“Later, Silas,” I call as I head to the art room, shoulders squared, stride quick.
“You’re pathetic!” he snaps, loud enough for a few heads to turn. My younger brother glances at him, startled, eyes wide.
I stop and turn back, meeting Silas’s glare head-on. My voice drops, sharp. “You know what’s really pathetic? You. At least I know what I want.”
I don’t give him the chance to answer. I walk off, jaw tight, his curse chasing me down the hall.
Don’t care. I’ve got one goal.
Emma.
And there she is—small, focused, deep in thought—staring at a new canvas, one bursting with bold colors and actual life. She’s in her usual paint-covered clothes, plus a huge denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Ten bracelets on each wrist. Faded Vans.
Effortless. Perfect.
I open the door. She turns and smiles. Like she hasn’t been spiraling for two days like I have. Like I didn’t leave her at the hospital without a word. Like everything’s totally fine.
“Hey, Gothic Gargoyle,” she teases, eyes glinting with mischief.
I freeze, my shoulders going rigid. “Excuse me?” My arms cross tight over my chest, like armor.
She steps closer, her smile soft but playful, and presses a finger between my eyebrows. “Right here,” she says, tilting her head as if studying me. “You’ve been frowning all day.”
Her touch melts the tension in my forehead, my jaw loosening despite myself.
“You’ve been watching me all day?” I ask, voice edged with a smirk. So, she’s obsessed, too. Interesting.
Emma nods, her lips quirking as she keeps massaging the space between my brows.
“Then why’ve you been hiding?” My voice dips, low and loaded, as I angle my head down to hers.
“I like spying sometimes,” she says, her lashes lowering as she drops her hand.
But I catch her wrist midair, wrapping my fingers around it, holding her there. “Funny. Me too.” I lift her hand, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of her wrist.
Her smile falters, breath hitching. She watches me, teeth catching her bottom lip, eyes dark with something she’s not naming. “What are you doing, Gargoyle?” she whispers.
With a grin tugging at my mouth, I step in, backing her against the nearest wall. Her breath stutters as my body crowds hers—and then I take her mouth like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stay away from her again.
I wanted a real date.
Just her and me, doing something we’d both enjoy. That’s why I asked Emma to come with me to a Renaissance art exhibit at the city museum.
I told my brothers I was taking the car that afternoon—none of them complained. My parents are in... Cancun? Quintana Roo? Somewhere in Mexico. Honestly, I stopped keeping track of their "soul-reconnecting" getaways a long time ago. With them gone, the Walker brothers had one plan: couch, Playstation, snacks, repeat. That could’ve been me too, like, a month ago. But Emma showed up and rearranged my entire orbit.
I can’t wait to see her. I want to spend time with her, kiss her for hours. She’s the first girl who makes me want everything all at once. Yeah, I’ve been with girls before—some older, some from school—but none of them made me feel this. Wanting to justbewith someone? That’s rare.
Laughing without faking it. Feeling like my brain doesn’t get bored with someone’s presence. That’s... wild.
She’s waiting outside her house when I pull up. The place is modest, a two-story with peeling white paint and a porch light that flickers every few seconds. A chain-link fence lines the small front yard, where patches of grass fight their way up through bare dirt. The windows glow warm from inside, curtains a little crooked, the kind of house that speaks of family and routine more than money.
I freeze for a sec when I see her. She’s wearing a floral dress. Like, not at all her usual vibe. She looks… uncomfortable, even in how she’s standing. When she slides into the car, she gives me this small smile. Not a teeth smile. Just lips.
“What the hell?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
“What?”
