The days after the hockey game moved like a mourning season, cold, quiet, and full of things unsaid.
Alisson West has become so good at avoiding Stiles Marvy.
She changes her walking routes, skips the coffee shop he always sits at, and even starts painting late at night when she knows he won't pass through the studio wing.
To everyone else, it looks like she's just busy preparing for the LanVille Winter Art Showcase.
But beneath the art showcase, many stones remained unturned.
In her sketchbook, the painting becomes lifeless and vague. Her once confident strokes are getting blurred, uneven. Her professors notice and say to her.
"Your compositions lack focus, Ms. West," Professor Hale says, flipping through her submission portfolio.
"Yes, sir. I'll revise them," she replies softly.
Meanwhile, across campus, Stiles sits in a nearly empty lecture hall, notebook open but mind elsewhere.
Words at his finger tips but not coming together. Even his favorite subject, Romantic literature feels shallow.
"You alright, man?" Ethan leans over, whispering.
"Yeah," Stiles lies.
"You haven't turned in your last essay."
"I'll get it done soon."
"She's got you twisted, huh?" Ethan smirks, trying to lighten the mood.
"It's not like that," Stiles mutters, but it is.
He hasn't spoken to Alisson in nearly three weeks. Not since she walked away that night, leaving him alone in the cold rink corridor.
By the fourth week, the whispers around campus fade, new topics filled everywhere. But for them, the silence still burns.
Kaitlyn notices it too. One afternoon, she corners Alisson in the art room.
"You know, he's miserable right!," she says, leaning on a table.
"He'll be fine," Alisson answers, not looking up.
"You're not," Kaitlyn says. "You haven't been since that night."
Alisson sighs, setting her brush down.
"Kaitlyn, I just need to focus on the showcase. The board already thinks I'm distracted."
"Yeah..., and are they wrong?"
The question lingers. Alisson doesn't answer. She dips her brush back into blue paint and says quietly:
"I can't go through another heartbreak, Kaitlyn. Not after Carter, not after everything."
Kaitlyn softens.
"Maybe Stiles isn't another heartbreak. Maybe he's the reason the last one didn't destroy you."
Across campus, Stiles hears the same kind of warning from someone entirely different.
Ethan finds him sitting on the bleachers by the empty hockey rink, notebook in hand, trying to write.
"You've gotta stop torturing yourself, man."
"I'm not." Stiles says
"You're literally sitting where you saw her on the rink. You're haunting your own memories man."
Stiles laughs dryly.
"She doesn't want to see me."
"Then maybe show her you're not giving up."
"And do what? Write her a poem or letter?"
"You're the poet," Ethan says. "Figure it out."
The following week, Alisson gets her midterm review. Her grades have slipped although not much, but enough for the art board to "raise concerns."
In the hallway, Carter Allen leans casually against the wall as she leaves the office.
"Rough day?" he asks.
"What do you want, Carter."
"I'm just being nice."
"You don't know how to." she replied
He smiles.
"You really think the board doesn't notice who you hang around? You're supposed to be professional, Alisson. They see you as that girl caught in the middle of a fight."
"You started that fight remember!!," she says, voice sharp.
"Maybe. But he finished it."
She glares at him, then walks away, her boots echoing down the tiled hall. Carter watches, like he always wanted this to happen, eyes cold but amused.
Later that evening, in her studio, Alisson stares at a half-finished painting, all she could see was Stiles eyes and even hear voices that sounded like his. She throws the brush down, steps back, and lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Damn it."
She doesn't even notice the door creak open.
"You still paint like your emotions are on fire," a voice says behind her.
She freezes. Turns.
Stiles stands in the doorway, drained and tired eyes, backpack slung over one shoulder, a tentative smile on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice low.
"Ethan told me where you might be."
"You shouldn't be here."
"Maybe not," he admits. "But I couldn't keep pretending, Alison I'm not fine."
For a long moment, neither speaks. Only the faint fluorescent studio lights fills the silence.
Finally, Alisson crosses her arms.
"You don't get to walk back in like nothing happened."
"I'm not trying to," he says softly.
"You embarrassed me, Stiles. You made me look like i make reckless decisions in front of everyone, Stiles, I've worked to impress."
"I know," he says. "And I'm sorry."
"That's not enough."
"Then tell me what is," he says, voice trembling slightly. "Tell me what I can do to make it right."
She drops her head, frustrated.
"You can't fix everything with words."
"It's the only thing I know how to do."
She laughs bitterly.
"Then maybe that's the problem."
He looks at her...really looks. The exhaustion under her eyes, the paint stains on her sleeves, the unseen walls she keeps building.
"You've been hurting," he says quietly.
"So have you," she replies.
He steps closer, slowly but steady, not trying to make any quick moves.
"Alisson, I didn't mean for the game to turn into that. I just… I hate the way he looks at you like he owns part of your story."
"He doesn't." Alisson cuts in.
"I know. But I wanted him to know that too."
Her breath catches, emotions flickering between anger and something softer.
"You can't fight my battles for me."
"So.... I'm only worth your happy moments not your hard times".
An eerie silence broke in their midst just then
"I'm trying to fight your battles with you. Alisson, I'm trying to be someone who stands with you."
The words hang heavy in the air.
Something breaks just then, the wall between them, the weeks of silence. Alisson steps closer, her voice trembling.
"You hurt me, Stiles. But I missed you too."
"Then maybe that means we're both still trying."
Their eyes lock, searching, uncertainty, magnetic.
Without another word, she reaches up, brushing his cheek with paint-stained fingers. He catches her wrist gently, his thumb tracing the edge of her hand.
"You've got blue on your face now," she whispers.
"Guess it's your way of marking your territory."
"Don't ruin it with words now," she says, half-laughing.
He smiles, but it's a fragile kind, the kind that hides everything they're afraid to say.
"You still haven't forgiven me," he says softly.
"No," she admits. "But maybe I'm ready to start."
Their foreheads touch. The air between them hums with warmth, the faint scent of paints and winter clinging to the air. For a moment, the world narrows, their breath mingling, heartbeats aligning, everything else falling away.
He whispers:
"You're the only person who ever made me forget how to think."
"Good," she murmurs, voice shaky. "You think too much."
He laughs softly and just then their lips met. The kind of kiss they had was one of longing and passionate feelings, something they've really wanted to have weeks gone.
They pull apart just as Kaitlyn bursts in, out of breath.
"Alisson! You're still here, the dean's been asking for you. They're moving the art showcase earlier because of some sponsorship change."
Alisson blinks, disoriented, trying to steady her breath.
"What!!, When?"
"Next week."
Kaitlyn notices the tension, glancing between them.
"Oh," she mutters, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this is."
"It's fine," Alisson says quickly, stepping back.
"Yeah," Stiles echoes, though his tone betrays him.
Kaitlyn clears her throat.
"Right. I'll, uh, wait outside."
As soon as she's gone, silence settles again.
"So," Alisson says, looking anywhere but him. "I guess the universe isn't done testing us."
He slowly holds her hands like he missed her touch, feeling every edge of it.
"Wouldn't be interesting if it was."
She smiles faintly small, real shy.
"You really want to try again?" she asks.
"If it means trying with you," he says, "then yeah."
The sound of her laugh quiet but genuine feels like the first sign of spring after a long winter.
They leave the studio together, walking side by side through the dim hallway. The air outside smells of love and soft desire.
At the door, they pause.
"Goodnight, Stiles," she says softly.
"Goodnight".
As she walks away, he watches her disappear into the dark and for the first time in weeks, he feels the world make sense again.
But as he turns to leave, his phone buzzes. A message.
Unknown number.
"You should've stayed away. Some stories aren't meant to end happy."
Stiles freezes, staring at the screen. The number isn't saved but he already knows who sent it.
Carter Allen.