Jae texted me in the morning, asking if I wanted a ride to school.
My bike tire was fixed, though—and after last night, after the kiss, the idea of pulling up together felt like too much.
Too fast.
So I told him I'd ride.
When I walk into school, I spot him leaning against the lockers near the main hall, hands in his pockets, scanning the crowd like he's waiting for someone.
For me.
His eyes find mine immediately.
There's no confusion there. No distance.
His mouth curves—not a full smile, just enough to make my pulse jump. He straightens slightly, like he's about to come over.
Then I hesitate.
My gaze flicks around the hallway. Too many people. Too many eyes. Whispers waiting to happen.
I shake my head just a fraction, barely noticeable.
He catches it anyway.
Jae stills, reading me like he always does.
After a second, he gives the smallest nod and pushes off the lockers, falling into step beside his friends instead.
The distance stings—but it also feels safer.
James appears at my side a moment later, talking about a history assignment I'm only half hearing.
I glance back once.
Jae looks over his shoulder.
Just once.
Then James appears at my side, mid-sentence, talking about a history quiz I definitely forgot existed.
Jae's gaze flicks to him, just for a second—and then he keeps walking, brushing past us without a word.
The space he leaves behind feels louder than the lockers slamming shut.
"…and Mr. Adler said it'll probably be short-answer," James continues.
I nod, but I don't hear him.
"Laura?" He frowns. "Are you listening to me?"
I look up to answer—and suddenly pain explodes through my scalp.
Someone grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my head into the lockers.
Metal rattles. My vision blurs.
James shouts my name, reaching for me, but Isaac steps in front of him, blocking him like a wall.
"What did you say to Peter?" Mallory snarls, her mouth so close to my ear I can feel her breath.
"Let go of me!" I gasp, my palms scraping uselessly against the lockers. "What are you talking about?"
"He broke up with me," she hisses. "And I know it was because of you, you whore."
Something snaps.
I don't even think—I react.
I twist and drive my elbow hard into her ribs.
Mallory cries out, stumbling back, her grip loosening. I rip free and spin to face her, chest heaving.
She's crying now, mascara smearing, fury written all over her face as she lunges for me again.
Not this time.
I catch her wrist before she can touch my hair, my fingers locking around her arm with surprising strength.
"Enough."
Peter's voice cuts through the hallway like a blade.
Mallory ignores him and tries to yank free, but Peter grabs her arm and pulls her back against him.
She fights him, thrashing and screaming, but he's stronger.
He lifts her slightly off the ground and hauls her away as she shouts my name like a threat.
The hallway slowly starts breathing again.
James rushes to me, hands hovering like he's not sure where it's okay to touch. "Jesus—are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, though my head still throbs.
"Yeah, you kicked her ass," he says, proud. "Come on," he mutters. "Let's go. We're late."
After class, James and I step through the doors into the cold, and I inhale like I've been underwater too long.
James studies me. "Does your distraction have anything to do with Jae?"
I turn to him instantly.
When it comes to Jae, it's like the world snaps into focus.
"It's just…" I hesitate. "He's not who we thought he was. He's not the monster we made him into, James."
His jaw tightens. "Why do you say that?"
"He came to my house."
James stiffens. "He did?"
"His friend died," I say quietly. "The boy who was in a coma. Adam. They turned off the machines."
James doesn't say anything.
"Jae was devastated," I continue. "He said he didn't kill him."
"And you believed him?"
I don't answer. Instead, I glance past James—
And see Jae walking toward us.
James follows my gaze, then exhales like he's surrendering.
He steps back, giving us space, but before he leaves, he looks at me one last time.
"Please," he says. "Be careful."
Jae stops in front of me.
"Why do we have to hide this?" Jae asks, his voice low but firm, like it's something he's thought about all day.
"I just… I haven't told James yet," I say, my voice almost a whisper. "It's too soon. If we let everyone in, it's gonna get messy."
Jae studies me for a moment, then leans in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers.
"You don't have to hide from me," he says, his breath warm against my skin. "But I'll wait. Just know, I'm not going anywhere."
The words hit me harder than a kiss, and for a second, I'm frozen. He pulls back just enough to look at me, and I can't breathe.
"I want to take you somewhere," he says.
I blink. "Now?"
"Yes," he says, smiling slightly. "It's only a fifteen-minute drive."
I return the smile before I can stop myself.
I can't say no to that smile.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
***
The garage smells like dust, oil, and something electric.
"Whose garage is this?" I ask, stepping inside.
"Adam's," Jae says. His voice dulls on the name.
Against the walls are mixers, a computer, controllers—equipment I barely recognize but somehow understand all the same.
"A DJ setup?" I ask.
"I used to play," he says. "I stopped for a while. I'm thinking about starting again."
He powers everything on, fingers moving with practiced ease. When the beat drops, recognition hits me instantly.
"I know this song," I say. "The DJ was—what—Sunweir?"
He nods. "That was us."
My eyes widen. "Us?"
"Adam and me," he says. "We composed together. He played drums. He wrote most of the lyrics."
"I remember him," I say. "I saw interviews. I thought he was solo."
"That was intentional," Jae admits. "I didn't want anyone to know about me. That… caused problems. Adam got lost in it. Drugs. Attention. I stayed behind, making music alone."
He pauses, jaw tight.
"I never released anything under my name," he continues. "I kept composing, but I didn't share it."
I study him. "Why not?"
His eyes meet mine.
"I don't want the attention," he says quietly. "I just want to make music."
Something about the way he says it—honest, stripped down—sends a chill through me.
"Did you ever do drugs?" I ask.
"Never," he says with a grin. "Music gets me high enough without making me lose myself."
Goosebumps ripple up my arms.
I realize, standing there in that garage, that with every word, every truth he offers, I'm falling deeper.
And I don't want to stop.