My fingers hover over my phone as I type out a message to Oliver.

Me: Hey 👋🏻
Oliver: Hey, are you done?
Me: Yeah. Can I ask you for a favor?
Oliver: Sure, what is it?
Me: One of my study partners needs a ride. Would it be alright if she came with us?
Oliver: Yeah, no problem. I'll be there soon.
Me: Thank you so much, I owe you one.
Oliver: How about we go for drinks after the meet?

I groan, unsure how to respond. My eyes flicker back to the screen as the typing bubble appears... disappears... reappears... disappears again. Finally, a stream of messages pops up.

Oliver: Did I make you uncomfortable?
Oliver: I didn't mean to.
Oliver: We don't have to get drinks if you don't want to.
Oliver: Why did I even ask that?
Oliver: Please forget it.

I sigh.

Me: Oliver, you didn't make me uncomfortable. We can definitely go for drinks after the meet.
Oliver: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I'm sure.
Oliver: Can't wait.

I take a deep breath and drop my phone onto the table. My nerves feel like they've been chewed through. Oliver was nice—so nice that it unsettled me. And maybe that was the problem. Part of me feared he might have more than just friendly feelings for me. And while I'd be flattered... I still wasn't over Reid. Not even close.

And even if I were, Oliver was Reid's best friend. And Reid and I had sort of... maybe... had a thing. Wouldn't that make everything unbearably awkward? This was why I hesitated about hanging out with Oliver too much.

"So, what did he say?" Stella's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"He'll be here soon."

"Yay!" Stella exclaims, bouncing on her heels.

A few minutes later, my phone pings.

Oliver: I'm outside.

I step out with an eager Stella trailing beside me. The moment we exit the door, Oliver steps out of his car, giving me a small wave.

"Thanks again," I say as I approach.

"Yeah, thank you!" Stella shrieks, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Not a problem," Oliver says, shifting uncomfortably as his gaze flickers to her before quickly returning to me. A shy smile tugs at his lips.

Oliver's outfit is casual but put-together in a way that looks intentional—an oversized navy sweater that hangs just right, sleeves slightly too long, and light-wash jeans that are a little looser than usual. His hair is tousled like he's run his hands through it a few too many times, and his sneakers look brand new, as if he'd been saving them for something.

"Alright, here you go," he says, pulling open the passenger door for me.

Before I can move, Stella pushes past me and climbs in.

"Thank you," she swoons, giving him a radiant smile.

Oliver blinks in confusion. "Actually, that was meant for—" He stammers, glancing at me.

I smile, patting his arm reassuringly. "It's fine. I'll just sit in the back."

Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe—but he nods, stepping aside as I move toward the back door.

I pull it open, and—of course. Because why not?

Reid is here.

I freeze.

He's sprawled out in the backseat, looking effortlessly at ease. His grey sweatpants are loose and comfortable, his hoodie pulled halfway up, revealing a pair of headphones draped around his neck. His head is tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed, long legs stretched out in front of him like he owns the space. His arms are folded over his chest, and when he swallows, his Adam's apple bobs slightly. His damp hair falls over his forehead, still slightly wet from a shower.

I stand there, unsure whether to get in or slam the door shut and pretend I saw nothing.

"Uhmm..." I clear my throat.

Oliver, still holding the driver's door, twists in his seat to look at me. His eyes widen slightly when he sees my hesitation. Why didn't he tell me Reid was coming?

"Hey, mate, you're not getting your coffee anymore?" Oliver asks.

"Changed my mind," Reid mutters, eyes still closed.

"What? You were pretty adamant about it."

"And now I've changed my mind," Reid repeats, his tone indifferent.

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Right. Brilliant."

I consider my options. Walk home? Order a ride? Maybe fake an emergency?

Stella turns in her seat. "Aren't you getting in?"

"Yeah, could you close the door?" Reid adds lazily, still not bothering to open his eyes.

This asshole.

"Asshole," I mutter under my breath as I climb in, slamming the door shut harder than necessary.

Just as I turn my head, I catch a flicker of movement—Reid's lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk appearing before disappearing just as quickly.

The moment Oliver pulls away, Stella launches into conversation, immediately asking Oliver question after question.

Oliver's responses are short, almost mechanical. "Uh, yeah." "I suppose." "Not really, no." His voice is polite but stiff, and he keeps his eyes firmly on the road.

I bite back a laugh. I remember when he was like this with me—awkward, avoiding eye contact, his sentences clipped and nervous.

As I drift into the memory, I feel it—warm fingers brushing over mine.

My breath catches as I glance down.

Reid's hand, resting over mine.

I turn to him, but he doesn't move. His breathing is slow and steady, his posture still relaxed, his eyes closed.

Was he asleep? Did his hand fall onto mine by accident?

"Right, Isla?" Stella's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Huh?" I blink.

"I just invited Oliver to my party," she says. "And I told him you were going to invite him yourself but didn't want to seem overbearing."

"What?" I repeat, baffled.

Was she serious? First, she practically forced me into attending, and now she was roping Oliver into it? Was I just some kind of tool for Stella's social calendar?

Before I can dwell on it too much, Reid's fingers squeeze mine—just briefly, but enough to make me tense.

I glance at him again. Still unmoving. Still pretending to be asleep.

"Is that true, Isla?" Oliver asks hesitantly. His voice is soft, like he's bracing himself for disappointment.

I inhale. Think of the project. Think of the project. Plus, maybe it'd be less awkward with Oliver there—someone I actually knew.

"Yeah, but I understand if you can't make it."

"What? No, I'll be there," Oliver says quickly. "What time is it?"

"Nine," Stella answers. "I'm so excited! This is the greatest birthday ever."

I roll my eyes.

Reid squeezes my hand again—this time longer, slower. Almost... soothing?

Okay.

He was definitely doing that on purpose.

I try to pull my hand from his grip, but Reid tightens his hold, intertwining our fingers and resting them against the seat.

My eyes drop to our joined hands, and I feel it—the unwelcome flutter in my stomach. Not again. I was falling for this again.

I lift my gaze, staring at him, willing him to stop playing with my emotions. He must sense my stare because, at that moment, his eyes flicker open, still reclined against the seat as he meets my gaze.

My stomach knots at the intensity of his blue eyes. They don't waver, and neither do mine. The warmth of our joined hands is dizzying, euphoric even.

Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? So effortlessly alluring, with features that made it impossible not to believe he was sculpted by the gods themselves?

Painfully handsome. That's what he was.

Still watching me, he reaches for his phone. A few seconds later, mine pings. He smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Reid: Why do you keep staring?
Me: Why are you holding my hand?
Reid: They're warm.

I glance up at him again, my pulse quickening. His grip tightens just slightly before he looks back at his phone. Another ping.

Reid: Are you really coming to Friday's game?
Me: Why wouldn't I?
Reid: Not saying you wouldn't. Just asking.
Me: I promised Oliver I'd go, so yeah, I'll be there.

The typing bubbles appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

I look up to find him staring at his screen, his jaw tight, brows drawn together in a way that makes my chest feel... weird. The light from his phone casts sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the cut of his cheekbones, the faint furrow in his brow.

Reid: Do you like him?

I freeze.

Me: Who?

Why am I nervous?

Reid: Oliver. Do you like him?
Me: I love spending time with him. He's a good friend.
Reid: I meant romantically.

What?

Me: Why do you want to know?
Reid: So I can help you two lovebirds.

A dark emotion rises in me like bile.

What was I expecting? That he'd say he was jealous? That he'd want me for himself?

I was such an idiot.

A disgrace.

It was ridiculous how easily a few words unraveled me.

And yet... I still didn't let go of his hand.

He must feel the tension in my fingers because he gives mine a small squeeze, rubbing slow, soothing circles against my skin. I hate that it works. That my shoulders relax.

I exhale, ready to pull away, when suddenly, he tugs me slightly forward. Before I can react, I feel the cool weight of his headphones being slipped over my ears.

A song starts playing.

"The Night We Met" by Lord Huron.

I turn to him, but he's already reclined back against the seat, eyes shut, as if he hasn't just short-circuited my brain.

The song washes over me, lyrics pressing against my ribs like a gentle weight.

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.
Take me back to the night we met.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you.

His scent lingers in my space, the warmth of his hand still wrapped around mine.

Why can't he be mine? Would it be so wrong to want him?

I've been trying so hard to move on—to reinvent myself, to focus on things that aren't Reid Carter.

But the truth is, none of it matters.

I want him. All to myself.

I finally understand Aaliyah's desperation in high school. The way she clung to him, obsessed over him. I used to think she was pathetic, deluded. But now, I get it.

I remember my mum's words that night—you'll know.

The spark. The obsession.

I thought I'd come to college and fall for someone like Dad. Someone safe. Someone predictable.

Instead, I fell for the biggest player on campus.

It's almost comical, how none of my carefully made plans matter anymore. I was able to ignore my feelings for Reid before because he wasn't around. But now? He's everywhere. A constant, inescapable reminder of what I want but can't have.

I feel a gentle tug on my hand.

I blink and turn toward him, only to realize—tears are slipping down my cheeks.

His eyes widen, his expression shifting from lazy amusement to alarm.

"What's wrong?" His voice is softer than I expect.

The shift in his tone draws attention from Stella and Oliver.

"What'd you do this time, mate?" Oliver asks, though he tries to keeps his focus on the road.

"Piss off, I didn't do anything." Reid glances at me again. "At least... I don't think I did?"

"It's always something with you," Oliver mutters. "Are you okay Isla, should I pull over?"

Reid doesn't respond. He just keeps watching me, brows drawn together, lips slightly parted, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

The tears keep falling, unbidden.

"I'm fine," I say quickly. "I don't know what came over me. I just get overwhelmed sometimes. No need for alarm"

No one looks convinced.

Stella pulls out a small pack of wipes and hands them toward me, but before I can take them, Reid does.

Without a word, he pulls one out and starts dabbing at my face.

He's closer now. Our knees brush against each other with every small movement.

He doesn't say anything. Just quietly wipes my tears, his touch gentle, focused.

I glance toward the rearview mirror, and my breath catches when I see Oliver watching us.

I look away. I don't know why, but I just do.

"We're here," Oliver announces. "You're sure you don't need anything?"

I exhale, reaching for the door handle. But before I can step out, I realize—Reid still hasn't let go of my hand.

I look down at our interlocked fingers, then back up at him, silently asking him to release me.

For a long second, he just... looks at me.

Then he sighs, lets go, and leans back against the seat.

I step out, feeling unsteady.

"Bye, Isla! Feel better soon!" Stella calls, waving as the car pulls away.

I stand there, watching them drive off, willing my thoughts to settle.

Then—

Ping.

I glance at my phone. A new message.

Reid: I'll be at your dorm in an hour. We should hang out.

My heart jumps.

What does that mean?

Before I can even process it, another ping.

Oliver: Can I come see you after I drop off Stella and Reid?

I groan, pressing my phone to my forehead.

This is so complicated.

Authors note:
I'm sorry for the irregularities in my update schedule. Life catches up to you fast 😭