Your alarm buzzes before dawn breaks. Dakota's side of the dorm is neat and organized, her headphones tucked into her pillow. You silence the phone and scroll through notifications. The group chat is already alive. Marcus complains about morning drills in all caps. Sloane sends three voice memos about her podcast episode. Beckett texts a blurry selfie from the locker room.
Beckett: Coffee is my only friend right now.
You smile and type back quickly.
You: See you at the library?
Beckett: Already saving your seat.
You shower and dress carefully, choosing your favorite oversized sweater and black jeans. Your violet hair falls loose around your shoulders. In the mirror, you look tired but determined. You grab your art supplies, tucking sketches and brushes into your bag, and head out into the crisp morning air.
The library is already bustling when you arrive. Students cluster at tables, cramming for midterms or working on projects. You spot Sloane near the back, two coffees and a muffin already waiting. She has her hair in tight knots today, each one secured with a different colored bead. Silver rings catch the light on every finger.
"You look exhausted," Sloane says as you sit down.
"Thanks for noticing," you reply, tearing into the muffin.
"Did you finish the sketches for Reyes?"
You slide your sketchbook across the table. She flips through slowly, studying each drawing with careful attention. She pauses on a sketch of Beckett, his profile caught mid-laugh.
"This one is incredible," Sloane says. "You captured something here. The way his jaw sets when he's thinking about something serious."
"I drew that from memory," you admit, feeling heat rise in your cheeks.
Sloane gives you a look, one eyebrow raised, but doesn't push. She just taps the page knowingly and keeps turning.
Beckett crashes into the library with the energy of someone who has already been awake for hours. His hair is still damp from a shower, and his hoodie is only half zipped. He grins when he sees you, immediately reaching for the coffee Sloane brought him.
"You remembered it black," he says, pleased.
"You've had the same coffee since freshman year," Sloane replies. "It's not hard to remember."
Beckett slides onto the bench next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. He launches into a dramatic retelling of practice, doing an impression of Coach's voice that is so accurate Sloane nearly spills her drink.
"Coach made us run drills until Marcus literally collapsed," Beckett says, eyes wide. "I thought we were going to have to call an ambulance. Marcus just lay there on the field like a dead fish."
You laugh, imagining Marcus's sprawled form. "Did he get up?"
"Eventually. After Coach screamed at him for five minutes about commitment." Beckett steals a piece of your muffin. "So anyway, how was Modern Art?"
"Painful," you say. "Reyes wants us to do these abstract pieces that are supposed to represent our inner emotional landscape."
Sloane groans. "That's so pretentious."
"Right? And I don't even know what my inner emotional landscape looks like," you say. "It's probably just chaos and coffee."
Beckett nudges your shoulder. "Your inner emotional landscape is beautiful. Stop doubting yourself."
"Flattery won't get you a better grade," you tease.
"No, but it might get me more of your muffin," he counters.
You shake your head but let him take another piece. The three of you fall into easy conversation, jumping between topics. Sloane mentions her podcast launch coming up next week.
"I want both of you as guests," Sloane announces. "We can talk about how you two have known each other forever and somehow haven't murdered each other."
"Yet," Beckett says. "We haven't murdered each other yet. The semester's still young."
You laugh, and Sloane grins, already making notes about potential questions.
When your schedules finally pull you in different directions, Beckett walks you to the art building. The campus is starting to fill with people heading to classes. You weave through clusters of students, Beckett's presence steady beside you.
"How's the mural coming?" he asks.
"Slowly," you admit. "I keep starting and then scrapping everything."
"You always do that at first," Beckett says. "Then you figure it out and create something incredible."
"That's called procrastination, not talent."
"It's called being a perfectionist," he says. "There's a difference."
You reach the art building. Students filter in and out, chatting about their classes. Beckett pulls back slightly, adjusting his bag.
"I have to get to bio," he says. "But text me later?"
"Yeah, okay," you say.
The art studio is quiet when you arrive. Most students are still in classes. You set up your supplies near the large windows, where natural light streams across the work space. Your canvas sits waiting, still mostly blank. You stare at it for a long moment, trying to summon inspiration.
You start with color washes, loose and exploratory. Purples blend into blues. Golds streak through. Nothing cohesive emerges, but you keep working, letting instinct guide your hand.
Around midday, Hannah appears with her usual energy. Hannah is a junior like you, with copper hair that bounces when she moves. Her overalls are covered in paint stains, evidence of her constant work. She holds a mug of tea in both hands like it's a lifeline.
"Maren," Hannah says, setting down her supplies next to yours. "Thank goodness you're here. I need an opinion on my piece."
She shows you a painting of rain streaking down a window, lights blurred beyond the glass. The blues are deep and rich, almost mournful. The execution is impeccable.
"It's beautiful," you tell her honestly. "Sad, but beautiful."
"That's what Priya said," Hannah replies. "But she also said I need to add more chaos. Apparently I'm too controlled."
Priya walks over at that moment, as if summoned by her name. Priya is Hannah's roommate and closest friend. She is smaller than Hannah, with sharp features and black hair pulled back tightly. Her technical sketches are always perfect, each line measured and intentional.
"You are controlled," Priya says, looking at the painting over Hannah's shoulder. "That's not bad. That's just who you are. But maybe try loosening up. Add a human element."
"Humans make everything worse," Hannah says.
"Exactly," Priya replies. "Which is why art needs them."
You watch them banter, comfortable in their disagreement. Mateo appears next, carrying sandwiches from the campus café. Mateo is Hannah's boyfriend, a quiet economics major with a nervous smile. He always seems slightly out of place in the art studio, but he shows up anyway, supporting Hannah's vision.
"I brought lunch," Mateo says, setting the sandwiches on a nearby table. "Before you all get too absorbed and forget to eat."
Hannah beams at him. "You're the best."
Priya rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "He really is. It's disgusting how thoughtful he is."
Mateo blushes and fidgets with his watch. "It's just food."
"It's not just food," Hannah says, squeezing his arm. "You remember that I don't like tomatoes. That's love."
You eat together, the four of you, talking about classes and weekend plans. Mateo shares an economics joke that makes no sense but makes Hannah laugh anyway. Priya describes her latest technical drawing project, something about perspective lines and architectural plans. You contribute what you can, comfortable in their presence.
After lunch, you return to your canvas, but the inspiration still doesn't come. You sketch loose outlines, trying different compositions, but nothing feels right. Around three, Sloane texts.
Sloane: Art show tonight. You coming?
You: What time?
Sloane: 6. Gallery space. I'm bringing my equipment to do some interviews.
You: I'll be there.
The gallery space is transformed by the time you arrive. Spotlights illuminate various pieces, and soft music plays in the background. Students and faculty wander through, studying the work. You spot Hannah immediately, standing near her own submission, which is now framed and displayed prominently.
"You made it," Hannah says, pulling you into a quick hug. "What do you think?"
"It looks perfect up there," you say, and you mean it. The painting seems to glow under the spotlight.
Sloane has already set up near the snack table, her podcast equipment arranged carefully. She waves you over, already planning how to integrate the audio into her episode.
"This is perfect," Sloane says, gesturing around the gallery. "Live episode. Capture the energy. We can get reactions from artists about their pieces."
Beckett arrives with Marcus shortly after. Marcus is broad-shouldered and loud, with quick blue eyes that miss nothing. He played soccer with Beckett in middle school and has been part of your extended group ever since.
"This place is packed," Marcus says, surveying the crowd. "Where do we even start?"
"The mural proposals are over here," Hannah says, leading the group. She points out several designs from different artists. Each one offers a different vision for a campus space.
You find yourself studying each proposal, critiquing angles and color choices. Beckett stands nearby, asking questions that reveal he understands more about art than he usually lets on.
"What makes this one better than that one?" Beckett asks, comparing two designs.
"Movement," you explain. "This one has your eye traveling through the space. The other one feels static."
Beckett nods, absorbing this information. "You should pitch your own design. This is way better than these."
"I'm still working on it," you say.
A new voice joins your conversation. Jasper is a transfer student, tall and confident, with silver threading through his dark hair. He wears his California origins like a badge, speaking with casual authority about art movements and trends.
"Those compositional choices are tired," Jasper says, gesturing at the proposals on display. "What campus needs is disruption. Something that challenges the viewer's perception."
Beckett's posture shifts subtly. You notice immediately, the way his jaw tightens.
"Sometimes beauty doesn't need to be disruptive," Beckett says, not hostile but definitely guarded.
"True," Jasper concedes, turning his charm toward you. "What do you think? Are you more disruptor or traditionalist?"
"I try to be honest," you answer carefully. "Whether that ends up disruptive or traditional depends on the day."
Jasper grins, pleased by your answer. He launches into stories about the LA art scene, galleries he has visited, artists he has seen. His hands gesture expressively as he talks. Marcus gets drawn in, asking questions about California versus the Midwest. Even Sloane pauses her podcast setup to listen.
Beckett remains beside you, present but quiet. You feel the slight tension radiating from him, though you cannot quite name the source. You glance at him, but his expression is neutral, focused on one of the displayed pieces.
"The street art in LA is incredible," Jasper is saying. "You should see it if you ever get the chance. I can show you around sometime if you make it out there."
"Maybe," you say, unsure if he's being genuine or just making conversation.
"I mean it," Jasper says, and his eyes are bright, interested. "Seriously, you'd love it. The energy there is different."
Beckett shifts his weight, and you catch him checking his phone.
The evening progresses. Hannah shows you her latest piece, a series of interconnected portraits capturing different moods. Priya stands nearby, offering technical feedback. Mateo takes photographs, documenting the show for Hannah's portfolio.
Sloane conducts impromptu interviews, capturing thoughts about art and creativity. She gets Beckett to talk about supporting artists and why sports can coexist with art appreciation. She gets Marcus sharing stories about his sister, who wants to be a painter. She gets you discussing the mural deadline and your creative process.
Jasper takes over one conversation, debating LA street art versus Chicago's movements. Beckett engages, but his usual warmth is tempered by something harder to read. You catch him watching you when Jasper makes you laugh at a story about a gallery opening gone wrong.
By the time the show winds down, you are exhausted but energized. The group gathers near the exit, discussing the post-show dinner at the pizza place downtown.
Beckett pulls back slightly. "I should head out," he says. "Coach wants us in early tomorrow."
"Come on," Marcus urges. "One hour."
"Early practice waits for no one," Beckett replies, but his eyes find you. "You going?"
"Yeah," you say. "I think so."
"Okay," Beckett says. He hugs you quickly, his hand lingering on your back. "Text me when you get back to the dorm?"
"I will," you promise.
He nods, gives the group a wave, and disappears into the evening. You watch him go, feeling something shift but unable to identify what.
The pizza place is crowded and loud. You find a large table in the corner. Everyone settles in with familiar ease. Sloane continues podcast planning, already outlining episodes for the next month. Hannah and Priya debate the best pizza toppings while Mateo quietly orders whatever Hannah suggests. Marcus tells increasingly elaborate stories about his football days. Jasper interjects with comments and questions, drawing everyone further into conversation.
You push pizza around your plate, distracted by Beckett's absence. It's not unusual for him to skip out because of practice demands. But something about tonight feels different. You replay the moment he pulled back, the way his posture shifted when Jasper spoke.
"You okay?" Sloane asks quietly, leaning close so only you can hear.
"Fine," you say automatically.
Sloane gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you. But she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm and turns back to her conversation.
When dinner ends, the group splits up. Sloane walks with you back to campus, talking about her podcast episode plans. Hannah and Priya head off together, their voices fading as they disappear down the path. Marcus and Jasper drift toward the athletic center, still deep in conversation.
Back at your dorm, you find a text waiting from Beckett.
Beckett: Make it home safe?
You reply immediately.
You: Just got back. You awake?
His response takes a few minutes.
Beckett: Yeah. Couldn't sleep. Long day.
You type back quickly.
You: The show was good though. You should have stayed for pizza.
Another wait. Then:
Beckett: Maybe. Did Jasper give you his number?
The question surprises you. You stare at it for a long moment before typing.
You: No? Why?
Beckett: Just seemed like he was interested. Wanted to make sure you knew if he tried something.
You frown, unsure how to respond.
You: He's just friendly. I think he's like that with everyone.
Beckett doesn't reply for several minutes. When he does, it's:
Beckett: Okay. Just looking out for you. Get some sleep.
You set the phone down, turning the interaction over in your mind. Beckett has never acted protective in quite that way before. It's new and strange and makes your chest tight.
You fall asleep thinking about friendships and boundaries, wondering when the lines started to feel less clear.