“Gimme,” Nate says, holding out his hand for my keys and watching me with an expression that’s more curious than judgmental. “You’ll feel better after food.”
I sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as I dig out my keys. “You two always kidnap people like this?”
Sage grins. “Only the interesting ones.”
The drive to the house is short, but it feels longer with Sage humming along to whatever indie playlist he put on. I stare out at the blur of campus, trying not to think about the pool or the fact that I’m about to break a rule I’ve lived by since high school.
Never let anyone in.
When we pull into the Sin Bin’s driveway, I feel a strange mix of relief and tension. I follow them inside, letting the familiar scent of cedar and coffee calm my nerves.
Sage gestures toward the stairs. “Go shower, Bluebird. We’ll wait.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“We’ll wait,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I nod and head upstairs, keeping the shower quick, almost mechanical. I scrub the chlorine off my skin, wash my hair, and step out before I can think too much about the reflection in the fogged mirror. By the time I throw on jeans and a soft gray sweatshirt, my heartbeat’s finally slowed.
When I walk back downstairs, Sage and Nate are sitting on the couch. Sage’s legs are draped over Nate’s lap as he scrolls through his phone, and Nate’s pretending not to care even though the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. They both look up when they hear me.
“Finally,” Sage says, hopping up. “We were about to send a search party.”
“You’ve been here twenty minutes,” Nate says dryly.
“Exactly. That’s two hours in Sage-time.”
I laugh quietly, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”
The coffee shop they take me to is small, tucked into a side street near campus, with warm lighting and the smell of espresso that hits the second you walk in. The walls are lined with old black-and-white photos, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu filled with drinks that all sound vaguely pretentious.
We take a booth in the corner, and I slide in across from them, the leather seat creaking under me. Sage orders black coffee and a grilled sandwich. Nate orders something iced with too many syrups to count. I stick with tea and a croissant that I know I’ll nibble on at best.
Sage drums his fingers against the table as the waiter leaves, his gaze sliding from the menu to me with that look people get when they’re gearing up to pry. I brace for it instinctively, curling my hands around the mug when it arrives a few minutes later.Steam rises in thin white ribbons, catching the soft light that spills from the hanging bulbs above us.
“So,” Sage says, drawing the word out. “Two months in, and you still haven’t figured out how to exist among the rest of us degenerates?”
I huff out a small laugh, watching them over the rim of the teacup. “Maybe I’m just smarter than you think.”
Nate’s mouth curves at the corner, that subtle half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but still changes his face. “Or maybe you’re just quieter about your suffering,” he says. “Sage prefers his in surround sound.”
Sage flicks a straw wrapper at him. “Excuse you, some of us process emotions through performance art.”
“You mean through chaos,” Nate counters.
“That too,” Sage says without missing a beat. He leans his elbows on the table, eyes flicking between us. “Who else is going to drag the emotionally constipated out of their shells? I’m a saint, really.”
The banter between them flows so easily that it’s hard not to smile. There’s something magnetic about their energy—Sage is sunshine that refuses to dim, and Nate’s quiet confidence, the kind that moves with precision instead of noise. Together, they’re opposites that somehow make perfect sense.
Sage catches me smiling and smirks. “There it is. You do have teeth. Thought maybe Damien scared them out of you.”
My throat tightens slightly at the sound of his name, but Sage doesn’t mean it cruelly. He just throws it out there like a pebble in a pond, unaware of the ripples it leaves behind. Nate’s gaze flicks toward me briefly, noticing the shift.
“Ignore him,” Nate says, his tone smooth. “He loves testing people’s boundaries just to see what happens.”
Sage grins. “Only when it works.”
I shake my head, trying to play along. “You two are impossible.”
