Kai watches me, but differently now. Not with that frantic vigilance that feels like a spotlight I can’t escape. He still notices everything—I don’t think he knows how not to—but there’s space in it. Effort. Like he’s trying to let me exist without turning my existence into a crisis.
It matters more than he knows.
And Grayson?—
Grayson doesn’t push. He doesn’t show up outside my dorm. He doesn’t corner me into a conversation. He doesn’t turn what happened into something that needs a label.
He just…exists.
Sometimes I see him across campus with Weston and Asher—Weston talking with his whole body; Asher moving like calm is a superpower. Grayson is never the loudest one. He’s the one who notices. The one who listens. The one who seems anchored even when everything around him is chaos.
When our eyes meet from a distance, there’s a look there that feels almost private. Not a smile. Not a signal.
Just recognition.
Like,I see you. I remember. I’m still here.
It makes my chest ache in a way that feels dangerous and addictive all at once.
Friday evening, Weston intercepts me outside the library.
He doesn’t shout my name this time. Doesn’t announce himself like a parade. He just appears at my side, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, eyes bright—but his voice, miraculously, is softer.
“Harlow,” he says. “Question.”
I glance at him warily. “Why are you using your serious voice?”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Because this is a matter of great importance.”
A few feet behind him, Asher stands with his bag slung over one shoulder, watching like a human seatbelt. Steady. Present. The kind of calm that makes the world feel less likely to tip.
“What?” I say.
Weston grins. “We are doing movie night again, but this time at Mercer’s. Way less party, way more chill.”
My stomach flips before my brain can intervene.
“Who is ‘we’?” I ask carefully.
Weston counts on his fingers. “Me. Hale. Bennett. And your brother, obviously, because he lives there and would rather die than admit he enjoys fun.”
There it is.
Grayson.
Just hearing his name does something unhelpful to my pulse. It speeds up, and my stomach tightens, like my body recognizes it before my mind can catch up.
I hesitate long enough that Weston notices. His grin softens—not disappearing, just shifting into something more aware.
“Really, no pressure,” he says. “For real. You can say no.”
I glance at Asher.
He meets my gaze calmly. “It’ll be quiet.”
Weston lifts two fingers like a Boy Scout oath. “I will be quiet. I will be respectful. I will not yell ‘PCU BABYYYY’ indoors.”
Asher’s mouth twitches. “We’ll see.”
