Chapter 5
Marcus
The next week is controlled chaos.
Every morning, I arrive at Lilah's studio at seven with coffee and a revised schedule. Every morning, she laughs at my schedule and does things in whatever order feels right.
It should drive me insane. It doesn't.
"You're smiling," Carter observes during hockey practice Wednesday morning. "You never smile before nine AM."
"I'm not smiling."
"You're definitely smiling. It's unsettling." He checks me into the boards. "What's going on? You've been weird all week."
"I'm helping someone with a project."
"Is that someone Lilah Rodriguez?"
I miss my next shot. "How did you know?"
"Because Lennox told me and she knows because Isla told her. And Isla knows because she has eyes and saw you leaving Lilah's studio at midnight last night."
"We were working."
"At midnight."
In this quiet moment, with dawn breaking through the windows or darkness wrapped around us like a blanket, the world narrows to just this. Just us. Everything else—all the complications, all the questions—fades to background noise.
"She works late. Artists keep strange hours."
"Uh huh." Carter grins. "You like her."
"I'm helping her recreate her thesis show. That's all."
"Right. And I'm just friends with Lennox." He skates away, laughing.
I finish practice distracted, thinking about last night. We'd been working on a sculpture, her directing, me following instructions that made no logical sense but somehow resulted in something beautiful.
"Hold this wire here," she'd said.
"It's not structurally sound—"
"Trust me."
And I had. Held the wire where she indicated, watched her weave paper and found objects through it, creating something impossible and perfect.
"See?" she'd said when it was done. "Sometimes structural integrity is overrated."
"That goes against every principle of engineering."
"Good thing this is art, not engineering."
She'd been standing close. Paint on her hands, exhaustion in her eyes, satisfaction in her smile. I'd wanted to kiss her so badly my hands shook.
But I didn't. Because we're partners. Working together and adding physical attraction to the mix would complicate everything.
Except I'm already complicated. Have been since freshman year.
My phone buzzes. Text from Lilah.
Lilah: Emergency. Chelsea just showed up at my studio. Need backup.
I'm out of the locker room and running across campus before I finish reading the message.
I burst into Lilah's studio to find her and Chelsea facing off like fighters in a ring.
"—don't know what you're talking about," Chelsea is saying. "Why would I destroy your work?"
"Because you've hated me since I got the senior show slot you wanted."
"That doesn't mean I'd stoop to vandalism."
"No? Then why are you here?"
"To offer my help. I heard about what happened and thought—"
"You thought you'd come gloat. See the damage firsthand."
I clear my throat. Both women turn to look at me.
"Marcus!" Lilah's relief is obvious. "Perfect timing."
Chelsea's expression sours. "Of course. The great Marcus Chen, here to save the day."
"I'm just here to help a friend," I say evenly.
"Is that what she is? A friend?" Chelsea smirks. "Funny. I heard you've been spending every night in her studio. That seems like more than friendship."
"What I do with my time is none of your business."
"No, but it's interesting. Marcus Chen, the campus problem-solver, suddenly became obsessed with one particular problem." She turns back to Lilah. "You must be thrilled. Having the great fixer focused entirely on you."
"Get out," Lilah says quietly.
"I'm just trying to help—"
"No, you're trying to fuck with my head and it's not going to work. So get out of my studio before I make you leave."
Chelsea laughs. "You're going to make me? You and what army?"
"Her and me," I step forward. "Leave. Now. Before I start making calls to people who might be very interested in your whereabouts the night Lilah's show was destroyed."
"You can't prove anything—"
"Yet. I can't prove anything yet. But I have three tech majors working on recovering the security footage and when they do, if your face shows up, you won't just be facing university discipline. You'll be facing criminal charges."
Chelsea's confidence falters. "I didn't do anything."
"Then you have nothing to worry about but if you come near Lilah or her studio again, I'll make sure every person on this campus knows you're under investigation for vandalism and targeted harassment."
The details come into sharp focus in that hyperaware way that happens when emotions run high. The particular quality of the light. The ambient sounds that normally fade into background noise. The temperature of the air against my skin.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me. I have a very extensive network and zero patience for people who hurt my friends."
Chelsea looks between us, realizes she's outmatched, and leaves without another word.
The moment she's gone, Lilah sags against her desk. "Thank you."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just shaken. She showed up out of nowhere, started asking about my work, and I knew—I just knew she was here to gloat."
"We'll prove it was her. The tech team is close. They've recovered fragments of the footage already."
My heart does something complicated in my chest, a rhythm that’s become familiar over these weeks, these months. It’s the feeling of walls coming down, of control slipping away, of allowing myself to want something I can’t calculate or predict.
"Really?"
"Really. Within a week, we should have enough to take to campus security."
She hugs me suddenly, impulsively. "Thank you. For having my back. For being here."
I stand frozen for a moment before carefully hugging her back. She smells like paint and coffee and something floral. Fits against me perfectly despite our height difference.
"Partners," I remind her. "That was the deal."
"Best deal I ever made."
She pulls back, and I immediately miss the contact.
"Come on," I say before I can do something stupid like kiss her. "Let's get back to work. That sculpture won't finish itself."
"So pragmatic."
"Someone has to be."