The sun rose late. Not literally. But that's how it felt.
The hallway was quieter than usual. No music spilling from anyone's speakers. No clatter of half-awake students stumbling toward class.
Just soft footfalls. The occasional door.
Mix stood at the sink brushing his teeth, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes puffy like sleep had come too late or not at all.
His reflection looked unfamiliar.
Or maybe too familiar. Too honest.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
He turned, toothbrush still in his mouth.
Arm stood in the doorway, hair uncombed, hoodie zipped wrong. Eyes cautious.
No smile. Just a folded piece of paper in one hand.
Mix froze.
Arm didn't speak, not right away. Just walked in, placed the note on Mix's desk, then stepped back like the act itself took more courage than it should have.
"You don't have to read it now," he said. "Or ever."
Mix watched him.
Then nodded once.
That was it. Arm left. Didn't linger. No dramatics. Just gone.
He didn't read the note at first.
He sat beside it for twenty minutes. Studied the folds. Picked at the edge like the paper might unravel before he did.
Then he opened it.
Read every word twice.
His throat tightened.
But he didn't cry.
Instead, he folded it back, slid it into the back of his notebook, and didn't throw it away.
Which meant something.
---
Later that afternoon, they crossed paths again in the quad.
Arm had a paper cup in each hand.
He offered one without a word.
Mix didn't take it right away.
But he didn't walk past him either.
He looked at the coffee. Then at Arm.
"You're not trying to buy forgiveness, are you?"
"No," Arm said. "I'm trying to earn your company. One afternoon at a time."
Mix took the cup.
Held it between his palms for a moment.
Then said, "Two more steps and I'll walk with you."
Arm blinked. Then smiled. "Okay."
They walked. No conversation. But it wasn't silence either.
It was beginning again.
---
Later that night, Mix stood by the door of their shared room, arms crossed.
Arm was already inside, nervously scrolling his phone, trying to look casual.
"I'm not saying everything's okay," Mix said.
"I know."
"I still don't trust you."
"I get that too."
"But…"
Arm looked up.
Mix stepped forward. Stopped when there was almost no space between them.
His hand reached out. Fingers brushed Arm's hoodie string.
"I don't want anyone else."
Arm's breath hitched. "Then what?"
Mix didn't answer. He kissed him.
Not sweet. Not dramatic.
Just real.
Firm. Sure. A warning and a promise wrapped together.
When they broke apart, Arm's eyes were wide.
"You kissed me."
"You earned it."
---
It wasn't a date.
At least, that's what Mix told himself while he waited outside the cafe. One hand in his pocket. The other wrapped around his drink. Hoodie zipped halfway. Headphones in, but nothing playing.
Arm arrived five minutes late. Not rushed. Just hesitant.
He had that look again the one like he'd rehearsed a dozen things to say but forgot all of them the second he saw Mix.
"Sorry," he said. "Lost track of time."
Mix shrugged. "You came. That's what matters."
They started walking without deciding where to go. Past the quad. Toward the quieter side of campus, where the benches were mostly empty and the air felt less like expectation.
Arm glanced at him. "We don't have to talk about anything deep. We can just… be."
Mix nodded. "Being's fine."
So they did.
They walked in silence that didn't scrape anymore. That let them breathe. They shared a bag of dried mango from Mix's hoodie pocket. Arm said it was weird. Mix said his taste was broken.
It was… something. Gentle. Unfinished. Real.
---
They ended up in the music practice rooms. Empty this late in the afternoon. Lights soft. One old upright piano in the corner that nobody ever bothered to tune properly.
Arm sat on the floor, back against the mirror. Mix hesitated, then joined him.
For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of old vents and distant footsteps.
Then Arm said, quietly, "Did you ever think we'd get back here?"
Mix looked at him. "We're not back anywhere."
Arm nodded. "Right. New place. New rules."
Mix didn't say anything.
He leaned his head against the wall. Let his shoulder brush Arm's, just barely.
He didn't pull away.
Arm's phone buzzed. He ignored it.
Mix's buzzed a second later.
He pulled it out, expecting some group chat nonsense.
But the name on the screen stopped him cold.
Tarn.
hey are you free tonight? there's this thing, small group would really like to see you
Mix stared at the screen for a moment too long.
Arm glanced over. "Everything okay?"
Mix tilted the phone slightly away. "Just a message."
Arm didn't ask more.
But he saw it.
---
Later, as they walked back toward the dorms, something subtle had shifted. Not broken. Not tense. Just… something.
Arm noticed.
"You don't have to pretend with me, you know."
Mix raised an eyebrow. "Pretend what?"
"That everything's simple now. That we figured it out."
"I know it's not simple."
"Then tell me."
Mix stopped walking.
He didn't speak right away. His face gave nothing away. But his voice, when it came, was quieter.
"I'm still figuring out what I want. I know I don't want to repeat the past. But I also don't want to rush into something because it feels familiar."
Arm nodded slowly. "And Tarn?"
Mix met his eyes. "Tarn showed up when you didn't. He saw me."
The words weren't meant to hurt, but they landed.
Arm stepped back, just a little. Enough to create space again.
"I get it," he said. "But I hope you'll give me the chance to really see you this time."
Mix didn't respond.
But he didn't walk away either.
---
That night, Mix stood outside the Restaurant where Tarn had invited him. He hadn't said yes. Hadn't said no either.
Inside, he could see Tarn through the window. Laughing with someone. Casual. Warm. Easy.
Mix stood there, unsure.
His phone buzzed again.
still time to come in
no pressure
Mix didn't move.
Not yet.
---
Mix didn't go in.
He stood there until the sun dipped low, until the warm Restaurant lights blurred behind the glass. Tarn never looked up.
Maybe that was mercy.
Maybe it wasn't.
He turned away. Hands in his pockets. Hoodie drawn tight. His steps felt slow, but sure. He wasn't ready to choose between comfort and consequence. Not yet. But he knew what he couldn't do pretend.
---
Arm wasn't in the room when Mix got back.
There was a folded hoodie on Arm's bed. The soft grey one Mix liked. A pack of tissues sat beside it. And a sticky note, hastily scribbled:
I'm giving you space. But not forever. I'll be at the Cafe.
Come if you want to talk. Or don't.
I'll still wait.
Mix stood there for a moment, staring at the note.
Then he sat on Arm's bed and pulled the hoodie into his lap.
He didn't cry.
But he didn't move for a long time either.
---
Meanwhile, across campus, Bave's fuse finally snapped.
She stood outside Jack's studio, arms folded, watching through the glass as he rehearsed again. Shirt clinging to his back. Music pounding. Girls watching from the hallway like he already belonged to them.
He hadn't replied to her last message. Again.
She waited until the music stopped. Until he bent over, panting, and finally noticed her.
He jogged out. "Babe, hey"
"Don't," she said.
He froze.
"You canceled on me three times this week," she said, voice low and sharp. "You ghosted me all day yesterday. You think this gets easier just because you're chasing a spotlight?"
Jack ran a hand through his damp hair. "I didn't mean to"
"No," she cut in. "You didn't mean to. But you keep doing it anyway."
The hallway fell quiet.
One of the other trainees peeked around the corner, but vanished just as quickly.
Jack stepped closer. "I'm trying. This is all just… bigger than I thought."
Bave's jaw tensed. "And where am I in all that?"
Jack didn't answer.
And that was enough.
She turned and walked away. This time, he didn't chase her.
---
In the dorm lounge, Gun sat across from Peat, their drinks untouched between them.
"You've been distant," Gun said. No accusations, just a fact.
Peat didn't deny it.
"I just…" Peat trailed off, tracing the rim of his cup. "Sometimes it feels like we're still together out of routine. Like we're… muscle memory."
Gun blinked.
"That's not fair," he said softly.
"I know," Peat replied. "But I'm scared I'll keep shrinking to make space for you."
Gun reached out, touched his hand. "You don't have to shrink."
"Then stop pulling me into a shape I don't recognize."
The words landed like truth too long buried.
Gun didn't speak again. He just held on.
But Peat gently pulled his hand away.
---
Back in the dorm room, Mix finally moved.
He picked up the note. Read it again. Then grabbed his own notebook, scribbled something quickly, and stuck the page to Arm's desk before walking out.
I saw him.
I didn't go in.
Not because I chose you.
Because I'm choosing me right now.
But I hope choosing me leads back to you.
I still want that.
Just not from a place of pain.