I don’t even respond to that one, because Weston is Weston and will still be Weston even if I argue with him until I’m blue in the face.
Going back to my food, I finish about half of my bagel before I’m not interested, but it’s enough for now.
Enough is a win.
I text Kai the smallest truth.
Harlow: Ate a bagel.
He answers a minute later.
Kai: good. thank you.
No fireworks. No praise. No pressure.
Just…good.
My chest loosens an inch.
I make it to class early and spend the extra minutes staring at my notebook and pretending my heart isn’t still doing something annoying when I think about last night.
Not the noise.
Not the almost-panic.
The porch.
Grayson leaning against the siding like he belonged there. Like quiet was easy for him. Like he wasn’t trying to fix me or figure me out. Like he was just…there. I keep hearing his voice in my head. Low. Dry.
Normal is overrated.
I’m not trying to fix you.
My stomach flips.
The professor starts talking about cognitive distortions, and my brain immediately goes,Oh, I know those. I collect them.
All-or-nothing thinking. Catastrophizing. Mind reading. Emotional reasoning.
I take notes like a good student, but I can’t stop thinking about mind reading. Because that’s what I do with people. I watch. I catalog. I try to predict the rules so I don’t break them accidentally.
And Grayson Bennett is…confusing.
He’s polite, but not performative. He’s quiet, but not cold. He makes jokes, but he doesn’t use them like a weapon. He feels like a person who notices things and keeps them to himself. Which is both safe and terrifying.
After class, I decide coffee will fix my brain.
It won’t. But it’s cool and familiar, and it gives my hands something to do. The coffee shop is busy, but not dining-hall busy. I can handle it. I order the same drink I always order because decision fatigue is real, and my brain deserves fewer choices.
When my drink is ready, I turn?—
And almost collide with a chest. A very solid chest.
I freeze.
Grayson.
He’s holding a coffee too, hoodie up, hair slightly messy like he ran his hand through it on purpose, eyes tired in that familiar way.
