“Could’ve,” I agree, then smirk. “Didn’t.”
Something flickers on his face—soft, startled. He looks away first, shaking his head. When I climb out, he gives me a short nod, and I catch him watching until I’ve gone inside.
And fuck if everything after doesn’t shift. It’s not all at once, but enough to notice. Over the next week, it’s like we’re orbiting each other closer and closer without naming it. He finds excuses to text—about food trucks, about a professor who drones on,about the band rehearsing so loud he could hear us from the gym.
I find excuses to show up. A coffee after his morning run. Sitting in on a study session I have no business being in. Following him into the gym, pretending I’m there for the treadmill while I watch him lift like gravity exists just to challenge him.
Every time our eyes catch, there’s a spark of recognition—like we’re both surprised we’re still doing this, and both unwilling to stop.
By Thursday, it’s all I can think about. Rehearsal feels tighter, lyrics sharper, every note a little more electric. Which is how I walk into the apartment with my head still full of him and find Drew and Eli in their usual standoff over the last of the milk.
“You been plastering these all over campus?” Eli waves a flyer at me like it’s Exhibit A.
“Hell yeah,” I say, dropping my bag. “Lantern gig’s tomorrow. We want bodies in the room.”
Drew grins, eyes alight. “You’re psyched.”
I flop on the couch, snagging their leftover pizza. “Damn right. Manager said if we hold a crowd for the full set, he’ll book us again.”
Eli whistles low. “Big time.”
“Big first step,” I correct, but my chest still swells. I want this so bad it hurts.
My phone buzzes. A message from Ollie appears.
Ollie: Game Saturday. Home.
I type back before I can think better of it.
Me: Wouldn’t miss it.
And suddenly Friday feels like it’s already humming under my skin.
The Lantern’spacked by the time we go on. Word must’ve spread, because the floor’s shoulder to shoulder, neon lights flashing off beer glasses. It’s the kind of crowd we’ve been chasing for months. And he’s here. Ollie. Hood up near the back, trying to disappear. But I’d find him anywhere.
The set burns. I play like my veins are charged, like every lyric I’ve scribbled with his face in my head is finally taking flight. The crowd roars back, feeding us, and it feels like standing at the edge of something huge. Midway through a song, I catch him watching me. Not the band. Me. His eyes are dark, intent, and when the chorus hits, he’s still locked on. I almost miss my cue.
After, I push through the crush and find him outside. The street hums with traffic, the club’s sign buzzing overhead. He’s leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his hoodie, like he didn’t just spend thirty minutes watching me bare my soul into a microphone.
“You came,” I say, breathless from the rush.
He shrugs, eyes flicking to mine. “You said it mattered.”
It takes everything in me not to close the distance and kiss him right here in the street. Instead, I grin, though it’s sharp and shaky. “So? Honest review?”
His mouth quirks. “Loud.”
“That’s the point.”
“Good loud.”
I swear my heart stutters.
We stand together for a beat, the street noise filling the silence between us. For a second, it feels like it’s only us—like no one else exists.
“You were…” He trails off, searching for the word. His shoulders lift as if the admission costs him something. “Different tonight.”
My throat tightens. “Different how?”
