Sienna always knew where the power sat in a conversation.In a glance.In a kiss.In silence.
She knew how to tilt her head just right, when to laugh, when to disappear for effect. It was a game. It was always a game.
And she always won.
---
The cafe wasn't fancy, which was probably why she picked it. Mismatched chairs. Faded menus. An acoustic playlist on shuffle that was painfully sincere. No pressure. Just "bumping into Elliot" after rehearsal because she just so happened to be across the street.
He looked tired. Not the stylish kind of tired, but the deep-below-the-skin kind. His hoodie sleeves were pulled halfway over his hands, and his coffee had gone cold. He stared out the window like the clouds might spell out answers.
Sienna slid into the seat across from him.
He blinked. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," she said with a soft smile. "You look like a sad playlist."
"Appropriate," he muttered.
She laughed a little. "You want to talk about it?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then, quietly: "No one listens without judgment anymore."
She tilted her head. "You think I'd judge you?"
"Yes."
She laughed again—genuinely, this time. "Fair enough."
They sat in silence for a while. Sienna didn't push. She just sat there, picking apart a muffin and sneaking glances at him.
He didn't try to flirt. He didn't try to impress her.He didn't ask what she wanted.
He just was.
And it made her skin itch in a way she didn't understand.
---
Her last serious thing—if you could call it that—ended in flames. Not dramatic flames. Just the slow kind. She always got bored first. Always left first. They'd fall for her too fast, say things too soon. She'd smile and say nothing, or worse—say thank you.
It wasn't that she didn't feel. She just didn't want to.Feeling meant someone else had the match.And she refused to burn again.
---
Later that night, Sienna lay on her bed with her headphones in, scrolling through old photos. Not of Elliot—of herself. With other people. All of them grinning beside her. All of them blurry now.
She used to like the power. The way people looked at her like she was dangerous and gorgeous and thrilling.Now? She felt… watched. Not seen.
But Elliot—he didn't do that. He didn't treat her like a challenge or a fantasy or a ticking bomb.He talked to her like she was a person.
She hated it.
She loved it.
---
The next day, she caught him leaving rehearsal and called out, "Hey."
He turned, surprised. "Hey."
"You want company on the walk home?"
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Sure."
They didn't say much. The city buzzed around them, and their footsteps fell into a quiet rhythm. They passed a flower vendor. Sienna paused.
"I used to hate roses," she said suddenly.
Elliot looked over. "Too cliché?"
"Too much pressure. Too many thorns." She glanced at him. "But... I don't know. Maybe it's not the rose's fault people don't know how to hold it."
He smiled faintly. "Some things are worth the risk."
She looked away quickly, heart skipping.
Damn it.
---
Later, after they'd parted ways, Sienna stood in front of her mirror, makeup half-off, heart pounding like she'd run a mile.
She wasn't sure when she started caring.But now that she had…She had no idea what to do with it.