Another episode of Melanie avoiding Matt. The gym was unusually quiet, the hum of distant machines and the echo of footsteps bouncing off the high walls. Most of the overhead lights were off, casting long, creeping shadows along the wooden floor. Only the row above the mats was illuminated, each flicker of light dancing with every subtle movement.

Melanie sat on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her. She winced as she leaned forward, trying to reach her toes, the familiar tightness in her hamstrings a constant reminder of the past weeks. She was pushing herself again, just like she always did. Maybe a little too hard.

"You’re pushing too hard again," a voice cut through the stillness. Knox dropped down beside her without waiting for an invitation, his long legs folding under him with the same ease as always.

She didn’t look at him, not even when he spoke. Instead, she kept her focus on the floor, trying to stretch a little deeper. "You sound like my physical therapist," she said, her voice flat, like she could brush him off the same way she’d done with everyone else.

Knox’s gaze softened as he studied her, his eyes lingering on the way her body moved, the subtle winces she tried to hide. "I sound like someone who actually cares," he replied, his tone far quieter, a little more vulnerable than usual.

That earned him a glance from her—a brief flicker of something, though she didn’t argue. She never did. The air around them felt heavy, like it always did when they were together—dense with things unspoken, with too many layers of history between them.

They sat there in silence for a moment, the kind of silence that felt more like pressure than absence. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something, but you didn’t know what.

Knox cleared his throat, his hand absently brushing through his hair. "Why do you always do that?" His voice was softer now, hesitant even. "Why do you act like no one’s allowed to worry about you?"

Melanie paused, her fingers hovering just above her ankle. She bit her lip, unsure how to answer. "I don’t. I just… don’t expect it," she said, the words coming out almost like an apology, though she didn’t mean it to sound that way.

Knox nodded, like that explanation made some kind of sense to him, but she noticed the way his jaw tightened. He wasn’t satisfied. "Well, I do," he said, his voice low but steady. "I notice when you flinch. When you pull punches. When you pretend you’re fine but you’re not. I see it, Mel."

She didn’t respond, her gaze still fixed on the floor between them. The silence stretched again, a weight she didn’t know how to lift. Knox exhaled sharply, like the words were too big for him to swallow. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration barely masked. "I—" He stopped, his throat tightening. He swallowed hard before speaking again. "There are days I want to say more. Things I think you should hear. But then I look at you, and you’re so… closed off. Like you’ve already decided what I mean before I even open my mouth."

Melanie’s breath caught, a sharp inhale that almost betrayed her. She kept her eyes forward, afraid that if she looked at him, the rawness in his words would shatter something she wasn’t ready to face. "So don’t," she muttered, her voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Knox’s laugh was bitter, a little self-deprecating. "Yeah. That’s the easy way out, right?" He looked at her then, his eyes searching hers like he wanted her to see something—something he wasn’t sure how to say. The words seemed to be right there on the edge of his tongue, but he held them back.

She finally turned to face him, curiosity and frustration warring inside her. "What were you going to say?" Her words came out before she could stop them, sharper than she intended.

For a moment, their gazes locked. His eyes were open, vulnerable in a way that made her heart do something stupid. Something unfamiliar and too quick. But just as fast as that moment had sparked, it died. He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Doesn’t matter."

Melanie’s chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, "Yes, it does."

Knox stood abruptly, the motion so sudden it sent a ripple of cold air between them. "No," he said, his voice firm, though there was something behind it that she couldn’t quite place. He turned and started to walk away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet space.

But Melanie, annoyed and somehow determined, sprang to her feet. She ran after him, catching him off guard as she jumped onto his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Knox froze mid-step, surprised, but then he let out a dramatic groan, as though he were being put through some unimaginable hardship. "Ughh, Mel, you’re heavy," he said, playfully, though there was a hint of laughter in his voice.

"You're bothered. Just tell me what it is," she said, her tone teasing but with a little edge of desperation. She slid off his back, standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest, almost defensively.

He shook his head, the smile fading. "Hey, don’t do that to another guy, kay’?" His voice was a mix of teasing and genuine concern, but something in the way he said it made her suddenly feel a little shy.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion.

"Jumping off from a man’s back like that," Knox said with a grin, his eyes flickering down to where her arms crossed. "Your chest—" He broke off, realizing how awkward that sounded, and quickly cleared his throat. "Forget I said that."

“Knox!!”

Knox let out a playful laugh, his eyes lighting up with mischief. He reached out and ruffled her hair, his hand brushing lightly against her head. Melanie couldn’t help but notice how his fingers seemed to stretch far beyond what felt normal. He was tall. Too tall. She stood there, momentarily feeling small beneath his easy touch, an odd sense of vulnerability creeping in.

 "Anyways, just let me off the hook for now. I’ll tell you someday." He added. "Don’t forget Senior’s night, alright?"

He glanced at her then, his expression softening as he met her gaze. "Yeah, alright," she said quietly. "I won’t forget." But the unsaid words lingered between them, the promise of something yet to be said, still hanging in the air.

“Let me take you home.”

Friday finally arrived.
The familiar hum of guitar strings and distant laughter echoed from the music club room, wrapping the end of the week in a warmth Matt usually looked forward to. But today, the rhythm felt off. Again.

"Li—"
He barely got her name out.

Melanie brushed past him like a breeze—swift, barely there—just like she'd been doing all week. He turned his head just in time to catch the sway of her ponytail as she disappeared down the hallway.

Not this time.

He moved before he could think, steps urgent, emotions catching up to him mid-stride. His fingers closed around her wrist. Soft.

"Come with me," he said, breathless—not from the chase, but from everything unspoken sitting between them.

She didn’t resist.

They slipped into an empty classroom. Dust danced in the golden slats of afternoon sun pouring through the windows. The silence between them was thick, trembling with something unnameable.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Matt asked, voice low, but firm.

"I’m not," Melanie replied, eyes flitting away.

"Don’t lie to me," he said, a note sharper than he intended.

Her breath caught. Her cheeks bloomed with color. She looked every bit like someone cornered—not by anger, but by honesty.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, frustrated more with himself than with her. “The only thing I can think of… is that you hate me.”

Her eyes snapped back to his, wide.

“No! I don’t—” she blurted, before catching herself. A softer voice followed. “I don’t hate you.”

He waited.

She exhaled, folding her arms as if trying to hold herself together. “I just… didn’t know how to react.”

Matt swallowed, looking down for a moment, then back at her. “But you shouldn't have avoided me. You had me overthinking all week. And I…” His voice cracked a little. “This is a first for me too, you know.”

Melanie laughed. Quietly at first. Not mockingly. Just enough to let the tension crack.

And just like that, the awkwardness broke.

She covered her mouth, shaking her head at herself. “Sorry, I was being so ridiculous.”

Matt chuckled too, the sound quiet and warm, as if something inside him had finally exhaled. Relief softened the sharp lines of his expression. He took a slow step closer, and without hesitation, his fingers found hers—fitting together with an ease that felt both new and inevitable. Like he’d been reaching out for something steady, something real, and finally found it in her.

“I don’t regret it, though,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was something unguarded in his face then—like the walls he’d built so carefully had been gently taken down brick by brick. And in that pause, in that breath between heartbeats, he said it.

"I don’t usually get thrown off like this, Livi. You’ve got this way of getting to me, making me feel things I didn’t see coming."

Melanie blinked, startled not by the words, but by how right they felt. Her cheeks flushed instantly, a soft pink blooming across her face. And then—almost shyly, but with something truer behind it—she laughed. A small, sincere sound, like the moment had wrapped her in something warm.

"Every time I’m with you, it feels like my heart can’t quite keep up," she said, her eyes shining.

The classroom around them was hushed, caught in the golden stillness of late afternoon. Sunlight streamed in slanted lines through the blinds, casting quiet shadows across the scuffed desks and dust-flecked air. Time felt suspended, like the world had paused just long enough for them to speak the truth aloud—for two hearts to finally find the courage to meet in the open.

Somewhere outside, faint voices echoed down the hallway, but here, in this pocket of golden quiet, nothing else mattered.

Matt and Melanie froze mid-laugh. Footsteps approached.

Suddenly, without thinking, Matt reached out. His hands landed gently on Melanie’s shoulders, guiding her down behind the row of desks near the window. Her breath caught at his touch—warm, steady, grounding.

“Wait, why are we hi—”

Before she could finish, Matt turned to her. His gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. An unspoken pull. A tether snapping taut.

Without a word, he reached his hand, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered just a beat too long before trailing softly along her jawline. Melanie’s breath hitched.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Matt leaned in.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she didn’t move away. The moment stretched, breathless and fragile. And then his lips met hers—gentle, hesitant, like a question.

It lasted only a second.

He pulled away, eyes wide and soft, searching hers for something unspoken. He looked as if he were about to apologize—but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. There was too much weight in the air. Too much honesty in the way he looked at her.

Only her.

“You—” Melanie tried, but her voice caught. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, eyes darting away before snapping back to his. She was flustered, but not frightened. Stunned, but not uncertain.

His gaze never leaving hers—eyes wide, vulnerable, searching for something more than just silence. Searching for yes.

This time, he moved slower. Purposefully. No rush, no guessing—just the quiet courage of someone hoping, and finally asking.

And Melanie… she moved too.

Not away, but forward. Her eyes fluttered shut, the corners of her lips curving ever so slightly. It wasn’t hesitation. It was permission. 

She met him halfway.

Their lips touched again—softly, deliberately. No longer a spark flickering in the dark, but a steady flame. No longer a question.

It was the beginning of an answer.

Not the kind spoken aloud, but the kind you feel—deep, certain, quietly profound. The kind that doesn’t need to be put into words because it’s already living in the space between two people, unfolding in a glance, a breath, a touch.

Something real. Something fragile, maybe—but no less true. Like a seed breaking through soil after a long winter, reaching for light it had only dreamed of.

In that kiss—soft and steady—they both felt it. The quiet click of two stories beginning to share the same page. Not perfect. Not planned. But right.

And in that moment, neither of them pulled away.

Because somehow, without saying a single word, they both knew: this was where something new began.