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EPISODE 7 — Crossing Lines
(Layla's POV)
The dorm was quiet, save for the soft hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Chloe had long since surrendered to sleep, earbuds firmly in, sprawled across her bed as if the world could wait. Mia was on her sketchbook, absorbed, pencil moving in soft, rhythmic strokes. And me? I was restless. Thoughts of Ethan refused to let me settle, his presence lingering even in the emptiness of my dorm room.
I stepped quietly past Chloe, careful not to wake her, and slipped out into the cool night. The campus lay shrouded in a muted calm, the quad bathed in lamplight, shadows stretching lazily across the pavement. My footsteps echoed softly, and for a brief second, I wondered if I should turn back. But something — curiosity, inevitability, or maybe just stubbornness — kept me moving.
The music from the casual movie night still drifted faintly across the quad, laughter and chatter mingling with the distant strum of guitar from a late-night performer. I found Ethan leaning against the fountain, hoodie up, hands tucked into his pockets. He looked like he had been waiting, though I knew better than to assume.
"Layla," he said, voice low, carrying that effortless calm he always seemed to wear. "Out here alone?"
"I… needed air," I admitted, trying to sound casual though my pulse had already sped up.
"You never just stay in one place," he teased lightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You move through life like it's a test."
"I'm careful," I said, shrugging, even as my fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
"Careful," he repeated slowly, stepping closer, and I felt the space between us shrink with alarming speed. "Doesn't usually notice the little things. Like… me."
I wanted to argue, to deny the pull that had been growing between us all week, but my voice caught in my throat. He closed the distance deliberately, the warmth from his hoodie brushing against my arm, and suddenly the quiet night felt impossibly intimate.
"I shouldn't be doing this," I whispered, though my body betrayed me, leaning closer without meaning to.
"Neither should I," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a heartbeat too long, searching, testing. "But I am."
Time slowed. The air seemed to thicken, charged with a tension neither of us could ignore. His hand brushed mine — just a fleeting contact, but enough to make my chest skip. And then, without another word, he leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, a question posed in the silence of the night. My heart lurched, thoughts scattering as the world outside the quad fell away. There was no planning, no strategizing — just the undeniable pull that had been building since prom, since the first week at Avalon.
Ethan's hand found the small of my back, drawing me closer, and for a moment, I forgot everything I had told myself about being careful, about keeping distance, about the walls I had so carefully built.
The kiss deepened, urgent now, but not rough — it was measured, aware, like he knew exactly how far to go without breaking the fragile hold on the boundaries I had clung to. My fingers tangled in his hoodie, holding him, needing him, while my mind screamed in protest that I should pull away, that this was reckless, that…
"Ethan…" I breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to catch my bearings. He rested his forehead against mine, eyes dark and searching.
"Layla," he whispered, voice low, almost tender. "I can't stop noticing you. And I don't want to."
The truth in his words made my chest tighten. All week I had danced around him, careful, cautious, pretending I could maintain control. But in the quiet of the quad, under the soft glow of the lamps, pretending seemed impossible.
"I… we shouldn't…" I tried again, though my body betrayed my words.
"Since when have either of us followed rules?" he countered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, even as his eyes softened. "Maybe this… maybe us… isn't about rules. Maybe it's about what we feel. Right now."
I wanted to argue, to rationalize, to retreat into the safety of logic. But the truth was, I didn't want to. Not really.
We stayed like that for a long, suspended moment, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in, letting the quiet night hold us. And then, almost reluctantly, I stepped back, breaking the physical closeness but not the magnetic pull between us.
"I shouldn't," I whispered again, this time softer, almost to myself.
"Good," he said, voice low, almost a tease, "because my father would have a lot to say about me being caught like this."
The words pulled me up short, and suddenly I saw him in a new light — a flicker of the Ethan I had been seeing behind the calm, teasing facade. The Ethan who carried weight, who had a legacy pressing down on his shoulders. The Ethan who had to navigate his father's warnings, who lived in a world of expectations even as he crossed lines he shouldn't.
"You… your father?" I asked cautiously, curiosity mingling with concern.
He sighed, a small shadow passing over his face. "He's strict. Always has been. Always will be. 'Don't make headlines,' he said once. That's the shorthand for… don't let people see anything that isn't perfect. Don't let anyone in. Be untouchable. Untouchable and flawless."
I felt a pang of understanding, a connection forming not just from desire, but from recognition. He was like me in some ways — trapped between expectation and instinct, public perception and private truth.
"And now?" I prompted softly, though the distance between us was negligible.
"Now," he said, eyes darkening, "I feel like rules are the last thing I want. Especially not with you."
It was impossible to argue with that, impossible to resist. My defenses had been chipped away all week, eroded by glances, proximity, small touches, and now, the undeniable certainty of this moment.
"I…" I started, searching for words that didn't exist. My chest heaved with unsaid confessions, the weight of everything I had tried to contain threatening to spill over.
"Shh," he murmured, leaning in to capture my lips again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if it had been waiting for release all week. His hands framed my face, pulling me closer, and I felt my own arms wrap around his waist, holding him just as tightly.
Every rational thought I had ever clung to dissolved into the night. The chaos, the expectations, the warnings — none of it mattered here. Just the heat of his body, the brush of his lips, the intensity in his gaze.
And then, without warning, reality crept back in — the quiet of the dorm, Chloe sleeping mere rooms away, Mia sketching somewhere safe inside.
I pulled back slightly, breathless, heart hammering. "We can't," I whispered, though the words felt weak.
"I know," he said softly, pressing his forehead to mine once more. "But I had to. I needed to know… if you felt it too."
"I do," I admitted, voice trembling, the truth undeniable. "But we have to be careful. Not about us… just…" My words trailed off, inadequate for the storm of feelings raging inside me.
"Noted," he murmured, lips brushing mine in a soft, lingering kiss. "Careful. That's your favorite word, isn't it?"
I couldn't answer, didn't want to. The way he said it, the warmth of his body, the quiet understanding in his eyes — it left me speechless.
We stood in silence for a while longer, letting the night hold us, letting the quad carry our secret. Eventually, I stepped back fully, gathering my composure.
"I should go," I said quietly, heart still racing, mind still tangled.
He nodded, smirk returning just slightly. "Until next time, careful one."
I wanted to roll my eyes, wanted to resist, wanted to run. Instead, I only nodded, walking back toward the dorm with shaky legs and a mind that refused to settle.
Inside, the dorm was silent. Chloe still slept, oblivious, while Mia's pencil scratched softly on paper. My entrance went unnoticed, but my pulse refused to calm. I sat on my bed, hugging my knees, trying to process everything that had just happened.
Mia looked up briefly, eyes catching mine with something quiet and knowing. "You went out," she observed softly, voice neutral but aware.
I flushed, nodding. "I… needed to think."
She tilted her head, sketching pencil poised. "Seems like you found more than thoughts."
I froze, caught between embarrassment and the undeniable truth. "It wasn't supposed to… it just happened."
Mia smiled faintly, returning to her sketch. "Sometimes, that's how it is," she murmured, and her quiet acceptance made me realize something I had been avoiding.
Ethan Marshall wasn't just a fleeting attraction. He wasn't just a storm passing through my carefully curated life. He was a force I couldn't deny, a reality I had to face, even if it scared me.
And for the first time since stepping foot on Avalon University, I felt alive in a way that had nothing to do with rules, expectations, or caution.
The night stretched on, long and heavy with the weight of unspoken words and stolen moments. Outside, the campus slept, unaware of the crossing lines, the breaking barriers, the collision of two lives that had been circling each other since the very first dance.
I knew this was only the beginning.
And I was ready — or at least, as ready as I could ever be — to face whatever came next.
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