“So, Freckles. How does it feel to be this tiny?”
I gasp, feigning offense. It’s not like he’s wrong. He and Holden clear six feet easily, and Alana isn’t far behind. Compared to the three of them, I’m downright compact.
“Feels like I’m the perfect height to kick your knee out from under you.”
Theo laughs and lifts his free hand up, mock-injured. “Feisty, huh?”
He glances at Holden, clearly fishing for backup or a laugh at the comedy unfolding.
But Holden doesn’t blink. His face is unreadable—flat and still in a way that’s somehow louder than shouting. His jaw shifts once. A muscle ticks. His eyes stay locked on Theo’s arm like the gesture is some kind of provocation.
Theo’s grin stutters. He blinks, confused. “Hey, man, I didn’t mean it like th?—”
“Theo!” Alana calls from a storefront a few steps ahead, waving him over. None of us had realized she kept walking. “You’ve got to come check this out!”
Grateful for the save, Theo offers an apologetic smile and jogs toward her. Which leaves me next to Holden.
I glance his way and find him already looking. Not at me like I’ve done something wrong—but like he’s trying not to do something impulsive.
This is calculation. Frustration. Maybe even—though I might be hallucinating—something closer to hurt.
My heart stumbles. And not metaphorically. The jolt is real enough that I feel it in my chest.
I have, through no fault of my own except perhaps every choice I’ve made this week, completely forgotten how to behave like a normal person around him. Holden’s cold one second, warm the next. He seems to want to help me achieve my academic goals, but can’t stand to be near me in any other capacity. Which, in retrospect, is probably exactly how a TA should act.
But I, as a student, now friends with his roommate, have absolutely no clue how to behave.
“I never really thanked you for helping me with Damon’s switcheroo,” I say, because when in doubt, default to science.
He gives me none of the unexplained tension he fired at Theo, though his eyes are not exactly soft. “No problem.”
He takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it and retreats.
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Um, no, not really. He has…” I search for the right words and come up short. “Issues.”
His brow lifts in a silent prompt.
“He hasn’t really been cooperating. He also stole this girl’s phone and drowned it.” Or so Kai told me.
His mouth quirks in the slightest. “Yeah, that I know. To be fair, she shouldn’t have left it so close to the top of the tank.”
I nod. Octopuses are natural kleptomaniacs, and unapologetic about it. Damon, in particular, never resists temptation when it comes to anything rectangular.
Holden sighs, running a hand through his hair before sliding the cap back on—and I hate that it makes something fizzbehind my ribs. Then he takes that step forward again. Not tentative. Not hesitant. Just deliberate, like he’s settled something internally.
From this close, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. His scent hits me first—pine, salt, and whatever cologne he uses that smells like an open window during a storm. Everything sharpens. The air around us contracts.
I could say something. Iwantto say something. I want to crack open the vault of questions gathering dust inside me and ask: Am I irritating? Do you hate being near me, or am I reading everything wrong? Do you think I’m smart enough, capable enough, worthy of being here?
But I don’t. Because asking him means accepting the answer. And I’m not ready to let someone, anyone, define me. Not when I’ve worked so hard to build myself from scratch.
His chest rises with a slow inhale. His jaw ticks. He’s not touching me. But it feels like he is. Every part of me is aware of every part of him, and it’s infuriating how easily he does this—how proximity alone can undo me.
The tip of his nose is pink from the sun, but his eyes—they’re relentless. Focused. Fully, entirely on me.
“I’m going to do something, okay?” For the first time since meeting him, he looks almost nervous. Unsure.
