Your phone vibrates in the soft gray light before your alarm. You pull it into the sheets, blinking against the light a few times. Beckett's name glows on the screen.
Beckett: Morning. Last night was weird. You okay?
You stare for a second before answering.
You: Yeah. I think so. Coffee?
Beckett: Always. See you in a bit.
Your fingers linger over the screen for a few moments. You scroll through last night's photos, feeling the aftershocks of group laughter, flashes from Jasper's jokes, Beckett's quiet, steady presence a few feet behind you in every shot.
Dakota slides her curtain back, climbing down from her loft. "Your hair is practically radioactive," she mumbles and grins. You chuckle, taking a strand of your hair between your fingers and admiring the bright green you dyed it late last night. "Group project day?"
"Yeah. Jasper's in my group," you confirm, trying to sound neutral.
Dakota tousles your curls. "You need more chaos in your life. But not the brooding artist kind." She arches an eyebrow. "You need the football star dreaming of saving animals."
You shoot her a look and throw a pillow at her. She catches it, laughing. "Don't look at me like that. I mean, Jasper is all hot and mysterious, but I don't trust mysterious."
You shake your head, laughing her concern off. You get out of bed and throw on your clothes for the day before stepping out into the hall.
You check your phone at the campus cafe, already crowded with students chasing their morning caffeine. Beckett waves from a booth by the window, two large mugs on the table. You dodge through the line and slide into the seat across from him.
He squints his eyes and covers them as if shielding them from the sun. "Woah! Careful, I almost went blind. Did you swim in a vat of highlighter ink?"
You toss your green curls with a grin. "Green is a vibe. It's called taking an artistic risk. Maybe if you tried it, your game would improve."
He leans in, eyes twinking under the lights. "I'd try it if you can guarantee I'd run faster. But only if you promise to dye your eyebrows to match."
"That's next week's look," you say, sipping your coffee with exaggerated poise.
He hands you the cup he ordered for you. "Extra sugar, just the way you need it."
Beckett grins, slouching in his seat. "College is definitely keeping you interesting. Did you do it all yourself, or was this a group effort?"
"Dakota said I was radioactive this morning. But yeah, self-inflicted weirdness. I regret nothing."
He laughs, shaking his head. "I'll admit, it suits you. You look… bold."
There's a beat of real quiet. You wrap your hands around the mug, letting the warmth soak in.
He catches your eye. "Feeling okay about the group project? Or does being the campus traffic light give you an advantage?"
You roll your eyes but can't stop smiling. "Priya and Hannah will keep me sane. Jasper… who knows. He already wants to scrap all our safe ideas."
He smirks. "Let him try. You always find a way to get your vision across."
"Only because I practice on you first," you tease.
Beckett sips his coffee, face softening. "I have no complaints about that."
You let the bustle around you fade. This is your favorite part, just the two of you, the morning, the weird jokes.
He nudges your mug. "If you ever dye it school colors, I want photo evidence. Or at least invite me for moral support."
You laugh. "If you score a touchdown for each new color, I'll consider it."
He stands with you, brushing a lock of green hair from your cheek. "You're something else, Maren."
The words stay with you all the way to the studio.
You leave Beckett's teasing warmth behind and hurry to the art building, the confidence from his coffee joke still humming in your chest. Outside the studio, a couple of students glance up and snicker as you pass.
Priya spots you first, jaw dropping. "Maren. Are you… neon for St. Patrick's Day, or is this pure rebellion?"
You push open the studio door and grin, waving a strand in her direction. "Rebellion, always."
Hannah's cheeks split into a wide smile as she grabs both of your hands. "This is epic! We should all do colors for the next project critique. Priya, you're on brow duty, too."
Priya groans. "No. Green hair is your thing. If Reyes asks, tell her you did it for the project."
The professor steps in with her usual brisk energy, scanning the room and then the striking patch of green on your head. "Well, at least my class is keeping some people inspired. I hope that extends to the mural."
Jasper walks straight over, tipping his chair just a bit too close. "You can't just walk in looking like a highlighter and expect me to focus on anything else."
Hannah rolls her eyes, but Jasper just keeps his gaze fixed on you, elbows propped on his knees like he's about to issue a dare.
"I take it you approve?" you shoot back, refusing to break eye contact.
Jasper grins, eyes glinting. "I more than approve. If you can pull off green, I bet you can handle pushing this whole project past basic. You're not afraid to stand out."
Priya snorts. "She never is. Unlike some people, she doesn't just talk a big game about bold art choices."
Jasper glances sideways at Priya. "Hey, bold is good. Sometimes you need someone to break up the routine. Keeps things interesting."
He shifts so his arm brushes yours as he points to your sketchbook. "You always draw with more color than anyone in here. I'm not sure if you do it for art or for attention. But I like it."
You give him a dry look. "Attention's overrated. You get too much, and everyone expects something wild."
Jasper's smile widens, voice low enough that only you can really hear. "Then let's give them something wild."
Reyes claps her hands, calling everyone over. "Groups! Let's see some sketches. Talk through what you want to say and how you'll say it. I want actual vision, not just technique."
You and Priya settle in beside Hannah, while Jasper takes the seat right beside you. From the corner of your eye, you watch him linger just a little longer than the others over your ideas, his leg pressed comfortably against yours under the table.
Priya starts sketching quick structure lines. "We need a path, something that leads viewers into the mural, not just splatters everywhere."
Hannah gestures with her pencil. "And a focal point. Maren's hair might just have to be part of it."
Jasper leans over, close enough that you smell cologne and something woodsy. "We should paint a streak like that right down the center. Make it impossible for anyone to ignore what we're doing."
You match his grin, feeling the excitement of mixing challenge and possibility.
"Only if you're brave enough to commit, Jasper," you tease.
He nudges your sketchbook with his own. "Make me brave. That's what artists do, right?"
Priya and Hannah exchange glances, both amused and wary.
As you dive into the brainstorming session, surrounded by quick banter and the sharp tug of Jasper's attention, you realize just how fast everything is changing, and how much you like standing out in every way that matters.
You settle in at the picnic table at lunch. Beckett grins, "I've decided you're officially a safety hazard. If you walk through the stadium, somebody's going to turn a fire drill on."
You nudge him, rolling your eyes. "That's the plan. Clear out the boring people."
He hands over your sandwich. "You never could do boring."
Before you've finished unwrapping it, Jasper joins, dropping his messenger bag close to your feet, all casual confidence. "Green suits you. You pull off stuff nobody else could."
You laugh. "Thanks. I'm a fan of risky choices this week."
Jasper flashes a smile. "So you're coming tonight, right? Promise not to fade into the walls."
"Of course. Hannah would hunt me down if I bailed."
Beckett leans forward on his elbows. "You guys picked a mural theme yet?"
Jasper answers first. "Nothing solid. Maren's got the best ideas, but we'll see if she's willing to go big." He glances at you expectantly, almost challenging.
You shake your head, smiling. "No pressure, right?"
Jasper's phone buzzes and he checks it with a half-apology. "I want your opinion on something later, if you have time. Maybe after the crawl?"
"Sure," you say, easy and open.
Jasper stands and taps the table. "See you, then. Don't let them make you play it safe." He barely looks at Beckett as he leaves.
For a moment, Beckett watches Jasper disappear. He's quiet, then shrugs, forcing a smile. "He's intense. You like him?"
You laugh, not taking it seriously. "He's fine. We're just brainstorming."
Beckett fiddles with his water bottle. "Just watch out for complicated, that's all. Some people thrive on it."
You raise an eyebrow. "You sound like Dakota."
He grins. "Maybe Dakota's onto something."
You change the subject, feeling the chill recede as sunlight warms your shoulders.
The gallery is buzzing, laughter and music rolling over clusters of students. Jewel tones and canvases crowd the walls. You arrive with Hannah and Priya just as Beckett texts:
Beckett: Running late, be there soon. Don't let them talk you into a live mural.
Jasper finds you immediately. "There's the green queen," he calls, looping closer than necessary as he offers you a plastic cup of lemonade. You accept with a smile. He's charming, even if his energy is a bit much.
He leans in to be heard over the music. "I want to show you the back room. Nobody's looking at the best stuff."
You laugh. "You're so sure you know what's best?"
He grins, and his hand rests lightly on your shoulder, steering you toward a hallway lined with photo collages. "Just trust me. I have an eye for what's actually pushing boundaries, unlike half the people here."
You let him guide you, making a joke as you go. "Don't start fights. These are Hannah's people."
He laughs but doesn't back off. "Hannah's safe. You're not."
Before you can answer, Beckett slips through the front doors, hair messy and just a little damp from drizzle outside. He spots you and starts weaving over, watching Jasper's hand on your shoulder. Beckett raises his eyebrows but keeps his tone even when he joins you.
"Hey, Maren, Priya said there's a full wall of ceramics you'd like. Want to check it out?" Beckett glances deliberately at Jasper's drink, then at you--small, protective cues.
Jasper just smiles wider. "Ceramics are fine. Wait until you see the exhibit I brought Maren to."
You sense Beckett's attention. "Jasper's hyped about something back here," you offer, trying to include them both.
Jasper's eyes flick to Beckett's. "She's got the guts to appreciate weird. Most people don't."
Beckett shrugs, smile tight. "Weird doesn't always mean good."
Jasper doesn't answer. He's already pointing out a mixed-media piece, keeping you close, narrating as if only your opinion matters.
"Look at that line," Jasper says, gesturing, so close you catch a trace of cologne. "You see how the whole thing's practically vibrating? It's like it was made for you. Chaos in color."
You smile and you notice how your heartbeat speeds up. "It's bold, yeah."
Jasper drops his voice, a shade too intimate. "Bet you could outdo this if you ever stopped playing safe."
You bristle, quietly defensive. "I don't think wanting honesty is the same as playing it safe."
He blinks, then laughs it off. "My bad. Still think you could blow people away, though."
The moment gets weird, but before you can answer, Beckett slips between you and the painting, blocking the close distance. "Maren, you want to find Hannah? She's getting the votes tallied for the mural competition." His voice is light but a little sharper than usual.
Jasper leans back, half-smiling. "Don't let him drag you off before you've seen the best part."
You hesitate. "I'll catch up with you in a minute?"
Jasper holds your gaze, lingering until Beckett gently guides you away.
You walk the length of the aisle together. "He's… a lot, huh?" Beckett says, voice low. His jaw works around words he isn't saying out loud.
You only shrug, brushing off the tension. "He's just excited about his art."
Beckett takes in a breath, then nods. "Just be careful, okay?" He glances over at Jasper, then back at you. "Guys like him tend to...play the field."
You roll your eyes, smiling at him with affection at his protectiveness. "I'm a big girl, Beck. I can take care of myself."
He smiles, nudging you with his elbow. "If you think for a second I'll ever stop looking out for you, you are sorely mistaken."
You chuckle and fall into step beside him. "I know I can always count on you."
He nods, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Of course."
You walk in comfortable silence until you reach Hannah's table, where she's frantically tallying votes. You and Beckett fall into an easy rhythm until all the votes are counted.
After the last votes are counted, you drift back into the buzz of conversation. But the gallery slowly empties, and Hannah sweeps through with a tired but triumphant smile, promising celebratory dessert at her place next week.
As the night air settles, Beckett finds you by the doors. "Wanna walk back?" he asks, his voice a little quieter, a little softer than before.
You nod, tugging your jacket tighter as you step into the chilled evening. Lamps cast long pools of light over the sidewalk, and your green hair glows faintly beneath the nearest one.
Neither of you talks for a moment. Everything feels alive in the silence—your pulse, the hush of leaves, your awareness of Beckett just a breath away.
He glances at you sideways. You catch a flash of something vulnerable in his expression.
"I know you think you don't need looking after," Beckett says, bumping your shoulder lightly, "but sometimes I don't care. I'm gonna do it anyway."
You laugh. "Were you this protective in high school, or is this a new thing?"
"I was always this way," he says with a shrug, "but you never made it easy. Still don't."
You grin and glance at the ground. "Maybe I like making you work for it."
Beckett grins back, but the playfulness fades quickly. "Just… promise if something's off, you'll tell me. Even if you think you can handle it alone."
You nod, more serious now. "I will. That's a promise."
He stops at the bottom of your dorm steps, fidgeting with the strap of his duffel. He's trying to hold your gaze, and something in his eyes flickers, like he wants to offer you more but can't find the words. For a heartbeat the world pauses, soft and full of things unsaid.
"I like being your person," Beckett says at last, voice quiet. "Even if it's just as your emotional wide receiver."
Something flutters in your chest. "You always make the catch," you say gently, half-joking, half-true.
He smiles wide, real and shining and a little bit sad at the edges. Then, all at once, he takes a half step forward and draws you in for a hug. It lasts a second longer than usual.
When he pulls back, his own voice is roughened by something bigger. "Goodnight, Maren."
"Goodnight, Beck."
He heads for the corner, hands in his pockets, but midway he stops and turns. "Text me when you're inside?"
You nod, heart suddenly heavy and light at the same time. Upstairs, you pause to watch him disappear, then text:
You: Home safe. Sweet dreams, star player.
A few seconds later:
Beckett: 'Night, green bean. I mean it. Anytime you need me, I'm there.
You rest your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware that "just friends" has never, could never, describe your relationship with Beckett Ford.