movements measured. âHey.â
You looked at him differently than the others. Longer. There was recognition there. Context. Something already established that didnât need to be explained out loud. âHey.â
That was it. Bart looked between the two of you, clearly not satisfied. âI still donât understand that.â
âThey know each other,â Conner said, his voice cutting in before Bart could keep going.
Bart frowned. âThat doesnât explain anything.â
âItâs not supposed to.â
Bart stared at Tim like he might push it further. Tim didnât give him anything. After a second, Bart let it go, with visible effort, and turned back to you instead, like you were the more interesting puzzle anyway. âSo, whatâd you think?â he asked, gesturing vaguely around the garage.
You followed the motion, your gaze moving across the space again. Slower this time. Taking it in, not just the mess, but the way it worked despite it. The way everything felt a little chaotic but still⊠held together. Then your eyes landed on Conner. âI liked it,â you said. Simple.
Bart squinted. âThatâs it?â
You smiled a little, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. âWhat do you want me to say?â
You laughed again, a little embarrassed this time. âIâm not cool.â
Cassie snorted. âThatâs not true.â
You waved that off immediately. âNo, I just, I donât know enough about this to sound impressive.â
âThatâs fine,â Bart said. âI sound impressive enough for everyone.â
âThatâs also not true,â Tim added.
You smiled at that, looking between them, something about your expression loosening, like you were settling into the rhythm of them now instead of observing from the outside. Then your attention shifted back. To Conner. âYouâre really good,â you said. It came out lighter than before. Less weight. But it still landed.
Conner felt it hit somewhere lower this time, quieter, but deeper. He shifted his weight slightly, adjusting the strap of his guitar like he needed something to do with his hands. âYeah?â he said.
You nodded. âYeah. Like, I didnât expect it to sound that put together.â
Bart made a noise somewhere between offended and impressed. âOkay, wait, Iâm choosing to take that as a compliment.â
âIt is,â you said quickly, laughing. âI promise.â
Cassie shook her head, smiling. âYouâre doing great.â
âThank you,â you said, still laughing a little under your breath. And it didnât feel forced. That was the thing. You werenât trying to keep up with them. You just⊠did.
Bart grabbed a water bottle off the table, twisting the cap open and taking a quick drink before looking back at you. âOkay, important question, what do you listen to?â
You hesitated for a second, not unsure, just thinking, then answered. A few artists. A mix. Nothing overexplained. Just enough. Cassie nodded at one of them. Timâs brows lifted slightly at another. Bart reacted to all of it like it was the most important information heâd received all day. And the conversation kept moving. Not structured. Just⊠flowing.
You asked things back. Laughed when Bart got dramatic. Let Cassie explain something without interrupting her halfway through. Tilted your head slightly when you didnât understand something instead of pretending you did. And slowly the space shifted. You didnât feel like you had just stepped into it anymore. You were part of it. Still different. Still⊠something separate. But not outside. And Connerâ
Conner noticed that before anyone else did. He watched the way you leaned in just slightly when someone else was talking. The way your attention stayed where you put it. The way you didnât try to take over the room, but somehow still held space in it anyway. The way you smiled. The way you laughed. The way none of it looked forced.
The conversation didnât really end. It just⊠slowed. Bart was still talking, something about a show theyâd played that had gotten shut down halfway through, but even that started to fade into the background, the energy of the room settling into something looser, less chaotic.
You shifted slightly on the couch, your foot brushing the floor as you untucked your leg, smoothing your hands over your jeans like you were grounding yourself again. Conner noticed that too. Of course he did. Your eyes moved around the garage one more time, not searching this time. Just taking it in. The amps stacked unevenly in the corner. The tangle of cords near the wall. The scuffed floor. The way everything looked like it shouldnât work, but somehow did. Then you exhaled softly. âI should probably go,â you said. It wasnât abrupt. It wasnât reluctant either.
Bart blinked. âAlready?â
You smiled a little. âI have an early class tomorrow.â
âThatâs fake,â Bart said immediately. âNo one actually goes to those.â
âI do,â you said, laughing softly.
âItâs called being responsible.â
âThatâs not a real thing.â
Cassie nudged him lightly with her shoulder. âIgnore him.â
âDonât worry Iâm trying,â you said, still smiling. You stood then, smoothing your hands over your sides again, subtle, practiced, and reached for your bag, slipping it over your shoulder with that same careful precision Conner had noticed in class.
Tim pushed himself off the wall. âYou heading back to campus?â
âI canââ Conner startedÂ
âIâm good,â you said quickly. Too quick. But this time, it didnât feel like nerves. It felt⊠intentional. Tim caught it. So did Conner.
Tim just nodded. âText me when you get back.â
You adjusted the strap of your bag once more, then glanced between them, Bart, Cassie, Tim, like you were committing them to memory in a way that didnât feel conscious. Then your eyes landed on Conner. And stayed. The room didnât go quiet. But it might as well have. You stepped a little closer to him, not enough for anyone else to clock it as anything, but enough that he noticed. Enough that it meant something. âThanks,â you said. Simple. But not casual.
âFor what?â he asked.
âFor letting me come.â
Conner huffed softly. âYou want to comeâ
âStill,â you said. A small pause settled between you. Closer now. Quieter. You shifted your weight slightly, your fingers brushing against the strap of your bag before stilling. Then, âYou can come by sometime,â you said. It came out easy. Like it wasnât a big deal. But it was. âMy dormâs on campus. Itâs not far.â
Conner blinked once, caught off guard, not by the words, but by how casually you said them. Like you did this all the time. Like you invited people into your space without thinking. But something about it didnât feel casual. Not really. âYeah?â he said.
You nodded once. âYeah.â A beat. Then, a little softerâ âIf you want.â There it was. That shift. Not polished. Not practiced. Just⊠real.
Conner dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling quietly as he nodded. âYeah. I might.âÂ
Your lips curved. Not wide. Not showy. Just enough. âIâll hold you to that,â you said. That sounded more like you. More certain. More in control. But it didnât erase what had come before it. Not completely. Another second passed. Then you stepped back. Breaking it. âIâll see you around, Conner.â And just like that, you turned.
Bart called something after you, too fast, too loud, Cassie telling him to relax, Tim already reaching for his phone like he meant what he said about texting. But Conner didnât hear most of it. He was watching you. The way you moved through the garage, slipping past things without knocking into them. The way the door opened, light from outside cutting in for a secondâ
Then you were gone. The noise rushed back in. Too loud again. Too much. Conner let out a slow breath, dropping his hand from his hair. ââŠDude,â Bart said immediately, turning to him. âWhat was that?â Conner didnât answer. Didnât look away from the door. Yeah. That definitely wasnât random.
It didnât take long. A few days, maybe. Not enough time for anything real to form, just enough for it to start feeling like something. You showed up again. Not in a way that asked for attention, not like the first night where the room bent toward you, but quieter. Easier. Like you already knew where to stand, where to sit, how to exist in the space without disrupting it.
The second time, Conner didnât think much of it. The third time, he noticed. By the fourth, it wouldâve been stranger if you hadnât been there. You still didnât act like you belonged. Not completely. Your bag always stayed tucked neatly out of the way, your movements still a little too careful for the cluttered mess of the garage. You watched more than you spoke at first, asking questions when something caught your attention, about chords, about why something sounded off, about how they knew when to come back in.
You didnât pretend to understand. You just wanted to. And then, somewhere in between, you started to settle. You laughed quicker. Interrupted Bart without apologizing. Leaned forward when Cassie was explaining something instead of staying back. Sat on the floor once, just dropped down without thinking, before you seemed to realize what youâd done and didnât move from it.
Conner noticed that. He noticed everything. It didnât stay in the garage either. You showed up to class. Sat next to him again, like it wasnât a question anymore. Your things lined up neatly on the desk, your pen tapping lightly against your notebook in a rhythm that almost matched his, but not quite. You asked him things sometimes, not big things, not important things. Just small ones, like you were filling in pieces of something. âWhat kind of music do you actually like?â
âWhyâd you pick guitar?â
âDo you ever write your own stuff?â
He didnât always answer. You didnât always push. But you remembered. That was the thing. You remembered everything. The walk out of class started happening too. Not planned. Not acknowledged. Just⊠there. Falling into step beside each other like it was the easiest option, like it didnât need to be anything more than that. Sometimes you talked. Sometimes you didnât. And somehow, the quiet didnât feel empty.
It didnât take long. Just a few days. But it was enough. Enough that your presence started to feel expected. Enough that Conner found himself looking for you without meaning to.
The walk across campus felt longer than it should have. Not far. Youâd said that. And you hadnât been lying. But it still took him a minute to find the building, too many identical brick halls, too many people coming and going, too much light spilling out from windows that all looked the same.
Conner shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets as he slowed near the entrance, glancing up at the number above the door just to make sure. This was it. He hesitated. Just for a second. Which was stupid. It wasnât like he hadnât done this before, gone to someoneâs place, hung out, whatever. It shouldnât feel like anything. And yet it did. Different. Quieter. He could still hear your voice in the back of his head.
You can come by sometime.
Casual. Like it hadnât mattered. He exhaled slowly and pushed the door open. The hallway was warmer than outside, the air still and a little too quiet compared to the garage. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Doors lined both sides, some open, voices spilling out in low hums, music from somewhere down the hall, a laugh that echoed and then faded.
Conner checked the number again. Then started walking. His boots were quieter here. Less echo. Less presence. He slowed as he got closer. Your door was at the end of the hall. Slightly open. Not wide, but just enough. He was about to knock. Then he heard your voice. ââŠIâm serious.â
He stilled. Didnât mean to. Justâ
There was another voice, your friend, maybe. Lighter, amused.
âI donât know, it still feels kind of, mean?â
âItâs not mean,â you said quickly. Too quickly. Connerâs hand hovered just above the door. ââŠitâs justâheâs perfect for it.â
Something in his chest tightened. He didnât move. Didnât breathe.
âPerfect for what?â your friend asked.Â
A small pause. âYouâve met my parents,â you said, a quiet laugh slipping into your voice. âTheyâd hate him.â Not cruel. Not even harsh. Just⊠certain.
âHeâs in a band. He doesnât care about any of that stuff. HeâsââÂ
You hesitated. And for a second, Conner almost stepped away. Almost. Then you finished it. ââexactly the kind of person theyâd never approve of.â Silence.
Then your friend again, softer this time. âOkay⊠but thatâs kind of the point, isnât it?â
He could hear you shifting, fabric against fabric, maybe pacing. ââŠyeah,â you admitted. Quieter now. âBut I justââ you exhaled. âI need them to see that Iâm not a kid anymore.â
Connerâs jaw tightened slightly. Something sharp settled under his ribs. Not anger. Not yet. Something worse. Recognition. âIâm not doing anything wrong,â you added quickly, like you were convincing yourself as much as her. âI just, heâs⊠easy.â
That one landed. Hard. The hallway felt smaller all of a sudden. Too quiet. Your friend didnât answer right away. ââŠdoes he know that?â she asked.
Connerâs hand dropped slowly from where it hovered near the door. He stared at the thin gap between the frame and the wall, light spilling through it in a narrow strip across the floor. He should leave. That was the obvious move. Justâ
Pretend he never got there.Â
Pretend he never heard it.
But his feet didnât move. Because under all of thatâ Under the words, under the intention. He could still hear something else. The way youâd said:
I wanted something different.
The way youâd looked at him when you said:
Conner let out a slow breath through his nose, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. Yeah. That part hadnât been fake. That was the problem. He stepped forward. Knocked.
The voices inside cut off immediately. Movement. Quick. A shuffle. Then the door opened. And there you were. For a split second you just stared at him. Like you werenât expecting him. Like you hadnât just been talking about him. Then your expression shifted. Smoothed. Controlled. âHey,â you said. Like nothing had happened.
Conner looked at you. Really looked. Trying to find the version of you from inside the room. Trying to line it up with the one standing in front of him.
âHey,â he said back. And his voice gave nothing away.Â
