"Hi." My voice comes out smaller than I intend. I thrust the container toward him. "I made you cookies. They're high-protein, almond flour, Greek yogurt, that kind of thing."
He stares at me like I've sprouted a second head. "You made me cookies?"
"Don't make it weird."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I feel that familiar flip in my stomach that I've been trying to ignore for months now. "You're standing outside my door with cookies you specially formulated for my diet. It's already weird."
"Do you want them or not?"
He takes the container slowly, his fingers brushing mine. That brief contact sends electricity up my arm, and from the way his breath hitches slightly, he feels it too. "Why are you really here?"
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the hallway. "We're graduating in four days."
"I'm aware."
"And I realized..." I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes. Those eyes that have looked at me with anger, frustration, and then, over the past year, something softer. Something that terrifies me. "I never apologized."
His expression shifts, becomes more guarded. "For what?"
"For what happened at the homecoming auction. That was... You warned me about Emma.” My throat tightens. "You were right, and I knowingly threw it in your face."
He's quiet, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.
"For the milkshake." I take a shaky breath. "And for what I said about your manners. About your mom. That was—" My eyes burn. "That was unforgivable, and I'm so sorry."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we've been dancing around for months. All those late-night student council meetings that ran long, the accidental coffee runs that became intentional, the way we somehow always end up at the stables at the same time. The way he looks at me sometimes, like I'm something precious instead of the girl who made his life hell for four years.
"Do you want to come in?" His voice is rough, careful.
I look past him into his room. I can see his desk, books stacked neatly, a sweatshirt thrown over his chair. It would be so easy to say yes. To step into his space, to let down the walls I've spent so long building.
But I can see his roommate's empty bed too, and I know what coming inside means. Not physically—though, God, the way he's looking at me makes heat pool in my stomach—but emotionally. It means opening a door I've been holding shut with both hands. It means trusting someone again.
Everyone I trust leaves. Or uses me. Or proves that my faith in them is just another weakness to exploit.
He shifts, and the movement draws my attention to his chest, the way he's still gripping the doorframe like he needs to hold onto something. Like maybe I'm not the only one affected here. That scares me more than anything.
I take a step back, and his face falls, just slightly, but I see it. That flash of disappointment, like he's been expecting this all along.
"No," I say, and my voice cracks. "I just wanted you to know. I'm sorry. For all of it."
"That's it?" Something sharp enters his tone. "You show up, apologize for years of making me your personal villain, and just leave?"
"I'm not…" I wrap my arms tighter around myself. "I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah," he says, stepping into the hallway, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and clean that I've started associating with safety and late nights where I forget to be afraid. "It actually really does matter."
I can't breathe. He's too close, and I can see the way his jaw clenches to hide the hurt he's trying to hide behind frustration.
"I have to go," I whisper.
"You don't."
"I do." I take another step back, even though everything in me is screaming to move closer. "Enjoy the cookies."
