“Fuck,” he grunted, stomping his foot on the floor. “Why does that keep happening?”
“I thought you said it wouldn’t break it?”
“It’s not supposed to!” he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just can’t seem to get it to fucking stop!”
I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing at the sheer frustration on his face. There was something endearing about watching someone so clearly talented get tripped up by something that should have been simple.
“It’s not funny,” Ash muttered, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red as he knelt to pick up the broken piece of bench. “Professor Blackwood is going to kill me if I keep destroying school property.”
“Sorry,” I said, trying to compose myself. “It’s just... you look so offended, like the bench personally betrayed you.”
He shot me a glare that lacked any real heat. “Maybe it did. Maybe all the benches are conspiring against me.”
I moved closer, crouching beside him to examine the damage. “What do you think is going wrong? Too much force?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed, turning the chunk of wood over in his hands. “It’s like my shadows get too enthusiastic. They pull out the dirt but grab chunks of whatever it’s attached to as well.”
“Like using a sledgehammer to kill a fly,” I suggested.
“Exactly!” He looked up at me, those sapphire eyes brightening with understanding. Our faces were suddenly very close, and I could see flecks of darker blue near his pupils. “I need... finesse, I guess.”
“Well,” I said, standing and offering him a hand up, “practice makes perfect, right?”
He hesitated before taking my hand, and there it was again—that electric jolt when our skin touched. I saw his eyes widen slightly, confirming he felt it too. This wasn’t just me imagining things.
“Does that happen every time?” I asked softly, not letting go of his hand.
“What?” he whispered, though his expression told me he knew exactly what I meant.
“That... spark. When we touch.” I ran my thumb across his knuckles, watching as he swallowed hard.
“I... yeah.” His voice was barely audible. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”
“Definitely not imagining it,” I confirmed, reluctantly releasing his hand before I did something stupid like pull him closer. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Ash stared at his hand for a moment before shoving it into his pocket. “Probably just static electricity. These floors... the air is dry... you know.”
I bit back a smile. “Sure. Static electricity. That makes perfect sense.”
The shadows around him seemed to pulse slightly, responding to whatever emotions were coursing through him. It was fascinating to watch and like seeing someone’s aura suddenly made visible.
“I should really get to work,” he said, breaking the moment. “Coach Flannery checks, and I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“Right.” I nodded, stepping back to give him space. “Don’t let me distract you.”
“You are distracting,” he muttered, then immediately looked mortified that he’d said it out loud.
I smirked, unable to hide my delight at his slip. “Am I? How so?” I took a deliberate step closer to him, watching as the shadows around his feet seemed to quiver in response.
“I—I just meant that you’re... talking to me. While I’m trying to work.” Ash fumbled with his cleaning supplies, nearly dropping the mop. “It’s hard to focus on cleaning when someone’s watching me.”
“I could help,” I offered, surprising myself with the suggestion. “I’ve got nowhere to be right now.”
Ash looked at me like I’d just suggested we fly to the moon. “You want to help me clean? You? The football captain?”
I shrugged, enjoying his bewilderment. “Why not? I’ve got two hands and a functioning brain. And I want to see more of your magic.”
“But... why would you want to help someone like me?”
