Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
Theo was the first to wake—not because he wanted to, but because the ancient alarm clock on his bedside table screamed like it had a personal vendetta against him. The sound tore through the room, sharp and merciless. He groaned, rolled slightly, and reached out to silence it—
—and froze.
There was weight on his chest.
Warm. Soft. Breathing.
His hand hovered midair as his brain struggled to catch up. His eyes slowly tracked downward.
Isabella.
Her head rested against his chest, one arm loosely draped over his torso like it had always belonged there. Her hair spilled across him in dark, tangled waves, strands tickling his neck every time she breathed. Her face was relaxed in a way he had never seen before—unguarded, peaceful, lips slightly parted as she slept.
Theo blinked once.
Twice.
"…What," he whispered, barely loud enough for the word to exist.
He didn't move immediately. Panic flickered at the edges of his thoughts, but beneath it was something else—stillness. He tilted his head slightly to the right, careful not to wake her, and let his gaze drift past her toward the canvas leaning against the wall.
The painting.
Finished.
A cracked sky split open with violent red clouds, jagged and raw. Dozens of faceless figures pointed upward, their fingers sharp, accusing, desperate. And in the center, beneath all that weight, stood a lone figure—small, defiant, smiling anyway.
Theo exhaled slowly.
Worth it.
The alarm had stopped, but the moment shattered when Isabella stirred.
"Five more minutes," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
Theo stiffened.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You don't… have five minutes."
She shifted—then stretched.
On top of him.
Theo's brain shut off completely.
Isabella's arms lifted over her head, her back arching slightly as she yawned, completely unaware of how catastrophic this was for his sanity. Her knee brushed his side. Her hair slid across his collarbone.
Then reality hit her.
Her eyes snapped open.
She looked down.
Looked up.
Took in the ceiling. The bed. Him.
"Oh—!" She jolted upright so fast she nearly fell off the bed. "Oh my god—sorry—sorry—"
Theo sat up too, rubbing the back of his neck, heat creeping up his face. "Uh. Morning."
She glanced wildly around the room, then at the clock.
"…We're going to be late."
Theo sighed. "Yeah. That's usually how mornings work."
She swung her legs off the bed, standing so quickly she wobbled. "I need to freshen up."
"You can use the shower," he said, pointing vaguely toward the bathroom. "Uh… water's cold."
She paused. "Cold cold?"
"Emotionally unavailable cold."
She groaned but nodded. "Fine. I'll survive."
The bathroom door shut. Moments later, the sound of water running—followed by a very audible gasp.
"THEO."
"Told you."
She did, in fact, survive.
When she came out, her hair damp and tied back messily, she looked far more awake—and far more aware of the situation. Her eyes lingered on the room again, softer this time. Theo went in next, splashed cold water on his face, and stared at himself in the cracked mirror.
Get it together.
They both emerged wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
Isabella looked down at herself, unimpressed. "I'm not wearing the same outfit twice."
Theo raised an eyebrow. "That's a luxury mindset."
She grabbed her bag. "Come on."
"Where?"
She was already out the door.
They walked two blocks before stopping in front of a clothing store that screamed expensive just by existing. Glass windows, minimalist mannequins, a door that looked like it judged you.
Isabella walked in without hesitation.
Theo followed like someone entering enemy territory.
Ten minutes later, she came back holding a bag and shoved it into his chest.
"For you."
He opened it.
Black cargo pants. A clean Nike shirt. Brand-new white Air Force 1s.
Theo stared.
"…This is beautiful," he said honestly, then caught himself. "I mean—thank you. But—"
"No time," she cut in. "We're already late."
He swallowed whatever argument he had and pulled the clothes on in the store bathroom.
They ran.
By the time they reached campus, the halls were already buzzing. Lockers slammed. Voices echoed. Whispers followed them—eyes lingered.
Theo noticed immediately.
Still famous, he thought dryly.
In the art room, students were already setting up. When Theo and Isabella walked in together, the room quieted for half a second—just long enough to be noticed.
Ash was there.
His eyes flicked to Theo.
Then to Isabella.
Something ugly twisted behind his smile.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright! Today is submission day."
Theo and Isabella exchanged a look.
They carried the painting forward together.
When it was revealed, the room fell silent.
The cracked sky. The red clouds. The fingers. The smile.
One student whispered, "Damn."
Another said nothing—just stared.
Isabella glanced at Theo, surprised despite herself.
He didn't look proud.
He looked tired.
Satisfied—but tired.
The teacher adjusted her glasses. "…This is bold," she said slowly. "Disturbing. Honest."
She nodded once. "Well done."
Theo exhaled, tension finally slipping from his shoulders.
As they returned to their seats, Isabella leaned closer. "You okay?"
He smirked faintly. "Ask me after caffeine."
She hesitated. "About… yesterday."
Theo shrugged. "We finished the work."
"That's not what I meant."
He looked at her then—not guarded, not sarcastic. Just honest.
"I'm used to storms," he said quietly. "Some just happen indoors."
She didn't know what to say to that.
The bell rang.
As students packed up, Isabella stood. "Hey. After this… you wanna get Dinner?"
Theo paused.
Then smiled—small, crooked.
"…Only if you promise not to judge how I eat."
She smiled back.
"No promises."