Chapter 11
The building smelled like paint and whatever chemical the janitor used on the floors—sharp, but not unpleasant. Gwen leaned her head against the cool, gray locker, tapping her pencil against her clipboard, trying to block out the echoing sounds of a freshman choir rehearsal down the hall.
Miles showed up exactly three minutes late, holding two iced lemon teas and a sketchbook tucked under one arm.
“Hey,” he greeted, offering her one of the drinks like it was tradition now. Gwen took it without question.
“Hey,” she replied, sipping. “Late again?”
“Blame the hallway paint fumes. I got stuck talking to Ms. DaCosta about negative space. It turned into a thirty-minute TED Talk.”
Gwen smirked. “And let me guess, you contributed to at least fifteen of those minutes?”
“I plead the fifth,” Miles said, holding up his hands. “But I brought peace offerings.”
They walked toward the empty art room where the lighting was soft and no one would interrupt them. Gwen had volunteered to help catalogue student artwork for an upcoming showcase. Miles had offered to help for... support. Moral or otherwise.
“So,” she said, flipping open a folder. “Do you think this one’s a face or an alien jellybean?”
Miles leaned closer, their shoulders almost touching. “Mmm. Jellybean. Definitely. The expression says, ‘I’ve seen things.’”
Gwen laughed, the sound low and warm. “You’re ridiculous.”
They settled into a quiet rhythm—Gwen labeling and organizing, Miles sketching in his notebook between sips of tea.
“You know,” Gwen said, without looking up, “this is kind of nice. Just… this.”
Miles glanced at her. “Yeah. No equations, no physics experiments trying to zap us. Just you, me, and the misunderstood jellybean.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
Outside, the sun shifted lower, casting gold over the windows and paint-streaked walls. And for a moment, neither of them said anything—content in the quiet, and the company.
It was one of those late spring evenings where the city felt gentler than usual—soft breeze, golden sky, everything a little quieter than it should be. Gwen hugged her light cardigan closer as she and Miles walked down the tree-lined sidewalk just outside campus.
He had insisted on walking her back after they wrapped up in the art room, and she hadn’t argued.
“You ever notice how the sky looks like a painting around this time?” Miles asked, tilting his head toward the streaks of orange and lavender above.
Gwen smiled faintly. “You say that like you’re not a literal artist.”
“I mean, yeah,” he said with a small laugh, “but like... real life shouldn’t look this pretty, you know?”
She looked at him then, watched how the glow caught on his cheekbones, how relaxed his smile was. He was still holding the half-empty iced tea he brought her hours ago. It was a little ridiculous how comfortable this had started to feel.
“I like when you say things like that,” she admitted.
He blinked. “Like what?”
“Stuff about art. Or the sky. Or how jellybeans can be misunderstood. Makes everything feel... softer.”
Miles rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Well, I like when you laugh. You don’t do it enough.”
That got her. Gwen looked down at the cracks in the sidewalk, lips pressed together to fight off the grin she could feel forming.
They reached the front steps of her dorm. She hesitated, foot resting on the bottom stair.
“Thanks for walking me,” she said, quietly.
“Anytime,” Miles replied, meaning it too much.
She turned then, halfway up the stairs, and looked at him. “Hey... Miles?”
“Yeah?”
For a second, it looked like she might say something more. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her backpack, her brows pulled in just a little.
Instead, she smiled.
“Goodnight.”
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Miles stood there for a long moment, staring at the door like it might tell him what she was thinking.
“…Goodnight,” he said softly, to no one at all.
Gwen stared at the half-finished biology worksheet in front of her.
It stared back.
Or maybe it judged. She couldn’t be sure anymore.
She sighed, flopped back onto her bed, and groaned into the pillow.
“Everything okay over there?” Amaya asked from her desk, twisting slightly in her chair. She had headphones around her neck and was munching on a granola bar, the picture of calm productivity.
“Biology is dumb,” Gwen muttered. “My brain’s melting.”
“You’re not even looking at it,” Amaya pointed out.
Gwen groaned again, but rolled onto her side to face her roommate. “Can I ask you something really stupid?”
Amaya raised a brow. “We live together. Stupid questions are kind of our love language.”
“Okay. Cool. Hypothetically, if you were maybe... crushing on someone. Like, huge crush. Like your brain short-circuits every time they smile at you. How do you know it’s real and not just, like, the serotonin from lemon tea?”
Amaya paused. Slowly set her snack down. “Gwen.”
“What?”
“You’re in love with Miles.”
Gwen made a strangled noise and buried her face back into the pillow. “No I’m not!”
“You absolutely are! You bring him up like twenty times a day!”
“I do not!”
“You literally just blamed lemon tea for your feelings.”
Gwen peeked out from the pillow, face already warm. “Okay maybe I like him. Like... a little.”
Amaya gave her a look.
“Fine. A lot. I like him a lot. Like—oh my god—it’s so embarrassing. He gave me his hoodie once and I’ve smelled it like three times when I was sad. That’s not normal, right?!”
Amaya just burst out laughing. “Gwen. You are so far gone.”
Gwen rolled over again and held her pillow to her chest. “What do I do?”
“Well, you could tell him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I guess you just sit here and suffer like the rest of us do.”
Gwen smiled faintly. “Cool. Awesome. Love that for me.”
Gwen had a plan.
Step one: act normal.
Step two: don’t stare.
Step three: absolutely, under no circumstances, mention the way Miles had laughed during their last tutoring session.
Step four: do not combust.
She walked into the campus café with her head held high and her hands shoved in her hoodie pockets, only for her brain to short-circuit when she spotted him already sitting at their usual corner table. He was sipping something warm, scrolling casually on his phone, and looking—unfortunately—really, really cute.
“Hey,” Miles greeted with a lazy grin when he saw her.
Okay. Calm. Normal. Just say hi back.
“Hi,” Gwen said. Then, because her brain was apparently on strike: “Your elbows are really symmetrical.”
Miles blinked. “My... elbows?”
She closed her eyes. Abort mission. We have lost control.
“I mean—sorry. I was just thinking about... geometry. It’s been a weird morning.”
Miles tilted his head, clearly amused. “You good, Gwendy?”
He used the nickname. Her insides somersaulted like they were trying out for the Olympics.
“Yep! Totally normal. So normal. I’m like the poster girl for normal.”
He just laughed, and she swore it did something fatal to her heart rate. “Cool. Then the very normal you should check this out—I found a weird old documentary on the physics of spider silk. You’d love it.”
Gwen blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
He pulled out his phone and showed her the video. “Thought of you immediately.”
Oh no.
Oh no.
Gwen stared at him for a beat too long, then quickly sat down before her knees gave out. “You are, like... dangerously nice.”
Miles raised a brow. “Dangerously?”
She covered her face. “Forget I said anything. Can we just start tutoring?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Let me just grab napkins. I spilled a bit.”
As he got up, Gwen buried her face in her hands again, whispering, “I am in so much trouble.”