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Wanda does not chase.

She doesn’t need to.

At thirty-six, she’s already built an empire out of quiet precision and sharp instincts, tailored suits, controlled smiles, and a reputation that turns heads before she even enters a room. People come to her. People wait for her.

So when she finds herself standing outside a university lecture hall at 6:15 PM, watching students spill out in loud, careless waves, she knows something has gone terribly wrong.

Or…terribly right.

You emerge laughing, head tipped back, eyes crinkled, backpack slipping off one shoulder like she doesn’t care enough to fix it. She’s sunlight in human form. Loud, messy, and alive.

Everything Wanda is not.

And yet…

“There you are,” Wanda says, voice calm but edged with something softer.

You freeze mid-step.

“...You’re still doing this?”

Wanda tilts her head. “Doing what?”

“Showing up,” you say, lowering your voice as your friends glance between the two of you with poorly concealed curiosity. “Look…you’re a CEO. Don’t you have, like…meetings to attend or something?”

“I rescheduled one,” Wanda replies simply.

“You—” You choked out a laugh. “You rescheduled a meeting for this?”

“For you.”

That shuts you up.

It always does.

You hate that.

Because Wanda says things like that, direct and unwavering, as if there’s no room for doubt. And you? You’re made of doubt.

“You don’t have to do this,” you mutter, tugging your bag higher onto your shoulders. “I already told you, I’m not…this isn’t—I’m not your type.”

Wanda steps closer, heels clicking softly against the pavement. “And what exactly is my type, then?”

“I-I don’t know, someone…older? More put-together, I guess? Definitely someone who fits into your world.”

“And you don’t think you do?”

“I know I don’t, Wanda.”

There it is. The wall. Very solid and familiar.

Wanda studies you for a moment, noting the way you avoid eye contact now, the slight tightening of your jaw. You’re not being modest. You’re defending yourself.

Against something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Wanda exhales softly. Then…

“Dinner tonight.”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner,” Wanda repeats. “There’s a place not far from here. Casual. No dress code. You won’t feel out of place.”

“I…I didn’t say I’d feel out of place—”

“You implied it.”

“I didn’t—” you groan, running a hand through your hair. “You know what? You’re impossible.”

“And you’re avoiding my question.”

“What question?”

“Dinner. Yes or no?”

You open your mouth.

Closes it.

“...No.”

Wanda nods once. “Alright.”

And just like that, she turns.

You watch her go, confused.

Because Wanda doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t insist.

She just…accepts it.

—

The next day, there’s a coffee waiting on your desk.

Not just any coffee—your favorite coffee blend, a Spanish latte. Iced, oat milk, two pumps of condensed milk, and two shots of espresso.

You stared at it as if it might explode.

“Who…?”

“Delivery,” your classmate shrugs. “From someone named…Wanda? If I remember it correctly.”

You groan, dropping your head onto your desk.

—

Day three, it’s a book.

One you mentioned off-handedly exactly a month ago, out of stock already.

There’s a note tucked inside:

You said you wanted this. So, I bought you one. —W

—

Day five, it’s lunch.

Not fancy. Not intimidating. Just your favorite cheap takeout, still warm, delivered right as your class ends.

You storm out of the lecture hall, phone pressed to your ear.

“Wanda…you need to stop.”

On the other end, Wanda’s voice is calm. “Stop what?”

“This…this courting thing. It’s ridiculous.”

“Is it working?”

“What? That—That’s not my point here.”

“Then what is?”

You falter.

Because the truth is…it is working.

Every small, thoughtful thing. Every quiet gesture that doesn’t feel like pity or charity or some twisted power play.

It feels really…intentional.

Personal, even.

As if Wanda actually studied who you are. Like Wanda actually sees you…for who you are.

And that’s exactly what terrifies you.

“You’re wasting your time,” you say, softer now. “I’m not…I’m not someone you date, Wanda.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because I’m—” you gesture vaguely, even though Wanda can’t see you. “This…I’m a mess, alright? I don’t belong in your world.”

There’s a pause.

Then…

She spoke your name.

Your name, spoken like that, low, steady, and grounding.

“I’m not asking you to fit into my world.”

“Then…what are you asking?”

“I’m asking to be part of yours.”

Your breath catches.

“That’s…That’s not how this works…”

“It is…for me.”

“You’re going to get bored,” you insist, clinging to the argument like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “You’re used to…polished…mature people. I’m…not like any of that.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“Then…what do you want?”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

And when Wanda speaks again, her voice is quieter, but heavier.

“You.”

That’s it.

No elaboration. No conditions, not even qualifications.

Just…

You.

Your chest tightens painfully.

“You…You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You think you do,” you correct quickly. “But you don’t. You like…the idea of me. T-The novelty. The—”

“Come with me tonight.”

You exhale sharply. “Wanda—”

“No grand restaurants, nor expectations. Just a walk, outside.”

“...A walk?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…your big plan?”

“For now, it is.”

You hesitate.

Because it sounds so…normal.

Too normal for someone like Wanda.

“...Fine,” you mutter. “One walk.”

—

It’s not what you expected.

No fancy cars, nor business suits.

Wanda meets you outside the campus in a simple blouse and slacks, hair tied back, looking…softer. Less intimidating.

More real…?

“You came,” Wanda says.

You sigh, “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“I won’t.”

Both of you walk.

Just a walk.

Side by side, through quiet streets and dimly lit paths, talking about nothing and everything: classes, work, and random thoughts. Wanda listens more than she speaks, but when she does, it’s deliberate. Engaged.

Interested.

In you.

And you… start to notice things.

Like how Wanda slows her pace to match yours.

How she remembers small details.

How she doesn’t try to impress…just connect.

By the time both of you stop at a small convenience store for drinks, your guard has cracks in it.

“You’re…not what I expected,” you admit, sipping your soda.

Wanda glances at you. “Is that a bad thing?”

“...I don’t know yet.”

Wanda smiles faintly.

And God, that smile…it’s not the polished one from boardrooms and press photos. It’s…softer. Almost shy.

It does something dangerous to your heart.

“You still think I’m above you?” Wanda asks quietly.

You hesitate.

“Well…yes.”

Wanda nods slowly. “Then I’ll have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Showing you that I’m not above you…that I’m just as normal as you are.”

You look at her; you really look at her.

At the woman who could have anyone. Who does have everyone’s attention.

And yet…

She’s here.

Walking beside you.

Choosing you.

Over and over again.

“...You’re insane,” you whisper. “Probably.”

“And…definitely stubborn.”

“Definitely.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Then, softer…

“Wanda…why me?”

Wanda doesn’t hesitate this time. “Because you make me feel things that I haven’t felt in a long time.”

Your breath catches.

“And…because,” Wanda continues, stepping just a little closer, “you’re worth the effort.”

Silence stretches between the two of you.

Thick. Fragile.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure Wanda can hear it.

“I-I don’t know how…to be in your world,” you admit.

“You don’t have to.”

“And what if I mess it up?”

Wanda reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

Her fingers wrap gently around your wrist, grounding and steady.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Wanda says. “Together.”

You swallow hard.

Because for the first time…

You believe her.

Not completely.

Not fully yet.

But enough.

“...You’re really not going to stop, are you?”

Wanda’s lips curve slightly. “No.”

A beat.

Then…

“...Good,” you whisper.

And this time, when Wanda smiles…

It’s not distant.

Not controlled.

It’s…warm.

The party is already too loud by the time you decide you want to leave.

Not because it’s bad, exactly. It’s just one of those sticky-floor, overpacked, badly lit house parties where the bass from the speakers makes the walls hum and everyone is either making out in a hallway or shouting directly into each other’s ears like that somehow counts as conversation.

You’re halfway through your fourth drink, leaning against the kitchen counter and wondering if disappearing without saying goodbye would make you a terrible person, when you first notice her.

She’s standing by the snack table like it personally offended her.

Tall. Pretty in that kind of accidental way that almost doesn’t seem fair. A little disheveled, a little pink-cheeked already, with a striped button-up tucked into jeans and a red plastic cup dangling from her fingers.

And she is talking.

Not just talking…spiraling, actually.

“...because why would anyone put raisins in potato salad?” she says to a girl who looks like she stopped listening thirty seconds ago. “Like, that’s not innovation, that’s sabotage. That’s culinary terrorism, actually. If I die tonight, and they do an autopsy, and they find raisin potato salad in my system, I need that on the record as foul play.”

You snort before you can stop yourself.

Her head turns immediately.

Her eyes land on you.

And then, somehow, she gets even more flustered.

“Oh my God,” she says, staring at you. “You heard that. Cool. Great. Awesome. Love that for me.”

You lift your cup. “For the record, I agree. Raisins in potato salad should be illegal.”

She points at you like you’ve just said something profound. “Exactly. Thank you. Finally, someone with ethics.”

The girl next to her mumbles something about needing another drink and disappears into the crowd.

She watches her go, then looks back at you with a sheepish little smile. “So, uh…hi.”

“Hi.”

There’s a beat where she just looks at you.

Then she blurts, “I’m…Robin.”

You tell her your name.

She repeats it immediately, like she’s testing how it sounds in her mouth. It shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does, but it does.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and then immediately barrels on. “I mean, obviously. That’s what people say. I’m not trying to sound weird. Or like I’ve never met a person before. Which, to be fair, might be believable right now because I’m—” she lifts her cup, “...like, not drunk drunk, but definitely in that weird in-between state where I either become very charming or deeply embarrassing, and honestly, the odds are not in my favor.”

You smile despite yourself.

“No, keep going,” you say. “I’m interested.”

Her brows lift. “In…my humiliation?”

“In your personality.”

That makes her blink.

Then laugh.

Then immediately look away, smiling into her cup like she doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay,” she says, a little breathless. “Wow. Dangerous thing to tell me, because now I’m going to talk way too much.”

“I kind of got that already.”

She groans. “Yeah, okay, fair.”

You should probably say something normal. Something smooth. Something that doesn’t make it obvious you’ve already decided she’s the most interesting person in the room.

Instead, you ask, “Do you always monologue to strangers near the snack section?”

She gasps, offended. “First of all, not strangers anymore. We’ve moved past that. Second of all, I only monologue when I’m nervous.”

That catches your attention.

“Nervous?”

She takes a sip, then squints at you over the rim of her cup. “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

“The truth.” Robin leans one elbow on the table and says, with complete and sudden sincerity, “You’re really pretty, and I’m trying to play it cool, but unfortunately I was not built for cool.”

You stare at her.

And then you laugh, because the honesty of it hits you all at once.

Her face drops instantly. “Oh no. Oh, God. Okay. See? See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. I overshot. I flew too close to the sun. I—”

“No,” you cut in, stepping closer. “No, I’m laughing because that was actually adorable.”

Robin stops.

“Adorable?” she repeats weakly.

“Painfully, so.”

Her hand goes to her chest. “That’s somehow worse for me.”

You grin. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

The kitchen gets louder around you as more people push in for drinks, bumping shoulders and laughing too hard. Someone starts yelling for ice. Somebody else nearly knocks over a bowl of pretzels.

But Robin’s attention stays on you.

And yours stays on her.

“Want to get out of the kitchen?” you ask.

She nods too quickly. “Yes. Very much. Before I say something else catastrophically stupid near the snack section.”

You take her wrist gently, not enough to drag, just enough to guide and lead her through the crowd. She follows easily, letting herself be pulled after you through the overheated living room, past a couple aggressively making out against the wall, and toward the back porch.

The night air hits cool against your skin the second you step outside.

It’s quieter here. Not silent, there’s still muffled music, the low buzz of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter, but it feels like breathing room.

Robin exhales dramatically. “Oh, thank God. I was like three minutes away from dying in there.”

You lean against the porch railing. “From heatstroke or from talking too much?”

She points at you. “Rude.”

“Honest.”

“Also rude.”

You laugh, and she smiles at the sound like she likes that she caused it.

There’s a string of cheap fairy lights hanging across the porch, casting everything in warm yellow. It catches in Robin’s hair, along the line of her jaw, in the curve of her grin.

You like looking at her.

Maybe a little too much.

“So,” she says, tucking one hand into her pocket, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah. Your vibe. Your whole…thing?” You raise a brow. “That’s a very normal question.”

“Well, I’m a very normal person.”

You give her a look.

She sighs. “Okay, fine. I’m trying to ask if you came here with someone, if you’re having fun, what music you like, whether you’re secretly evil…just, you know. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff.”

You hum thoughtfully. “I might be secretly evil.”

Robin lights up. “Oh, perfect. I love complicated women.”

That one catches you off guard enough to make you laugh again.

And after that, conversation gets easy.

Dangerously easy.

You tell her about the friend who dragged you here. She tells you she almost didn’t come because she spend forty minutes trying to decide if her shirt made her look ‘casually hot or like a substitute teacher who listens to The Clash.’

You nearly choke on your drink.

She keeps going.

About bad movies she secretly loves. About the fact that she talks more when she’s anxious and drinks faster when she’s trying not to think too hard. About how she once got banned from choosing road trip music because she made everyone listen to the same song six times in a row ‘for emotional continuity.’

Every time she gets nervous, she starts rambling.

Every time she rambles, she gets cuter.

And every time she catches you smiling at her, she smiles back like she can’t help it.

At some point, she ends up standing close enough that your knees almost brush.

At some point, your cups are both empty.

At some point, flirting stops being subtle.

“You’re staring,” Robin says softly.

You don’t bother denying it. “Can you blame me?”

She swallows.

“No,” she says, voice quieter now. “Not really.”

The air shifts.

You feel it instantly.

The same way you feel the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. The way her fingers tighten around the empty plastic cup. The way your own pulse has started thudding a little too hard beneath your skin.

Inside, someone screams over what sounds like a drinking game gone wrong.

Out here, it feels like the world has narrowed to just this porch.

Just this girl.

Robin clears her throat. “Can I say something really embarrassing?”

You tilt your head. “You haven’t stopped doing that all night.”

She laughs under her breath, then glances down before meeting your eyes again.

“I really want to kiss you,” she admits.

Your breath catches.

Robin visibly panics the second she says it.

“Unless that’s— I mean, not in a weird pressure way, obviously, because I’m not trying to— God, okay, wow, I am really bad at this…I should’ve just—”

You cut her off by stepping in.

Her mouth falls open a little.

“Robin,” you say, low and steady, “shut up for one second.”

She blinks.

Then nods.

And then you kiss her.

Her reaction is immediate.

Like she’s been waiting for permission to fall apart.

Her free hand catches your waist first, then the other comes up to your jaw, a little clumsy and a little desperate in a way that makes your heart stutter. She kisses like she talks…like she’s trying to say too many things at once, like she feels everything too loudly, like she’s all nerves, honesty, and want.

And God, you like it.

You like the surprised little sound she makes when you kiss her deeper.

You like the way she melts into you, then somehow gets bolder, pressing closer until your back nudges the porch railing.

You like the taste of cheap alcohol and mint and her.

When you pull back, only barely, Robin looks dazed.

Her lips are pink. Her hair is messier than before. Her eyes are wide behind the edges of her nervous smile.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Wow.”

You laugh softly, your hand still at her waist. “You good?”

She nods once.

Then again.

Then says, “I think I forgot my own name for a second.”

“That bad?”

“That good.”

Your face warms.

Robin notices.

And because she’s apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone, she smiles and murmurs, “You’re really cute when you blush.”

“Oh, now you’re feeling confident?”

“No,” she says immediately. “Absolutely not. I’m still actively dying. I’m just dying with more information now.”

You laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you kiss her again.

This one is slower.

Less startled.

More deliberate.

Robin’s hand slips into yours, fingers threading tight like she doesn’t want to lose the moment. Yours slide up under the collar of her shirt, just enough to feel warm skin, and she shivers into your mouth.

When you pull away this time, her forehead rests against yours.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

Then Robin murmurs, “So…this might be incredibly bold of me.”

“Probably.”

She smiles. “Would it be insane if I asked if you wanted to get out of here?”

Your stomach flips.

“Depends,” you say. “Where exactly is ‘out of here’?”

She bites her lip, suddenly shy in a way that nearly kills you.

“My place is, uh…like ten minutes away.”

You study her for a second.

Not because you’re unsure.

Just because you want to see the exact moment she realizes you’re considering it.

Her breath catches when you smile.

“And what happens at your place?” you ask.

Robin groans and drops her head to your shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re evil. You know that? Like, actually evil.”

You laugh, one hand rubbing lightly up her back.

When she lifts her head again, her expression is softer. Less performative. More real.

“We can just hang out,” she says, quieter now. “Talk…make out a little more. Or…a lot more. Or not. Seriously. No pressure. I just…” She hesitates, then smiles nervously. “I kinda don’t want the night to end yet.”

And that…

That gets you.

Not the flirting.

Not even the kissing.

That.

The honesty.

The open, awkward, earnest way she offers herself to you without trying to make it cooler than it is.

You brush a thumb over her cheek.

“Then let’s not end it yet.”

Robin stares at you for half a second.

Then she grins so brightly it almost knocks the air out of you.

“Okay,” she says, trying and failing to sound normal. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Great. Awesome. I’m being super chill about this internally, by the way.”

“Mhm, I can tell.”

“Liar.”

You lace your fingers with hers and tug her gently toward the porch steps.

She follows instantly.

And before either of you heads back inside to grab your things, Robin catches your hand and pulls you back for one more kiss, quick, smiling, and a little crooked.

The kind that already feels like the beginning of something.

The kind that promises the rest of the night is going to be very, very hard to forget.

Robin spends the entire drive trying, and failing, to act normal.

It’s almost cute.

Almost, because every time she glances at you from the driver’s seat, every time her fingers tighten on the steering wheel like she’s physically restraining herself from reaching over and touching you, it sends a fresh spark of heat straight through you.

Her apartment is only ten minutes away.

It somehow feels like an hour.

“You’re being really quiet,” Robin says at a red light, voice pitched too casually.

You turn in your seat to look at her. “Am I?”

She nods once, eyes still fixed ahead. “Yeah. Which is…not bad. Just suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

“Yeah, because now I’m left alone with my own thoughts, and unfortunately, all of them are about you.”

You bite back a smile.

Robin groans the second she realizes what she’s said. “Jesus Christ. See? This is what I mean. I’m not suave, I’m just—”

“Keep talking,” you say softly.

She flicks her eyes toward you.

That tiny, dangerous smile returns to your mouth.

And just like that, she goes pink.

“Oh, you’re evil,” she mutters.

You lean back in your seat, smug. “You’ve said that already.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

By the time she parks, the tension between you feels almost stupid.

Like one wrong move will snap it.

Robin is out of the car first, fumbling slightly with her keys while you round the front and meet her at the building entrance.

She’s halfway through unlocking the main door when she glances over her shoulder and catches you watching her.

And whatever expression is on your face makes her stop cold.

“What?” she asks, breathless already.

You step closer. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe.”

Robin stares at you for one long second.

Then, in a rush, she unlocks the door and says, “If you keep looking at me like that, we are not making it upstairs with our dignity intact.”

You laugh under your breath as you follow her inside.

The hallway is quiet, dimly lit, smelling faintly of old carpet and someone’s burned dinner from another floor. Robin’s apartment is at the end of the corridor, and she nearly drops her keys twice trying to unlock it.

“You okay there?” you murmur behind her.

“No,” she says immediately. “Not even a little.”

The door swings open.

Robin barely gets it shut behind you before she turns around and just…looks at you.

Her apartment is small and lived-in. A little cluttered. Records stacked by a shelf, a jacket thrown over the couch, books and magazines half-piled on the coffee table.

You only notice any of that for a second.

Because Robin is standing there in the low yellow ligt, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling just a little too fast, and looking at you like she’s trying very hard to behave.

And maybe failing.

“Hi,” she says.

You smile. “Hi.”

“I had a whole place,” she admits. “Like, I was going to be cool and offer you a drink and maybe put music on and pretend I know how to host someone I definitely haven’t been fantasizing about kissing again for the last ten minutes.”

Your brows lift.

Robin closes her eyes. “And there goes the rest of my dignity.”

You cross the small space between you before she can spiral any further.

Her breath catches the second your hand settles at her waist.

“You talk too much when you’re nervous,” you murmur.

Her voice comes out smaller now. “I know.”

“Good thing I think it’s cute.”

Robin’s face does that thing again, that sudden soft, stunned look like she doesn’t quite know what to do when you say something that honest back to her.

And then she kisses you first.

This time, there’s no porch railing. No party noises. No interruptions.

Just Robin, warm and eager and a little unsteady as she backs you into the closed front door with a soft thud.

The kiss is immediate heat.

Her hands find your waist like she’s already memorized the shape of you. Yours slide into her hair, and she makes this quiet, helpless sound against your mouth that nearly wrecks you on the spot.

She kisses like she’s trying not to overwhelm you.

Like she’s holding herself back.

And that somehow makes it worse.

Better.

You tilt your head and kiss her deeply, and Robin practically melts.

“Holy shit,” she breathes when your mouth trails from hers just enough to leave her gasping.

You smile against the corner of her lips. “You still with me?”

“Barely.”

Her fingers curl tighter into the fabric at your sides, pulling you closer until there’s almost no space left between you.

You can feel how warm she is.

How badly she wants this.

And the best part, the part that makes your stomach turn over, is how obvious it is that she’s still trying to be careful with you, even while she’s visibly unraveling.

“Can I—” Robin starts, then stops.

You pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Can you what?”

Her throat moves when she swallows.

“Touch you more,” she says, quieter now. “I-If that’s…okay.”

That alone nearly sends heat straight to your face.

You nod once. “Yes.”

Robin exhales like you’ve just handed her something precious.

Then her hands are moving, slowly, like she’s savoring it, up your sides, across your back, over the curve of your waist. Nothing rushed. Nothing careless.

She touches you like she likes touching you.

Like she could spend hours doing just that.

And honestly? You’d let her.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmurs suddenly, forehead resting against yours.

You huff a laugh, already flushed. “You get even chattier when you’re kissing.”

“I know,” she whispers, and then adds, “I’m sorry, I just have a lot of feelings.”

That makes you smile in spite of yourself.

Robin notices immediately.

“Don’t laugh,” she says weakly. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

“You are doing a terrible job.”

Her eyes widen in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too adorable.”

Robin makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh and kisses you again like she’s trying to shut you up.

It almost works.

Almost.

Because the second your hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt just enough to feel the warmth of her skin, she jerks in surprise and lets out the softest little gasp.

And that…

That goes straight to your head.

Robin’s eyes flutter when you do it again, slower this time, your fingertips skimming lightly over her waist.

Her hands brace against the door on either side of you, and she tips her head back just enough for you to see how affected she is.

“You have got to stop doing that,” she says, voice shaky.

You lean in, lips brushing the line of her jaw. “Or what?”

“Or I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”

You smile against her skin. “Too late.”

Robin laughs breathlessly, but it dissolves into a sigh the moment your mouth finds that spot just below her ear.

Her fingers catch at your shirt.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, wow.”

You pull back just enough to look at her.

Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are parted. Her hair is already a little wrecked from your hands.

And she is looking at you like she can’t believe this is happening.

You brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Robin leans into your touch without thinking.

That tiny, instinctive movement nearly undoes you.

“Come here,” you whisper.

She follows instantly.

You tug her away from the door, and she stumbles with a laugh into your space, nearly tripping over her own feet as you guide her backward toward the couch.

“Wow,” Robin says, still breathless. “That was…very smooth of you.”

“You sounded surprised.”

“I am surprised. You’ve been way too composed tonight. It’s suspicious.”

You push her down gently onto the couch.

Robin’s eyes go wide.

And for the first time all night, she actually shuts up.

You step between her knees.

Her hands immediately land on your hips like they belong there.

“Oh,” she says faintly.

You tilt your head. “What happened to all that talking?”

She looks up at you, visibly flustered. “You’re standing over me.”

“And?”

“And I’m trying very hard to remain a person.”

That gets a laugh out of you, soft and helpless.

Robin looks almost drunk on the sound.

Then she reaches for you again, and this time when you go willingly, she pulls you down into her lap with a startled little noise from both of you.

The couch dips beneath your combined weight.

Robin freezes for exactly half a second.

Then her hands settle more securely at your waist.

And her expression changes.

Not cocky.

Not smooth.

Just…a little awestruck.

Like she can’t quite believe she gets to have you here.

You cup her face.

She kisses your palm before she can stop herself.

That nearly ruins you.

“Robin,” you whisper.

“I know,” she whispers back, though she clearly doesn’t know anything at all.

You kiss her again, slower this time, letting it drag.

And she chases every second of it.

Her thumbs stroke absent little patterns into your hips. Yours slip back into her hair. The kiss turns deep and lazy and heated all over again, until breathing starts to feel optional and Robin is squirming beneath you like she doesn’t know what to do with all of herself.

She breaks the kiss first this time, but only to bury her face against your neck.

“You smell really good,” she mumbles.

You laugh softly. “That your move?”

“No,” she says into your skin. “I don’t have moves. I have panic and occasional bravery.”

“Seems to be working for you.”

Robin lifts her head just enough to grin at that.

Then her gaze drops to your mouth again.

Then lower.

Then back up, clearly trying, and failing, not to let her thoughts show on her face.

You notice.

Of course you notice.

And when your fingers tip her chin up, Robin goes warm all over.

“Tell me what you want,” you say quietly.

That does something to her.

Something immediate.

Something visible.

Robin’s breath catches hard enough that you feel it.

Then she lets out a tiny, disbelieving laugh and says, “That is so unfair.”

You smile. “Why?”

“Because now I’m trying to answer that while you’re sitting in my lap looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to kill me.”

You lean in until your lips are just barely brushing hers. “Maybe I am.”

Robin shivers.

Then, quieter, softer, she says, “I want to keep kissing you.”

You do.

Slowly at first.

Then less slowly.

And when the kiss turns messy again, when Robin’s grip tightens and your pulse starts pounding and the room feels too warm and too small and too full of her, it becomes obvious very quickly that if either of you keeps going much longer, neither of you is going to have the self-control to pretend this is staying innocent.

Robin seems to realize it at the exact same time you do.

Because when you pull back, both of you are breathing hard.

And she looks at you like she’s hanging on by a thread.

“I should probably…” she starts, then trails off.

“What?”

She laughs weakly, one hand still spread at your waist. “Offer you water? Pretend I’m capable of making responsible decisions? Not kiss you again immediately?”

You smile, brushing your thumb over her cheek.

“Those are all terrible ideas.”

Robin’s eyes flutter.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I thought so too.”

She kisses you one more time.

Long.

Warm.

Promising.

And when she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours and smiles in that dazed, boyish, hopelessly fond way of hers that makes your chest ache.

“Stay?” she asks quietly.

There’s no joke in it this time.

No nervous overexplaining.

Just Robin.

Open and wanting and a little vulnerable.

You touch her face gently.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ll stay.”

And the smile she gives you after that…

Soft, relieved, a little wrecked…

You were not drunk.

You were just…a little fuzzy.

A little warmer than usual.

A little slower at pronouncing your words correctly.

So, that did not count as drunk.

“Y’know,” you said, leaning one shoulder against the kitchen counter while pointing your cup vaguely in Mina’s direction, “you’re looking at me like I’m about to commit a crime.”

Mina deadpanned, “Because you’ve been staring at Grace like you’re one inconvenience away from arson.”

You gasped.

“Wow,” you said, scandalized. “That’s…so mean.”

Natasha snorted into her drink. “You just literally called the Bluetooth speaker a toaster twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, it does look like one.”

“It was glowing blue,” Mina added.

“That’s…not my problem if it looks like a toaster, okay?”

Mina and Natasha looked like they wanted to laugh and put you down like a wounded animal at the same time.

The party was small, just a bunch of mutuals and a few tag-alongs at your friend’s apartment. There were maybe twenty people total, music low enough to talk over, half-empty snack bowls on the coffee table, and fairy lights strung around the living room that made everything feel too soft and too intimate.

Which was unfortunate.

Because Grace is here after both of you were literally dragged out of your dorm, thanks to Mina and Natasha.

And Grace in small, cozy, warm lighting should’ve come with a warning.

She’d been by your side most of the night in that easy way she always was, drifting near you without either of you needing to say it out loud. She’d laughed at your stupid jokes, nudged your shoulder when you got dramatic, and looked at you a little too long a few times in a way that was making your already compromised brain very difficult to manage.

And now you were seven drinks in and trying very hard not to say something life-ruining.

Grace had gone down the short hallway a few minutes ago, probably to use the bathroom or take a breather for a quick minute.

Which was fine.

Totally fine.

You were normal about it.

Except you kept looking toward the hallway anyway.

Mina noticed and pointed it out, of course.

“You are down catastrophic,” she muttered.

You frowned at her. “W-Whaatt?”

She tilted her cup toward the hall. “You’ve checked if Grace is coming back for at least…eight times.”

“No…that is a slander.”

“You are slurring your words now, you know,” Natasha casually said before taking a sip from her drink.

“I am not slurrin’. I’m enunciating…creatively.”

They both laughed.

You were about to defend yourself from their insults, but when you looked toward the hallway again…and immediately stopped breathing.

Grace was there.

But she wasn’t alone.

Some girl…one of your friend’s mutuals, maybe, someone you vaguely recognized from earlier but definitely weren’t close with, had Grace backed into the corner where the hallway bent near the guest room.

Not aggressively.

Not violently.

But close.

Too close for your liking.

One hand on the wall beside Grace’s shoulder.

Head tilted.

Smiling in a way that instantly made your skin heat.

And Grace…

Grace was doing that thing.

That terrible, quiet thing she did when she got uncomfortable and didn’t know how to make someone stop without feeling bad.

Her smile was tight.

Polite, even.

Her shoulders stiff.

Her eyes flicking away.

And the second you saw it, something in your chest snapped so fast it almost made your ears ring.

You straightened so abruptly that Mina and Natasha blinked.

“Oh no…” Natasha said immediately.

You were already moving.

Not fast enough to fall over.

But fast enough to make it very clear you were not acting under the supervision of rational thought.

You crossed the living room, ignored at least five people trying to say your name, and turned into the hallway with the kind of reckless confidence only mild intoxication and unresolved feelings could produce.

“Grace.”

Both of them looked up.

Grace’s eyes widened the second she saw you.

And that one look, relieved, startled, soft, nearly made you black out right there.

The girl blinked. “Oh, hi.”

You inserted yourself directly into the space between them with all the subtlety of a train derailment.

“Hi,” you said.

Your voice came out suspiciously calm.

Which was bad, because calm for you usually meant you were seconds away from acting insane.

You reached for Grace without thinking, and your hand found her wrist, then slid instinctively down into her hand.

Warm.

Soft.

Immediate.

Grace went very still behind you.

You turned to the girl and smiled with every ounce of fake sweetness in your body.

“Sorry,” you said. “I need to steal her from you.”

The girl frowned. “We were talking.”

“Mm, yeah, yeah.” You nodded once. “Not anymore.”

Behind you, Grace made the tiniest choking sound, as if she tried her best not to let out a laugh.

The girl looked at you like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh of be offended. “Okay…?”

You squeezed Grace’s hand once.

Not even consciously.

Just because you needed to.

Because she was here.

Because she was warm.

Because some horrible, possessive little part of you wanted everyone in this apartment to know she was not available for random hallway flirting.

“She’s with me,” you said.

The girl raised a brow. “And?”

Your jaw tightened.

“She’s not interested…in you.”

The girl glanced over your shoulder toward Grace, then back at you. “Grace can say that herself.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again.

Because she was right.

Technically.

But also, technically, you were currently being held together by vodka, jealousy, and a deeply unhealthy amount of longing, so “technically” was no longer your concern.

The girl crossed her arms. “She’s single, isn’t she?”

And that…

That was it.

That was the exact moment your brain fully disconnected from your body.

Because yes.

Grace was single.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe you were sick of hearing it.

Maybe you were sick of people looking at Grace and seeing an opening when all you could see was her.

Maybe you were sick of acting like your feelings were subtle when they had clearly become everyone’s business except Grace’s.

Maybe you were just tipsy enough to stop caring about the consequences.

Whatever it was…

You didn’t think.

You just turned.

Lifted your free hand to Grace’s face.

And kissed her.

Everything stopped.

Your cup was long gone, abandoned somewhere between the kitchen and the hallway.

One of Grace’s sharp little inhales hit your mouth before the rest of the world disappeared.

And then…

God.

Grace kissed back.

Not for long.

Not enough to make it messy.

Just enough.

Just enough that your heart detonated instantly in your ribcage.

Her lips were soft and warm and stunned.

Her hand twitched in yours.

And for one impossible, reckless, world-ending second, it felt like your body had finally acted on something your heart had known for months.

Then you pulled back.

Barely.

Still close enough to feel her breath.

Still close enough that if Grace leaned in even an inch, you would’ve folded immediately.

The hallway was dead silent.

You turned your head just enough to look at the girl.

Your face was probably on fire.

Your pulse was trying to kill you.

But somehow…somehow, you still managed to say, “She’s not single.”

The girl stared at you.

Then at Grace.

Then back at you.

And very slowly, with the expression of someone realizing she had accidentally wandered into the middle of a very unresolved situationship, she lifted both hands in surrender.

“...Right, right,” she said.

Then, awkwardly, “Okay. My bad.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Slipping back toward the living room and out of the hallway with enough speed to make it clear she wanted absolutely no part in whatever the hell had just happened.

The second she disappeared…

The adrenaline left your body.

Completely.

And in its place came the full, horrifying realization of what you had just done.

You kissed Grace.

You kissed Grace.

You had just kissed Grace in the hallway of your friend’s apartment in front of another person, as if you were in a dramatic indie film directed by your emotional instability.

Your entire body went hot.

Then cold.

Then hot again.

You turned back to Grace slowly.

And nearly died on the spot.

Because Grace was staring at you.

Wide-eyed.

Pink-cheeked.

Breathing a little harder than usual.

Her lips slightly parted.

And now that the crisis was over, all that was left was you, her, and the kiss still hanging in the air between you like live electricity.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Grace blinked.

You immediately covered half your face with your free hand.

“Oh…my God,” you repeated, more horrified this time. “I’m so— I mean, I’m not sorry, but I also— I didn’t— I mean, I did—”

Excellent.

Brilliant.

You sounded like your brain had fallen down the stairs.

Grace was still looking at you.

Still not speaking.

Which somehow made everything ten times worse.

You were still holding her hand.

You let go immediately as if you’d just touched a live wire.

“Sorry,” you blurted. “Not sorry for…for the kiss. I mean, not fully. I mean—”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Jesus Christ.”

You wanted to die.

Actually die.

Preferably instant.

But when you forced yourself to look at Grace again, she still wasn’t pulling away.

Still wasn’t upset.

Still wasn’t looking at you like you’d ruined anything.

If anything, she looked…

Stunned.

Soft, even.

Almost scared to move.

And somehow that made your heart pound even harder.

You swallowed.

Then laughed weakly, because if you didn’t laugh, you were pretty sure you were going to disintegrate into atoms.

“Okay,” you said, voice embarrassingly small now. “So that was…not very roommate-like of me.”

Grace’s cheeks went pinker.

Your stomach flipped violently.

Oh no.

Oh, this was somehow getting worse.

You dragged a hand through your hair and looked anywhere but directly into her eyes.

“I just—” you started, then stopped, then tried again. “She was annoying. A-And…too close. And you looked uncomfortable. A-And…when she said that you were single…I-I just—”

You made a helpless little motion with your hands that somehow conveyed absolutely nothing.

Grace’s mouth twitched.

Just barely.

That nearly killed you.

“N-No, don’t…don’t smile,” you said immediately, pointing at her like you had any right to be dramatic right now. “This is serious. I-I’m actively ruining my life in front of you, Grace.”

That did it.

Grace let out the tiniest, breathiest laugh.

And somehow that made you even more nervous.

Because now she was looking at you with something unbearably soft in her expression, and if she kept doing that, you were going to accidentally confess every thought you’d ever had about her.

Which, unfortunately, was exactly what happened.

Because your stupid, tipsy, emotionally compromised mouth kept moving.

“I mean— I w-wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t want to,” you muttered.

Grace froze.

You froze.

Then immediately wished the floor would open and consume you.

Your eyes widened.

“I mean— no, t-that’s not! I mean, it is what I meant…but not like—” You covered your face again. “Oh my God…”

Grace said your name softly.

That was somehow worse.

You lowered your hand just enough to peek at her.

She was still pink.

Still shy.

Still looking at you like she was trying very hard not to hope too quickly.

And suddenly, despite the embarrassment trying to kill you, one very clear thought pushed through all the panic that if you backed out now…you were going to hate yourself forever.

So, you swallowed.

Hard.

Looked at Grace properly.

And asked, voice small and stumbling and completely sincere, “Do you…w-wanna—”

You stopped.

Your throat closed.

Grace waited.

You tried again.

“Do you wanna maybe…like, if you want…only if you want—”

You groaned and rubbed at your face.

“God, this is humiliating.”

Grace made a tiny, helpless sound that might’ve been a laugh.

You looked back at her, cheeks burning so badly you thought you might actually combust.

Then forced the words out all at once before you lost your nerve.

“Doyouwannabemygirlfriend?”

Silence.

Immediate.

Terrible.

Your heart dropped straight into your shoes.

You stared at Grace in complete, naked panic.

“I-I know that was really fast,” you blurted. “And technically a really bad timing, and I’m kind of a little drunk, but not drunk enough to not mean it, and I know kissing you first and then asking is maybe a bit psychotic behavior, but I just—”

Grace kissed you.

This time, you were the one who stopped breathing.

It was soft.

Quick.

Shy.

Like she’d done it before, she could talk herself out of it.

And when she pulled back, her whole face was pink.

Her voice, when she spoke, was so quiet that you almost missed it.

“O-Okay…” she whispered.

You blinked.

Grace looked down.

Then back up at you through her lashes.

Still pink.

Still shy.

Still devastating.

“I-I’ll be your…girlfriend.”

Your brain fully left the chat.

You stared at her.

Grace stared back, clearly nervous now, too.

And then, because you had apparently become incapable of acting normal in her presence, you whispered, “Holy shit…”

Grace laughed.

Actually laughed.

And the sound hit you straight in the chest so hard it almost made your eyes sting.

You grinned before you could stop yourself.

A stupid, helpless, disbelieving grin.

“You’re my girlfriend?” you asked.

Grace’s smile turned shy and unbearably fond.

“You just asked me thirty seconds ago.”

“Right…right.” You nodded seriously. “Yeah…just checking.”

Grace laughed again.

And before you could say anything else humiliating, you reached for her, slower this time, giving her every chance to stop you.

She didn’t.

So you gently took her hand again.

And this time, when her fingers laced with yours, Grace squeezed first.

—

Grace had been trying very hard not to stare at you all night.

She was failing.

Spectacularly.

It wasn’t even your fault.

Well…

No, that was a lie.

It was at least partially your fault.

Because you’d had just enough to drink to become softer than usual, and that version of you was incredibly dangerous to Grace’s emotional stability.

You were warmer tonight.

Looser.

A little clingier in that absentminded way that made Grace’s heart behave as it had never once been trained to survive around you.

At one point, you’d leaned close enough for Grace to smell the sweetness of your drink and whispered, very seriously, “Y’look too pretty tonight.”

Grace had nearly folded on the spot.

You’d then immediately frowned and added, “That was rude of you, actually.”

Which had somehow made it worse.

So, yes.

Grace had spent the entire evening pretending she was normal while internally losing her mind every time you looked at her for more than two seconds.

She wasn’t doing a good job.

That was probably why she’d gone down the hallway in the first place.

To breathe.

To reset.

To stop herself from making eye contact with you and accidentally confessing in somebody’s kitchen.

Instead, she got cornered.

The girl had seemed harmless enough at first.

Familiar face.

Easy smile.

One of those social people who made conversation look effortless.

Grace had smiled politely when she got stopped in the hallway, because that was what Grace did.

Only for the conversation to shift into flirting so quickly and so obviously that Grace barely had time to process it.

And then suddenly the girl was closer.

Too close.

Close enough that Grace became aware of the wall at her back and the narrowing space around her and the fact that she didn’t know how to leave without making things weird.

Which, unfortunately, was Grace’s personal nightmare.

She hated being rude.

Hated confrontation.

Hated making people uncomfortable, even when she was the one currently uncomfortable.

So she’d smiled tightly.

Tried to respond politely.

Tried to angle herself away.

And secretly, stupidly, hopelessly wished for you.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just in the small, pathetic way Grace always wanted you when things got too difficult for her.

Because you noticed.

You always noticed.

And sure enough—

“Grace.”

Grace looked up so fast it almost hurt her neck.

And there you were.

Coming down the hallway with your cheeks flushed, your eyes sharp, and your entire body radiating the kind of energy Grace had only ever secretly fantasized about when she was being especially embarrassing at three in the morning.

Protective.

Possessive.

A little drunk.

A lot terrifying.

Grace’s heart tripped over itself instantly.

You didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even slow down.

You just walked straight up, stepped directly between Grace and the girl, and took Grace’s hand.

Took…

Her…

Hand.

Grace forgot how to function.

Actually forgot.

Because one second she’d been trapped in a conversation she didn’t know how to end, and the next, you were there…warm and solid and touching her like it was instinct.

Like, of course, your hand belonged in hers.

Grace stared at your joined hands like she might faint.

Then she looked at the side of your face.

And the expression there nearly finished the job.

You looked calm.

But Grace knew you.

Knew the tiny tension in your jaw.

The edge in your voice.

The way your fingers tightened around hers just slightly, like you were grounding yourself through her.

You were jealous.

Actually jealous.

And Grace, tragically, was not nearly evolved enough to be normal about that.

“She’s with me,” you said.

Grace nearly stopped breathing.

The girl frowned. “And?”

Grace should have said something then.

Should have intervened.

Should have reminded everyone involved that this was rapidly becoming a very public emotional crisis.

But she couldn’t.

Because she was too busy drowning in the fact that you were standing in front of her like this.

Defending her.

Claiming her.

Like you had every right.

Then the girl said it.

“She’s single, isn’t she?”

And Grace felt your whole body go still.

The shift was immediate.

Palpable.

Dangerous.

Grace had just enough time to think, ‘Oh no…’

Before you turned to her.

Your hand left hers only to rise to her face.

Grace’s entire body locked up.

Your fingers were warm against her cheek.

Your expression was unreadable for half a second.

And then you kissed her.

Grace’s brain shut off instantly.

No thoughts.

No logic.

No oxygen.

Just you.

Your lips on hers.

Soft, impulsive, warm from alcohol and adrenaline and all the things neither of you had ever said out loud.

And the most humiliating part?

Grace kissed back without even thinking.

Of course, she did.

She had wanted this for far too long to do anything else.

It wasn’t a long kiss.

Barely even a proper one.

But it was enough to completely alter the chemistry of Grace’s bloodstream forever.

When you pulled back, Grace was pretty sure her soul had left her body.

And then you looked at the girl and said, “She’s not single.”

Grace nearly died on impact.

Because no.

No, she absolutely was not surviving this.

The girl looked appropriately stunned, then awkwardly excused herself and disappeared down the hallway.

Grace didn’t care.

She couldn’t care.

Not when every atom in her body was still focused entirely on the fact that you had just kissed her.

In public.

To prove a point.

And now you were standing in front of her, looking like you had just become aware of your own mortality.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Grace blinked.

You covered your face.

“Oh…my God,” you repeated, sounding even more horrified.

And despite everything…

Despite the fact that Grace’s heart was currently trying to punch her through her ribcage, some small part of her wanted to laugh.

Because, of course, this was how it would happen.

Of course, you would do something life-changing and then immediately short-circuit.

You started apologizing.

Then…un-apologizing.

Then tripping over your own words so badly, Grace had to physically stop herself from smiling too much.

Because even now…even after publicly kissing her…you were still somehow the most endearing disaster Grace had ever known.

Then you said, “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t want to.”

And Grace’s entire internal structure collapsed.

Because there it was.

The truth.

Not cleanly.

Nor smoothly.

But honestly.

And that was somehow even worse.

You looked horrified the second the words left your mouth, but it was too late.

Grace had heard them.

Felt them.

Stored them somewhere in her chest that would never be the same again.

Then you looked at her with that open, terrified expression and started trying to ask her something.

You stumbled over every other word.

Paused.

Restarted.

Looked like you wanted the floor to swallow you up whole.

And Grace had never loved you more than she did in that exact moment.

Then finally, cheeks burning and voice shaking, you asked, “Doyouwannabemygirlfriend?”

Grace forgot how to breathe for the second time that night.

Because this…

This was not a dream.

This was not wishful thinking.

This was not one of the humiliating little scenarios she had imagined before bed and then immediately forced herself to forget.

You were here.

In front of her.

Red-faced and stammering and sincere.

Asking.

Grace looked at you.

At your nervous hands.

At your wide, uncertain eyes.

At the girl who had just crashed into her life like a meteor and apparently intended to stay there.

And the answer came so easily it almost made her laugh.

She kissed you before she could lose her nerve.

Just once.

Soft and shy and quick.

And when she pulled back, you looked so stunned that Grace’s own nerves softened a little.

“Okay,” she whispered.

You blinked.

Grace swallowed.

Then made herself say it properly, no matter how badly her heart was shaking.

“I-I’ll be your…girlfriend.”

The expression on your face after that was going to live in Grace’s mind forever.

Pure disbelief.

Pure wonder.

Purely you.

And then, in a voice so reverent and stunned it almost made Grace burst into nervous laughter, you whispered, “Holy shit…”

That did make her laugh.

A real one this time.

Small, but real.

And when you asked, “You’re my girlfriend?” like you genuinely couldn’t process it, Grace had to bite back a smile.

“You just asked me thirty seconds ago,” she reminded you.

You nodded solemnly like this was a legally binding point.

“Right…right. Yeah…just checking.”

Grace laughed again.

And before she could say anything else, you reached for her hand.

Slowly this time.

Carefully.

Like you were asking.

Grace let you take her hand.

Then laced her fingers with yours on purpose.

Because if she was being honest, she’d wanted to do that for months too.

You didn’t mean to lie.

Okay, no.

That was false.

You absolutely meant to lie.

You just hadn’t expected it to backfire so catastrophically.

It happened on a Thursday afternoon outside the campus café while you and your friend Mina were sharing fries and pretending not to complain about your midterm grades.

Grace wasn’t there.

Which, in hindsight, might’ve been the only reason your brain malfunctioned so badly.

Mina had been talking about one of her professors when she suddenly went quiet and looked over your shoulder.

Then she said, very casually, “Your blonde girl is here.”

Your stomach dropped all of a sudden.

You turned before you could stop yourself.

And there she was.

Grace.

Walking across the courtyard with her backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little wind-tousled, sunlight catching on the edge of her glasses.

Your eyes widened, and your mouth was left open for a quick second when you saw what she was wearing, one of her gray tank tops under an unzipped hoodie.

You’re so close to just standing up and walk in front of Grace just to zip up her hoodie.

So, you looked away immediately.

Too late.

Mina saw everything.

“Oh…my God,” she said.

You froze. “What?”

She leaned across the table. “You are so obvious.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No…I don’t.”

Mina narrowed her eyes. “You like her.”

Your soul left your body.

“No, I do not.”

Too fast.

Way too fast.

Mina blinked. “No?”

“No.”

She tilted her head. “Seriously?”

You forced yourself to sound casual. “She’s just Grace.”

Mina stared.

Then, slowly, to your absolute horror, her expression shifted.

Not teasing anymore.

Worse.

Something thoughtful.

“Wait,” she said. “So…you’re not into her?”

Your stomach sank.

Because you knew that tone.

And you knew Mina.

And you knew, with the icy certainty of incoming disaster, exactly where this was going.

Still, because fear made idiots out of everyone, apparently, you nodded.

“Nope.”

Mina’s lips curved.

“Oh,” she said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you saying it like that?”

She shrugged, far too innocent. “No reason.”

“Mina.”

She glanced past you again.

Then back.

And with the kind of calm that should’ve been considered emotional violence, she said, “I just think she’s cute.”

Your entire body short-circuited.

“...What?”

Mina grinned. “What? She is.”

Cute.

Grace.

Your—

No.

No, she was not yours.

Except the thought came so instinctively and possessively that it genuinely startled you.

And suddenly, all at once, you understood exactly how Grace must’ve felt watching Natasha grab your hand in the hallway.

It was horrible.

Actually horrible.

You hated it instantly.

And apparently, your body hated it too.

Because by the time you saw Grace again near the humanities building an hour later, your brain had completely surrendered to every territorial instinct you’d been suppressing for months.

Which was how you ended up marching straight toward her like a woman possessed.

Grace looked up the second she noticed you.

And the soft smile she gave you almost made you forget every coherent thought in your head.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

You did not stop at normal-person distance.

No, because apparently normalcy had abandoned you, you stepped right into her space and reached up to fix the folded collar of her hoodie without thinking.

Grace went completely still.

You also went completely still.

Because what the hell were you doing?

Grace looked down at your hand.

Then back up at you.

Her voice came out quiet and visibly flustered.

“U-Uh…”

Think.

Think of an excuse.

“It was crooked,” you said weakly.

Grace blinked. “Oh.”

You should’ve stepped back then.

You didn’t.

Because at that exact moment, Mina rounded the corner.

And the second you noticed her out of the corner of your eye, some deeply embarrassing possessive instinct hijacked your body completely.

So instead of moving away like a sane person, you let your hand slide from Grace’s collar to her shoulder.

Slowly.

Casually.

Like touching her was the most natural thing in the world.

Grace nearly dropped the iced coffee in her hand.

You pretended not to notice.

Mina, unfortunately, noticed everything.

“Hey,” Mina said.

Grace looked between the two of you, immediately confused. “Hi.”

“This is Grace,” you said before either of them could continue.

You didn’t know why you said it like that.

Like an introduction at a family gathering.

Like a warning.

Like you were putting your body between Grace and a situation you had technically created yourself.

Mina’s smile sharpened.

Grace looked even more confused.

And you?

You were seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

Mina crossed her arms. “So…this is Grace.”

Grace glanced at you. “S-Should I be…concerned?”

You laughed too quickly. “No.”

Mina looked delighted. “Actually, you should be a little concerned.”

“Mina.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “I’m just saying, your roommate’s very protective of you, Grace,” she said, putting her attention on Grace.

Roommate.

The word hit weirdly hard in your chest.

Because yes, Grace was your roommate.

The girl whose bed was six feet away from yours.

The girl who borrowed your highlighters and stole your snacks and looked unfairly soft when she fell asleep with a book open on her chest.

The girl you are absolutely, undeniably screwed over.

Your hand tightened slightly on Grace’s shoulder before you even realized you were doing it.

Grace noticed.

Of course, she does.

And suddenly she was looking at you with this quiet, dangerous sort of focus that made your entire body heat up.

Mina noticed that too.

Then, because she was evil, she smiled at Grace and said, “I was actually just telling her that I think you’re cute.”

Your soul left your body.

You turned so fast you nearly got whiplash. “Mina.”

“What?”

Grace blinked.

Then looked at you.

Then at Mina.

Then back at you.

And the worst part?

She looked…interested.

Not smug.

Not smug at all.

But definitely, definitely paying attention.

Which somehow made this ten times worse.

You forced out a laugh. “She’s joking.”

“Hm? No, I’m not joking,” Mina said.

You wanted to pass away on the spot.

Immediately.

Preferably in the middle of traffic.

But before you could recover, Grace, quiet, shy, dangerous little Grace, tilted her head and asked, very softly, “Did she?”

You stopped breathing.

Mina looked between the two of you and practically vibrated with delight.

You stared at Grace.

Grace stared back.

And for the first time all day, your possessiveness curdled into something much more fragile.

Because suddenly this didn’t feel like a joke.

It felt like a test.

And you had no idea if you were brave enough to pass it.

—

Grace knew something was wrong the second you touched her.

Not wrong in a bad way.

Wrong in a ‘this is going to haunt me for the next three weeks’ kind of way.

Because you were acting strange.

And by strange, she meant by you touching her…a lot.

Far more than usual.

And while Grace would’ve loved to simply enjoy that without overanalyzing every single second of it, unfortunately, her brain had never done anything quietly in its life.

So when you’d crossed the walkway like you were on a mission and reached up to fix her hoodie collar with those soft, careful fingers of yours, Grace had almost forgotten how to breathe.

You were so close.

Close enough for Grace to smell your perfume.

Close enough to see the tiny shine of your lip gloss in the afternoon light.

Close enough to completely ruin her ability to think.

And then your hand had stayed.

On her shoulder.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Possessive.

Like you have always belonged there.

Grace had nearly blacked out on impact.

She was still recovering when the other girl, Mina, apparently, showed up.

Grace didn’t know much about her beyond the fact that she was one of your friends and had the expression of someone actively clocking a situation in real time.

And unfortunately, Grace was also clocking a situation in real time.

Mostly because you were acting…weird.

Not bad weird.

Just…different.

More touchy.

More attentive.

More…there.

Present.

Like you were suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between Grace and the rest of the world and had decided you didn’t like anyone so close to her proximity…unless it’s you.

And if Grace had been a little less hopelessly in love with you, maybe she would’ve questioned it sooner.

Instead, all she could think was, ‘Oh no…this is going to kill me.’

Mina smiled at her. “So…you’re Grace.”

Grace nodded carefully. “Y-Yeah…”

“Hm, she talks about you a lot.”

Your hand tightened slightly on Grace’s shoulder.

Grace stopped functioning.

You laughed too quickly. “No, I don’t.”

Mina looked delighted. “Oh, come on. You literally do.”

Grace looked at you.

You were suddenly refusing eye contact with everyone on Earth.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

And then, because apparently the universe wanted Grace dead, you moved even closer.

Close enough that your arm brushed hers.

Close enough that Grace could feel your body heat through her sleeve.

Grace’s heart started trying to claw its way out of her chest.

You smiled tightly at Mina. “Grace and I were just heading back to the dorm.”

Grace blinked.

We were?

Since when?

But before she could question it, your hand slid from her shoulder to lightly catch her hand.

And that…

That nearly sent Grace directly into the afterlife.

Because you didn’t just touch her.

You held on to her hand.

Like you didn’t want anyone else to.

Like she was something you were instinctively trying to keep close.

Grace stared down at your hand for one stunned second before looking back up at your face.

You looked…determined.

And flustered.

And maybe a little panicked…which is new for Grace.

Which should’ve confused Grace more than it did.

Instead, something warm and dangerous bloomed low in her chest.

Because this…

Whatever this was that made you act…weird.

It felt suspiciously close to jealousy.

And if Grace had suffered through enough of her own silent yearning to recognize it in someone else, then she knew exactly what she was looking at.

You were jealous.

The realization hit her so hard she nearly smiled.

Nearly, of course…she can’t just assume things.

Besides, if she smiled now, you’d know.

And Grace still wasn’t sure she’d survive that.

Then Mina, apparently committed to making the situation unlivable, smiled and said, “I was actually just telling her earlier that I think you’re cute.”

Grace blinked.

Then looked at you.

Then at Mina.

Then back at you.

And oh…

Oh…

The way your expression tightened.

The way your grip shifted.

The way something almost offended and territorial flashed behind your eyes for half a second.

Yeah, that was jealousy.

You’re definitely jealous.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Grace thought, ‘Maybe I’m not the only one suffering here.’

That thought gave her just enough courage to do something dangerous.

Something small.

But dangerous.

She tilted her head slightly and looked at you.

Really looked at you.

Then asked, in a voice quieter than usual but just confident enough to ruin your life, “Did she?”

You froze.

Mina looked thrilled.

And Grace…she nearly lost her nerve immediately.

Because she hadn’t meant for the question to sound like that.

Hadn’t meant for it to come out so soft.

So intimate.

Like she was asking for something more than clarification.

But it was too late now.

The words were already there.

Suspended between all three of you.

And when you looked at her, Grace felt her entire body go warm.

Because you looked caught.

Like a secret had been dragged into daylight, and you didn’t know whether to run from it or protect it.

Mina, blessedly, seemed to sense she had caused enough damage for one afternoon.

She raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m leaving before this turns into something I should charge admission for.”

You made a strangled sound. “Mina—”

“Talk to your roommate,” she said pointedly.

Then she walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving you and Grace alone in the middle of the pathway with too much sunlight, too many feelings, and your hand still wrapped around her hand.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

And then, very slowly, Grace looked down at your intertwined hands.

Then back at you.

Your eyes widened in delayed horror.

You let go immediately.

“Oh…my God.”

Grace bit inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

“What?’

“I don’t know w-what that was…” you muttered, dragging a hand over your face.

Grace studied you carefully.

Pink cheeks.

Avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly, very interested in the floor.

Cute.

She didn’t know you could be this cute when flustered.

And maybe…just maybe Grace had finally earned the right to be a little brave.

Just a little.

So she tilted her head and asked quietly, “Were you jealous?”

Your head snapped up, as if you were set on cracking your neck.

“What?”

Grace’s pulse jumped.

She almost backed out.

Almost.

But then she thought about Natasha’s hand on your hand.

About every time she’d swallowed down the truth.

About every night spent in the same room with you, wanting too much and saying too little.

And somehow, against all odds, she held your gaze.

“You were being weird,” she said softly.

You stared at her in disbelief. “I was not being weird.”

Grace looked pointedly at the hand you’d just had on her hand.

You followed her gaze.

Then immediately looked offended.

“That wasn’t even remotely weird.”

“It was a little weird.”

“No…it was not.”

“Fine, but you introduced me like I was your wife.”

You choked on your own saliva so violently that Grace almost laughed.

“Grace!”

“What?” she asked, and this time there was the tiniest, tiniest edge of confidence in her voice. “You kind of did.”

Your face went fully pink.

Grace nearly lost all motor function.

Because she’d done it.

She’d actually made you flustered.

And now she wanted to do it again and again.

Which felt dangerous.

Very dangerous.

You stared at her for a long second.

Then muttered, “You’re oddly enjoying this.”

Grace looked away for half a second, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile threatening to give her away.

“Maybe a little.”

You scoffed and covered your face.

Grace’s chest warmed so suddenly, and so deeply, it almost scared her.

Because she’d imagined this.

Not exactly this.

But something like it.

You, flustered because of her.

You, close enough to touch.

You…looking at her like there was something here worth being nervous over.

And maybe there was.

Maybe there had been for a while.

Your hand dropped from your face slowly.

And when you looked at her this time, there was no playful outrage left.

Just something softer.

Something much more dangerous.

Grace’s pulse climbed.

Because she knew that look.

It was the same one you wore in the dorm late at night when the world got quiet, and it was just the two of you and all the things neither of you knew how to say.

You stepped closer.

Not much.

Just enough.

And suddenly, the space between you felt fragile.

Charged.

Your voice came out quieter than before.

“What if I was?”

Grace forgot how to breathe…completely.

“What?” she asked and hated how small her voice sounded.

You swallowed.

Then looked at her with the kind of honesty that made Grace’s chest hurt.

“What if I was jealous?”

The whole world went still.

No footsteps.

No distant chatter.

No rustle of trees overhead.

Nothing.

Just you.

Just Grace.

Just that one impossible question hanging between you like a lit match.

And for one terrifying second, Grace thought, ‘This is it.’

This was the moment.

The one she’d been circling for months now.

The one that could either give her everything she wanted or completely ruin the fragile, precious thing both of you already had.

And somehow, despite all of that, despite every instinct telling her to protect herself, Grace looked at you and answered with the most honest thing she’d said in weeks.

“I think…” she said softly, “I-I’d like that.”

You stared at her.

Grace stared back.

And then…

Very, very faintly…

You smiled.

Not teasing.

Not embarrassed.

Just warm.

Soft.

Like something inside you had finally exhaled.

Dorming with you was either the best thing that had ever happened to Grace Ashcroft—or the beginning of her psychological collapse.

There was no in-between.

Because on one hand, she got things no one else did.

She got your sleepy voice at eight in the morning when your alarm went off and buried your face in your pillow instead of turning it off.

She got to hear your little muttered complaints while getting ready for class, your half-awake rumbling while brushing your teeth, and the way you stood in front of the mirror with your hair still damp and your tote bag hanging off one shoulder while deciding whether your outfit looked “academically appropriate enough” or not.

She got your late-night yawns.

Your ‘Are you still awake?’ whispered across the dark room.

Your feet brushing hers under the desk when you were both pretending to study and absolutely not retaining anything.

And worst of all…

She got used to your presence.

That was the dangerous part.

Because once Grace got used to your presence, everything else became impossible.

The empty side of the room when you had class before her.

The quiet when you stayed out late with friends.

The strange, stupid little ache in her chest whenever someone else got more of your time than she did.

It was ridiculous.

Embarrassing.

And, unfortunately, very real.

Which was why Grace was currently suffering in silence in the back of your Intro to Behavioral Science lecture while your friend Natasha leaned far too close into your space for Grace’s sanity.

Natasha was saying something that made you laugh.

Then she bumped your shoulder.

Then, as if God personally hated Grace, Natasha rested her hand on your forearm while still talking.

Grace stared at it.

Actually stared.

Like if she looked hard enough, the hand would disappear.

It did not.

You just smiled and kept listening to the lecture.

And suddenly Grace’s stomach twisted in a way she hated.

Not because she thought anything was happening.

Natasha is your friend.

Just a friend.

Grace knows that.

The problem was much simpler.

Much more pathetic.

Grace wanted that closeness.

Wanted it in the soft, humiliating, deeply inconvenient way people only wanted things they had no idea how to ask for.

She wanted to be the one leaning into your space.

Wanted to be the one who could touch your arm and not have to overthink it for the next six business days.

Wanted to be the person your attention naturally drifted toward.

And she had no right to want any of it.

Because she was your roommate.

Your friend.

The girl who shared a cramped dorm with you, folded laundry at the foot of her bed while pretending not to watch you dance around the room to songs you swore were “study music”, and said things like, ‘don’t forget your umbrella’ instead of ‘I think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining my life.’

So she stayed quiet.

And suffered.

Like an idiot.

The professor continued talking at the front of the room, but Grace barely heard any of it.

She was too busy trying not to look at the way Natasha had now leaned close enough to whisper in your ear.

You laughed again.

Grace looked down at her notes so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

Focus.

She needs to focus.

This was college, not some emotional warfare.

And yet somehow, every day around you felt like both.

“Grace?”

She blinked.

The room had gone quieter.

The professor was looking directly at her now.

Her stomach dropped. “Y-Yes?”

The professor sighed, “Since you seem distracted, why don’t you tell us the difference between intrinsic and extrinsic motivation?”

Grace’s mind emptied itself immediately.

Nothing.

Not one useful thought.

Just static and the distance echo of your laugh.

She opened her mouth.

No sound came out.

And then, softly from a few seats ahead, your whispered voice drifted back just enough for her to hear.

“Internal versus external rewards.”

Grace looked up.

You didn’t turn around.

You just tapped your pen against your notebook once, as if nothing had happened.

Grace swallowed.

Then repeated the answer.

The professor nodded and moved on.

But Grace barely heard the rest of the lecture after that.

Because all she could think about was the fact that you’d noticed.

Again.

You always noticed.

And somehow, that only made wanting you worse.

After class, the hallway spilled with students and noise and the usual chaos of people trying to leave all at once.

Grace packed her bag more slowly than necessary, mostly because if she left too quickly, she’d have to walk beside you and Natasha.

And if she left too late, she’d still have to watch you leave with Natasha.

Which, unfortunately, happened anyway.

By the time Grace stepped into the hallway, she saw Natasha already beside you, leaning in close as the two of you talked.

Then Natasha did the unforgivable.

She hooked her fingers around your hand.

Grace stopped dead.

Your hand.

Why does Natasha always hold your hand?

It was such a small thing.

Such a harmless thing.

And yet it lodged under Grace’s ribs like a splinter.

“Cafeteria?” Natasha asked.

You adjusted your tote bag. “Maybe. I’m starving.”

“Good,” Natasha said, lightly tugging you closer. “Come suffer through overcooked pasta with me.” Grace should’ve kept walking.

She really should have.

Instead, before she could stop herself, she heard her own voice cut in.

“Professor Lewis said the reflection paper’s due tonight.”

Both of you looked at her.

Grace immediately wanted to fling herself down the stairwell.

Natasha frowned. “What?”

Grace gripped the strap of her bag tighter. “T-The reflection paper…”

That was not true.

Not even remotely.

You knew it instantly.

Grace could tell by the way your expression shifted.

Not annoyed.

Worse.

You’re amused.

And…maybe, just maybe…a little fond.

“Huh…I almost forgot about that,” you said smoothly, going along.

Grace blinked.

Natasha looked between the two of you. “There’s a reflection paper?”

You nodded with a straight face. “Apparently, yeah.”

Natasha groaned. “That class is really trying to kill me.”

She released your hand with a sigh. “Fine. Text me later?”

“Mhm, later,” you said.

Then she disappeared down the hall.

And the second she was gone, silence dropped between you and Grace.

Grace suddenly became interested in everything except your face.

The lockers.

The floor.

Even the poster for student elections peeling off the wall, she noticed.

Anywhere but your face that’s looking at her.

Because if she looked at you, she was pretty sure she’d combust on impact.

You stepped closer.

“Grace.”

Her pulse jumped. “Y-Yeah?”

“You just lied.”

Grace adjusted her bag strap. “W-What? No…I-I didn’t.”

You laughed softly.

That made it so much worse.

“Grace.”

There was something in your tone that made her chest ache.

Warm.

Knowing.

Too…gentle.

“S-She was distracting,” Grace muttered before she could stop herself.

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

Your brows lifted.

“Distracting?”

Grace wanted to die instantly.

“In c-class,” she added weakly.

“Hm, in class,” you repeated, and now there was definitely amusement in your voice.

Grace stared at the floor harder as if waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Then you took one step closer.

Then another.

And now you were standing right in front of her, close enough that Grace could smell your shampoo and the faint sweetness of your lip balm, close enough that her brain short-circuited on impact.

“Were you jealous?” you asked softly.

Grace nearly died choking on her own spit.

“N-N-No!”

Too fast.

Way too fast.

You folded your arms, trying…and failing…not to smile.

“Hm, well, that sounded like a lie.”

“I-It wasn’t.”

“It was.”

“I-It wasn’t…”

“Grace…you literally invented a homework just to get rid of my friend from me.”

Grace opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

Because there was no recovering from that.

And you were still looking at her like that.

Too close.

Too warm.

Too…pretty.

And, too dangerous for Grace’s sake.

Grace’s throat tightened.

Because she should’ve deflected.

Should’ve changed the subject.

Should’ve laughed it off.

Instead, all she could feel was the truth pressing hard against the back of her teeth.

Yes…

She was jealous.

In the softest, stupidest, most humiliating way possible.

She was jealous every time someone got your easy affection.

Every time someone touched you without thinking.

Every time someone else got the version of you she wanted to keep all to herself.

Grace’s voice came out quieter than she intended.

“I-I j-just…” she started.

Then stopped.

Your expression softened instantly.

And that nearly undid her.

“Hm? You just what?” you asked gently.

Grace looked at you.

At the warmth in your eyes.

At the patience there.

At the terrifying possibility that maybe you wouldn’t look at her like she was ridiculous if she actually told you the truth.

And for one impossible second, she almost did.

Almost.

Then…her fear won, like it always did.

Grace looked down.

“N-Nothing. Forget it.”

The silence after that was small.

Tender.

Painful.

Then your fingers brushed her wrist.

Light.

Treading carefully, as if scared to break her apart.

Still…it’s enough to make Grace freeze.

She looked up…at your face.

You were watching her with a softness that felt almost unbearable.

“Grace,” you said quietly, “you know you can tell me things, right?”

That nearly broke her.

For something so soft and careful, it almost broke her.

Because you meant it.

And God, she wanted to.

She wanted to tell you she liked you so much it made her physically miserable.

Wanted to tell you that she thought about you when you were literally across the room because apparently that was still somehow too far.

Wanted to tell you that agreeing to dorm with you had become both her favorite and worst decision because she got all these tiny pieces of you without ever being brave enough to ask for more.

But the words got stuck where they always did.

So instead…Grace gave you the smallest truth she could manage.

“I-I know…”

Your thumb brushed once against the inside of her wrist before you let go.

And Grace hated how much she missed it immediately.

You looked at her for one long second.

Then smiled.

Small.

Warm.

Dangerously understanding.

“Okay,” you said.

And somehow, that made Grace want you even more.

Which felt deeply unfair, considering she was already sleeping six feet away from the girl ruining her life unconsciously.

—

You knew Grace liked you.

Not because she said it.

God, no.

Grace Ashcroft would rather quietly disintegrate than confess her feelings without a full internal war first.

No, you knew because Grace was terrible at hiding it.

Subtle, yes…sometimes.

But terrible, really terrible.

It was in the way she always waited for you after class, even when she pretended she “just happened” to be done at the same time.

It’s the way she remembered tiny things you’d mentioned once at two in the morning and then acted like it was no big deal.

The way she’d push your charger closer when your phone battery was dying before you even asked.

The way she got weirdly quiet whenever one of your friends became too touchy with you.

And if you were being honest, it was also in the way she looked at you when she thought you were asleep.

You’d caught it once.

One night after a brutal week of deadlines, you’d been half-awake and facing the wall when you felt it…that quiet, familiar weight of being looked at.

You hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t opened your eyes.

But you’d known.

And something about that had stayed with you ever since.

Because Grace looked at you like she was trying not to.

Like every soft thing she felt was a secret she didn’t know how to survive.

And the worst part?

You looked right back.

You had feelings for Grace that had become a genuine problem somewhere between shared midnight snacks and her absentmindedly tossing one of her hoodies onto your bed because “you always steal it anyway.”

It was bad.

Hopelessly bad.

So when Grace had lied through her teeth to stop you from having lunch with Natasha, you should’ve been annoyed.

Instead, you found it so stupidly endearing that it almost felt like your heart was being squeezed tightly.

Because jealousy looked unfairly good on Grace.

Not in a toxic way.

Nor in a controlling way.

Just in a very ‘oh, she wants me close and doesn’t know what to do about it’ kind of way.

And honestly? That was ruining you.

Still, there was something underneath all of it that made your chest ache.

Because every time Grace got close to saying something real, she stopped herself.

Every time you thought she might finally let you in, she pulled back.

And maybe that was why, later that night, you found yourself opening your shared dorm room door as quietly as possible after your shower and pausing when you realized Grace was already in bed.

Or…pretending to be.

The room was dim except for the soft glow of your desk lamp.

Grace was facing the wall, blanket pulled up a little too neatly.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

You smiled to yourself.

Then you padded across the room in your sleep shorts and oversized shirt, drying your hair with a towel as you moved.

“Are you awake?” you asked softly.

There was a pause.

Then, from beneath the blanket. “Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath.

Cute.

Very dangerously cute.

You hung your towel onto the chair and climbed onto your bed, but instead of settling in right away, you turned onto your side to face her across the narrow space between your beds.

“Grace.”

She shifted.

Then, slowly, rolled over to face you.

Your heart did something deeply embarrassing when you saw her.

Messy hair.

Sleep-heavy eyes.

One arm tucked under her pillow.

Soft gray shirt.

You swear after you told her that you love seeing her in that gray tank top, she kept wearing gray clothes most of the time inside the dorm.

Unfair.

Actually unfair.

“What?” she asked quietly.

You looked at her for a second.

Then said, “You were cute earlier.”

Grace blinked, her sleep-heavy eyes widened.

Then immediately looked like she wanted to evaporate.

“No…I-I wasn’t.”

“You were, though.”

“I was having a crisis.”

“Yeah…that can be cute too.”

Grace groaned softly and dragged part of the blanket over her face.

You laughed.

“You literally lied to stop me from eating cafeteria pasta with Natasha.”

“She was touching you too much,” Grace mumbled from behind the blanket.

The room went still.

Grace went still under her blanket too.

Then, very slowly, she lowered the blanket from her face.

Your heart nearly stopped.

Because she looked so horrified.

Like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Like she was already bracing for your rejection.

You softened immediately.

“Grace…”

Her cheeks were pink now.

Even in the dim light, you could see it.

“I-I didn’t m-mean…”

You sighed, “No, it’s alright,” you said softly.

Grace looked at you.

Really looked at you.

And for a second, there was no room in the world except this one.

No campus.

No classes.

No friends.

Just the dark, the quiet, and the girl across from you who looked like she’d been carrying too much of herself alone for too long.

So you did the only thing that felt right at the moment.

You pushed yourself up, crossed the tiny space between your beds, and sat on the edge of hers.

Grace froze, completely.

You smiled a little. “Relax.”

“You’re on my bed.”

“Mhm, very observant of you.”

Grace stared at you.

You stared back.

Then, more softly, you said, “For the record…”

Her eyes lifted to yours.

“I didn’t mind.”

Her brows furrowed. “Didn’t mind…what?”

You held her gaze.

“The…jealousy,” you tried to say casually.

Grace froze so completely you thought she might actually stop breathing.

Then, slowly, color climbed across her cheeks.

You had to physically stop yourself from smiling too hard.

Because there it was.

That tiny, secret thing between you.

Still unnamed.

Unresolved.

But very…very real.

And judging by the way Grace looked at you now, like you’d just handed her something fragile and dangerous, she felt it too.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you looked away.

And somewhere in that silence, with your knee almost brushing hers and the soft hum of the dorm air conditioner filling the room, you realized with painful certainty that this was going to ruin you both.

You really only meant to get coffee.

That was it.

You weren’t trying to start your morning with a near-spiritual crisis, but apparently, life had other plans.

The small dorm’s kitchen was still quiet when you stepped inside, the world outside just beginning to lighten with that pale, bluish dawn. The only sound in the dorm you’re sharing with Grace was the hum of the coffee machine and the soft tap of your socked feet against the tile.

You yawned, rubbing one eye as you reached for your mug.

And then you glanced out the back window.

And froze.

Grace was jogging up the path toward the dorm.

At first, your sleepy brain didn’t process it.

Then it did.

And suddenly, your entire body forgot how to function.

She was flushed from the run, blonde hair damp and pushed back from her forehead, earbuds hanging around her neck. Her breathing was heavier than usual, chest rising and falling under a gray tank top that looked—

No…

No, that looked unfair.

The tank top clung just enough from sweat and movement to make your brain go completely blank.

You stared.

Shamelessly.

Completely.

Hopelessly.

Because how were you supposed to act normal when Grace Ashcroft looked like that at six in the morning?

Her shoulders were toned, her arms lightly flexed from the run, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her skin that caught in the morning light in a way that should’ve been illegal.

You nearly spilled your coffee before you’d even poured it.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you whispered under your breath.

As if sensing your distress through some cosmic bond designed solely to ruin your life, Grace looked up.

Directly at the window.

Directly at you.

And your soul left your body.

For one second, she looked surprised to see you there.

Then her eyes widened just a little.

Then…God help you…her cheeks turned pink.

Not from jogging, no.

A different kind of pink.

And just like that, Grace looked away first.

That somehow made it worse.

“Oh, she’s shy, huh,” you murmured to yourself, suddenly feeling a little too pleased.

Then the back door slid open.

You snapped upright like you hadn’t just been staring at her like she was the answer to every bad decision you’d ever made.

Grace stepped into the kitchen, bringing in the cool morning air with her. Up close, she looked even more devastating.

Her skin was warm and flushed, tiny damp strands of hair sticking to her temples. Her gray tank top clung to her in all the wrong-right ways, and there was a slight crease between her brows like she was trying very hard to act unaffected.

You immediately knew two things:

One, Grace knew you’d been staring.

And two, she was pretending she didn’t.

“Morning,” she said.

Her voice was a little breathless.

You swallowed. “Morning.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

Grace moved toward the counter and reached for the water bottle she’d left there the night before. You tried, really, truly tried, not to watch the way her arm flexed when she twisted the cap off.

You failed.

Spectacularly.

She tilted the bottle back and drank, and you looked away so fast your neck almost cracked.

Grace noticed.

Of course, she noticed.

You could feel it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked quietly.

You looked back at her. “Hm?”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the bottle, and she shrugged one shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Oh. Yeah…” You cleared your throat. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

You blinked. “So…you went and ran five miles because of that?”

Grace gave a tiny, embarrassed smile and looked down.

“Something like that.”

That smile hit you square in the chest.

Because Grace wasn’t the type to show confidence. She wasn’t loud with it. Wasn’t obvious.

She was the kind of woman who seemed more comfortable behind a computer screen than under someone’s gaze, and right now, under yours, she looked just a little unsure of what to do with herself.

Which was somehow unbearably cute.

And also very dangerous for your health.

You leaned against the counter, trying to sound casual. “You jog often?”

“Sometimes.” “Sometimes?”

Grace nodded once. “When I need to think.”

That made sense.

Grace was always thinking.

Always carrying too much behind those grayish-blue eyes and pretending she wasn’t.

You softened a little. “Bad morning?”

She hesitated.

Then gave a small shrug. “Just…restless.”

Something in the way she said it made your chest ache.

You’d only known Grace for a few months after being transferred to the dorm she’s staying in, but you’d already learned the difference between her silences.

There were the guarded ones.

The distant ones.

And then there were the softer ones, the kind that said, ‘I don’t really know how to tell you what’s wrong, but I want to stay near you anyway.’

This felt like one of those.

So you kept your tone light.

“Jogging in that?” you asked, motioning vaguely toward her outfit. “Bold choice.”

Grace looked down at herself.

And then, slowly, back at you.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Your mouth opened.

Then closed.

Because you had not expected her to answer like that.

And the thing was, Grace didn’t even say it smoothly.

She said it with just the slightest hesitation, like she’d surprised herself, too.

Like she was testing the waters.

Like she was trying, carefully, nervously, to be brave.

That somehow made it ten times hotter.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly.

Grace’s lips pressed together.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

“Oh,” she said softly.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you act innocent after saying something loaded.”

Her brows lifted in what might’ve been genuine confusion, except the corners of her mouth twitched.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

That earned you a tiny laugh.

Tiny.

Quiet.

But enough to make your heartbeat trip over itself.

Grace laughed like she didn’t do it often enough.

Like, it still surprised even her when it came out.

You found yourself smiling before you could stop it.

And Grace noticed that too.

Her expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Her shoulders relaxed a little. Her eyes softened. She looked at you like she was seeing something she wanted to keep looking at.

And then she got flustered about it.

Her gaze dropped almost immediately to the floor.

Cute.

Dangerously cute.

You sipped your coffee, trying to hide your amusement. “Long run?”

“Mm.”

“How long?”

Grace rubbed the back of her neck. “About forty minutes.”

“Forty—” You stared at her. “Grace.”

“What?”

“You ran for forty minutes and came in here looking like that?”

Her head snapped up.

“What does that mean?”

You immediately realized what you’d said.

And judging by the way Grace’s face turned pink again, she realized it too.

“Nothing,” you said, too fast.

Grace stared at you.

You stared back.

Then, very quietly, she asked, “Like what?”

Oh.

Oh, she was evil.

Not loudly evil.

Not smug about it.

But there it was, that tiny inch of confidence.

That little flash of boldness she only seemed to have when she was just as nervous as you were.

And somehow, that was worse than if she’d been smooth about it.

Because she was asking sincerely.

Shyly.

But still asking.

You looked away first.

“That’s not fair.”

Grace’s voice softened. “What isn’t?”

You huffed out a laugh, more flustered than amused. “You.”

The silence after that stretched warm and strange between you.

When you looked back at her, Grace was watching you carefully.

Not teasing now.

Just…watching.

Her fingers tightened around her water bottle, and for a second, she looked like she was debating with herself.

Like she wanted to say something and wasn’t sure if she should.

You knew that look.

You’d seen it in classes, in late-night conversations, in the moments right before she trusted you with something she usually kept to herself.

So you waited.

Grace swallowed.

Then stepped closer.

Only one step.

But it was enough to make your breath catch.

She was still warm from her run. You could feel it now, even from here. The faint scent of soap and sweat and morning air clung to her, and her damp hair curled slightly at the ends around her face.

You were in trouble.

Real trouble.

Grace glanced at your face, then your mouth, then immediately looked embarrassed that she had.

But she didn’t back away.

That was the dangerous part.

She stayed.

“You were staring,” she said softly.

Your heart nearly gave out. “No, I wasn’t.”

Grace gave you a look.

It wasn’t smug.

It wasn’t cocky.

If anything, she looked a little shy even saying it.

But there was still that tiny thread of confidence underneath.

Enough to make your knees weak.

“Yes,” she said, almost under breath. “You were.”

You opened your mouth to deny it again.

Then closed it.

Because there was absolutely no point.

Grace had caught you.

Completely.

And somehow she looked more nervous about it than you did.

You sighed. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Grace blinked.

Then, very quietly. “A little?”

You stared at her.

She immediately looked like she regretted speaking.

Which would’ve been adorable if the words themselves hadn’t hit you like a truck.

You set your mug down before you dropped it.

“Grace.”

She looked up at you, wide-eyed.

“What?”

“You can’t ask me that like that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” she said, and the thing was…

The thing was, she sounded honest.

That made it so much worse.

You laughed under your breath and dragged a hand down your face. “That’s somehow even more dangerous.”

Grace’s lips parted slightly, and for one second she looked like she might ask what you meant.

Instead, she just stood there.

Close.

Warm.

Quiet.

Her eyes dropped to your lips again.

And stayed there this time.

Not long.

Just enough.

Your heartbeat thudded hard in your chest.

“Grace…” you whispered.

Her gaze flicked back to yours.

And for a second, she looked almost startled by the sound of her own name in your voice.

Then she did something that completely ruined you.

She smiled.

Small.

Shy.

Almost uncertain.

But there was that little edge again, that tiny, brave flicker of confidence.

And with her voice barely above a murmur, she said, “I didn’t mind.”

You blinked. “What?”

Grace swallowed.

Her cheeks turned pink all over again, but she held your gaze this time.

“I didn’t mind,” she repeated, quieter now. “You looking.”

And that—

That was the moment you knew you were done for.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

Hopelessly.

Because Grace Ashcroft, all flustered and sweaty and soft-eyed in a gray tank top, had just admitted she liked you staring at her.

And she’d said it like it cost her something.

Like it mattered.

Your voice came out thinner than you intended. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Grace looked down, suddenly bashful again, one hand absently brushing a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

“Sorry.”

The immediate apology made your chest ache and your heart melt at the exact same time.

You stepped closer before you could think better of it.

“Hey.”

Grace looked up.

“You never have to apologize for that.”

Her expression softened.

And then, because apparently, she was determined to kill you slowly, she gave you the tiniest little smile and said,

“Then maybe don’t look at me like you’re about to pass out.”

You stared at her.

Grace immediately looked horrified by her own boldness.

“I—I didn’t…m-mean—”

You laughed.

Actually laughed.

And the poor thing looked so flustered she nearly turned around and fled the kitchen on the spot.

“Oh my God,” you said, grinning now. “Was that you flirting?”

Grace covered part of her face with one hand. “No.”

“It absolutely was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was terrible.”

She groaned softly. “Please stop.”

You stepped even closer, lowering your voice. “No, I liked it.”

Grace went very still.

Her hand slowly lowered from her face.

And when she looked at you this time, there was no teasing in it.

No uncertainty either.

Just warmth.

Something honest.

Something terrifyingly soft.

“Yeah?” she asked.

Your breath caught.

“Yeah.”

And for one suspended second, it felt like she might kiss you.

The air shifted.

Her gaze dropped to your lips one more time.

Your heart pounded.

But instead, Grace just leaned in enough for her shoulder to brush yours.

A tiny touch.

Barely there.

Still enough to make your skin burn.

Then she murmured, voice low and shy and just confident enough to ruin your life, “Good.”

And just like that, she slipped past you toward the hallway before you could recover.

You turned, stunned, and watched her go.

Halfway to the door, Grace paused.

She then looked back over her shoulder.

Still pink-cheeked.

Still a little breathless.

Still devastating.

And with the faintest, most hesitant little smile, she said, “I, um…might wear this again next time.”

Then she disappeared down the hall before you could respond.

Leaving you alone in the kitchen.

In distress.

And when you looked down at your coffee, it had gone cold.