Episode 3: Almost Something
Coco read the line in Brian's handwriting at least seven times.
Some words are worth waiting for.
She didn't know why it unsettled her so deeply. It wasn't romantic—not outright. It wasn't a confession. It was careful. Considerate.
And that was the problem.
Careful words were harder to ignore than bold ones.
She slid the note back into her notebook and closed it, pressing her palm against the cover as if that might quiet the noise in her chest. This was not part of the plan. Brian was supposed to be irritating. Temporary. A name attached to a project and nothing more.
Not someone whose handwriting she could recognize.
---
The Shift She Pretended Not to Notice
When she walked into the library later that afternoon, Brian was already there.
He looked up when he saw her—and didn't smile.
That alone told her something had changed.
"Hey," he said, standing. "I'm glad you came."
Something in his tone—gentler than usual—made her pause. "You said we needed to revise the second section."
"We do," he agreed. "But also… I wanted to make sure you got your notebook back."
"I did." Her voice was steadier than she felt. "Thank you."
A beat.
"You're welcome," he said quietly.
They sat.
And for the first time since they'd met, there was no immediate sparring. No teasing. Just a careful awareness, like both of them were standing on the edge of something neither was willing to name.
Brian broke the silence first.
"I meant what I wrote," he said.
Coco's fingers tightened around her pen. "Which part?"
"All of it."
She didn't look at him. "You don't know me well enough to say things like that."
"Then let me," he replied. Not challenging. Asking.
Her heart stuttered.
---
Too Close for Comfort
They worked side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Coco was acutely aware of every small movement—the way Brian leaned in to read her screen, the way his arm brushed hers when he reached for a book.
Each accidental touch lingered a fraction too long.
"You're doing that thing," he said at one point.
She frowned. "What thing?"
"Overthinking," he said gently. "You do it when you're afraid of saying the wrong thing."
She looked at him sharply. "You think I'm afraid?"
"I think you care," he said. "There's a difference."
That hit harder than she expected.
"You don't get to decide what I feel," she said, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
"No," he agreed. "I don't. I just notice."
She turned away, pretending to read.
---
The Conversation That Almost Changes Everything
Later, as the sun dipped lower and the library grew quieter, Brian closed his laptop.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
Coco hesitated. "Depends."
"Why do you always pull back right when things start to feel real?"
Her breath caught.
"That's not—"
"You don't have to answer," he added quickly. "I just… I get the sense you're always bracing for something."
She stared at the words on the page in front of her, though she wasn't reading them anymore.
"Because real things leave marks," she said softly. "And I'm tired of carrying them."
Brian's voice was almost a whisper. "Who hurt you?"
She looked at him then, eyes sharp. "Don't."
"Okay," he said immediately. "I won't."
But the concern in his gaze didn't fade.
---
Almost a Moment
They packed up in silence.
At the exit, Coco dropped her pen. Brian bent to pick it up at the same time.
Their hands collided.
Neither pulled away.
For a second—just one—the world narrowed to the space between them. Coco could feel his breath, warm and steady. She looked up.
He was close. Too close.
His eyes flicked to her lips.
Her heart thundered.
This was it. The moment she'd sworn she wouldn't let happen.
"Coco," Brian murmured, voice low.
She should have stepped back.
She didn't.
Instead, she said, "This is a bad idea."
"Yes," he agreed.
Still, neither of them moved.
The tension coiled tighter, unbearable and intoxicating.
And then—footsteps.
Someone laughed nearby, the spell breaking like glass.
Coco stepped back abruptly.
"We shouldn't," she said, breathless. "This… whatever this is."
Brian nodded, jaw tight. "You're right."
But his eyes said something else entirely.
---
Aftermath
That night, Coco couldn't sleep.
She replayed the almost-kiss over and over, the way his eyes had darkened, the way he'd stopped himself.
He would have, she realized. If I hadn't pulled away.
The thought sent a shiver through her.
Her phone buzzed.
Brian:
I'm sorry if I crossed a line today.
She stared at the screen.
Coco:
You didn't.
A pause.
Brian:
That almost makes it worse.
She smiled despite herself.
Coco:
Goodnight, Brian.
Brian:
Goodnight, Coco.
---
The Cost of Almost
The next day, things were different again—but not in the way she expected.
Brian was distant. Polite. Professional.
It hurt more than his teasing ever had.
When she finally cornered him after class, frustration bubbling over, she snapped, "You're avoiding me."
"I'm respecting your boundaries," he replied evenly.
"That's not what I want."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Brian's eyes searched her face. "Then what do you want?"
She opened her mouth—
And closed it again.
"I don't know," she admitted.
His expression softened. "That's okay. I can wait."
Those words again. Waiting.
And just like that, Coco realized the danger.
Brian wasn't pushing.
He wasn't forcing.
He was giving her space.
And somehow, that made her want him more.
---
The Cliffhanger
That evening, Coco found herself standing outside his apartment building, heart pounding, unsure how she'd gotten there.
She hadn't planned this.
She just… needed to know.
Before she could knock, the door opened.
Brian stared at her in surprise.
"Coco?"
She swallowed. "I was afraid if I didn't come now, I'd never find the right words."
He stepped aside, letting her in.
"Then come in," he said softly. "Take your time."
As the door closed behind her, Coco wondered if tonight would finally turn almost into something.