The cursor blinks at me like it's judging all my life choices.Which is rich, considering the past hour was spent trying not to visibly sweat next to Alex while he explained revolutions and casually complimented my sentence structure.
Who does that?
He left me with "send it to me when you're done." Like this is some workplace collab. Like we're partners. Like I didn't just have to fake being calm while his arm grazed mine three different times and his breath hit my cheek once.
I shut the laptop and press my hands to my face.
Deep breath.Another one.Cool.
I am not losing it over a guy who eats peanut butter straight out the jar and leaves his cologne trailing through the hall like some kind of soap opera villain.
Nope.
Camila calls the minute I step into my room.
"Talk."
"You didn't even say hi."
"Because I saw your little green bubble come online and I knew you had tea."
I groan and lie flat on my bed. "You know that project I mentioned? He helped."
"He helped?" she echoes, and I can feel the raised eyebrow through the phone. "As in, sat beside you and explained things? Shared oxygen? Gave off warm academic boyfriend energy?"
I groan louder.
"He was… nice," I admit. "Not even in a flirty way. Just… normal. Helpful. Chill."
Camila gasps. "Oh no."
"What?"
"That's worse. That's worse. Now you're gonna start liking him because he's not just hot, but human."
I fling a pillow across the room. "I already hate this."
"And the worst part," she adds, dramatically, "is that he's probably not even trying. That's what makes it lethal. The accidental charm."
I say nothing.
"You're doomed, Nico."
"I know."
That night, I can't sleep.
It's not the heat, or the homework, or even the stress. It's just... everything. I toss, turn, scroll. Stare at the ceiling. Think about how calm Alex seemed, how close he sat, how normal it felt. And how much that shouldn't feel normal.
I roll onto my side and clutch my pillow like it's responsible.
This was so much easier when I only knew him as Lucas' stupid jock friend who called me kid and played FIFA until 2 a.m.
Not Alex, the weirdly kind guy who's suddenly all grown up and helping me do homework while looking like a walking CW audition.
It's just stupid.
Stupid and inconvenient.
And absolutely not my fault.
By the time morning comes, I've slept maybe three hours and the first thing I see is a text.
From Alex.
[7:14 AM]Morning. Want me to drop you off? I'm heading out anyway.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Camila's voice echoes in my head like a ghost. "The accidental charm. You're doomed."
I respond with:[7:17 AM]I'm good. Thanks.
Short. Neutral. Non-flustered.
Seconds later, the read receipt pops up.
He doesn't reply.
Good.Or bad.I don't know anymore.
School is chaos. Camila is worse.
"You got a good morning text?" she whisper-yells as we walk to class. "You're officially in the pipeline."
"What pipeline?"
"The slow descent into 'does he mean it or is he just being nice?' That pipeline."
I smack my forehead against a locker. "Make it stop."
"I can't," she says, smiling wickedly. "Because this is the most entertained I've been since season three of that vampire show where everyone was secretly in love."
"Great."
Then the crowd parts, like it's all staged, and Lucas walks by.
My older brother. Our house's golden boy. The one who hasn't been around much lately.
We make brief eye contact. He nods.
I nod back.
And just like that, he's gone.
Camila watches him disappear down the hallway. "Is it just me or has he been... MIA?"
"Not just you."
She hums. "You think he knows?"
"About what?"
"That his best friend is turning you into main character material."
I snort. "If he knew, he'd probably move Alex to the garage."
After school, it rains.
Like full on, moody teen movie rain. I forget my umbrella, obviously, and end up hiding under the school overhang watching the parking lot fill up with people running like wet gremlins.
I almost Uber.
But then a familiar voice cuts through the rain.
"Nico!"
I look up.
Alex. Hoodie up. Keys in hand. Smile wide.
"Come on," he says. "You'll drown out here."
I hesitate. Just for a second.
Then I run to his car.
By the time I shut the door, I'm soaked and breathless.
He tosses me a hoodie from the back seat. "Here. Don't catch something."
I take it without looking at him too long.
It smells like whatever he sprays on himself in the morning. Clean. Warm. Dangerous.
He drives.
Neither of us speaks.
The rain fills the silence like a song no one wants to pause.
And somewhere between the school parking lot and my street, I forget how to breath