The night air was cool, tinged with the scent of cut grass and the faintest trace of summer clinging to the breeze. Campus had gone still—rehearsals wrapped, lights dimmed, voices faded. Only the occasional flicker from a dorm window remained, like distant stars watching their slow approach.
Kris's bike stood parked near the front entrance, sleek and silent beneath the amber glow of the streetlamp. Mia paused beside it, her bag slung over her shoulder, heart pounding with something that had nothing to do with stage fright.
"Here," Kris said quietly, handing her the spare helmet. Their fingers brushed. The contact was light, accidental, but it sent a current zipping through her spine. She watched him for a second longer than she should have—tired but still maddeningly beautiful, his leather jacket slung casually over one shoulder, his eyes unreadable.
She slid onto the back of the bike, familiar now with the motions, but it felt entirely different this time. There was no banter. No power game. Only the thrum of the engine and the quiet stretch of road ahead. As he pulled out onto the street, Mia's arms instinctively tightened around his waist—not out of fear this time, but something far more dangerous. Trust. Want.
They didn't speak during the ride. The world was too loud with wind and engine roar, but Mia's thoughts were louder. Every twist of the road, every shift of his body beneath her, was a conversation waiting to happen. She pressed her cheek lightly to his back, just for a moment, and felt his breath catch.
When they finally stopped, it wasn't at a diner, or her apartment. It was a lookout point—high above the city, quiet and empty except for them. The skyline blinked below like scattered constellations, and the silence between them stretched thick with anticipation.
Kris pulled off his helmet first, running a hand through his unruly hair before turning toward her. His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but nothing came out. He looked lost for a moment—genuinely lost—and Mia realized with a jolt how rarely she'd seen him without a script. Without control.
She climbed off the bike slowly, tugging off her own helmet, the cool air kissing her neck. "So," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why here?"
He hesitated. "Because it's quiet," he said. "And because I needed... a space where we could talk. Where I couldn't hide behind rehearsal notes or smug comebacks."
Mia blinked, stunned by the honesty. "Okay," she said softly, stepping forward until only inches separated them. "So talk."
Kris let out a shaky breath, his expression folding—something between a smirk and a wince. "I don't know what we're doing," he admitted. "This started as a stupid bet. And somewhere between you yelling at me and falling on your face during drills and stealing my stage cues, I stopped seeing you as... just a rival. Or an obligation."
Mia's heart was thundering. "Then what do you see me as?"
He looked at her like he was trying to work it out himself. "Someone who makes me forget how hard I'm trying. Someone who sees through me—and still stays."
She could barely breathe. The city below pulsed like a heartbeat, and everything in her screamed to say something—anything—to break the moment open.
Instead, she whispered, "That night in the office... when you leaned on me. Was that real?"
Kris didn't flinch. "Yeah," he said. "It scared the hell out of me."
They stood like that for a long second, the air between them humming.
Finally, Mia stepped forward and gently, deliberately, placed her hand over his. "It scared me too."
And somehow, that was enough.
For now.