Chapter Twenty-Five Joshua
Chapter Twenty-Five
Joshua
The brakes hissed, the whole bus lurching forward as the chatter exploded around us, laughter, bags shifting, the coach yelling for everyone to grab their stuff.
Everyone started coming towards the back, glancing down at me and Aurora for a bit, some smirking, giving me a knowing look before grabbing their bags from beside us and leaving the bus.
Idiots.
Her body jerked at the noise, eyes snapping open.
For a second, she didn’t move, just blinked, slow, disoriented, like a startled kitten. Then her gaze lifted.
Straight into mine.
She froze.
Then I froze.
Then the realisation hit her first.
Her thighs.
My lap.
Her head on my shoulder.
My arm around her waist.
She practically launched herself upright, face turning red as the blood rushed up her neck.
I just… stared.
Her cheeks were puffed, pink and round from sleep. Eyes glassy, lashes clumped together at the corners, lips still parted as if she hadn’t quite remembered how to close them.
If she made one more confused little blink, I was going to lose my damn mind.
“Morning,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Her head whipped away so fast I almost laughed. She was scrambling for her candy bag, for her phone, for anything that could distract her from the fact that she’d just slept on me for two straight hours.
I leaned back, stretching my arm along the seat behind her just to give her space, or maybe just to see her squirm.
Didn’t matter.
She refused to look at me.
“You drool,” I said quietly, just to watch her head whip back.
Her eyes widened, mouth open, and then she realised I was lying, and the smallest glare appeared, one she didn’t even mean to give me.
God, even her glare was soft.
The coach yelled for me and her to get off. I grabbed my bag and stood, looking down at her, still half-frozen, standing there with her puffed cheek like a cute little hamster.
“Come on,” I said, jerking my chin toward the aisle.
She spun on her heel and quickly strode forward as if getting as far away from me was her number one mission.
It was adorable.
This is going to be a good game. I can feel it.
Maybe I’ll even get another sneaky thumbs up from her again.
I hope. It’s my trophy.
—
The field still smelled like sweat and wet grass.
The stadium lights were fading out one by one, and most of the crowd had already spilt out to the parking lot.
We’d won. Again.
The locker room was chaos: slaps on the back, shouts, music, someone yelling about beers later, and I didn’t care. I just needed air.
When I stepped outside, the noise dulled to a hum.
She was there.
Sitting on the bottom bleacher, legs pulled close, notebook open in her lap even though she wasn’t writing. Just staring out at the empty field like she could still see the game playing behind her eyes.
Her hair moved with the wind, loose and soft, and the lights from the scoreboard washed her in this stupid golden glow that made my chest hurt.
I was halfway walking towards her when someone called out behind me.
“Yo, Lockhart!”
I turned. One of the guys jogged over, a grin already plastered across his face. He had his phone out, screen bright. “Man, you didn’t check the chat?”
I frowned. “I mute that shit.”
He smirked, tilting the phone so I could see.
There it was.
A picture, grainy but clear enough.
Me, in the back of the bus.
Her, asleep on my shoulder.
My arm around her.
The two of us looked like something out of a damn movie.
The caption: Captain’s got himself a girl.
The group chat was eating it up. Hundreds of messages under it, teasing, emojis, stupid jokes.
He laughed. “Coach took it, he said it was cute, and we all thought—”
“Are you done? I don’t care.”
I turned away and continued walking towards the bleachers where she was. Still waiting, probably thinking I was busy packing up or ignoring her like usual.
I pocketed my phone, forcing my breathing to level out, jaw so tight it hurt.
They didn’t get it. None of them did.
They didn’t know how careful I was. How fucking hard I tried not to scare her, not to touch her, not to ruin the one fragile thread between us.
And now there was a damn photo.
Now the whole team thought she was mine when she barely even looked me in the eye.
I slowed down, watching the wind brush her hair over her face.
No one got to make her a joke.
No one got to look at her like that.
Not the team.
Not the coach.
Not anyone.
“Hey,” I said, voice low.
Her head snapped up. She blinked, eyes wide, notebook half slipping off her lap before she caught it.
“You done?” I nodded toward the papers spread around her.
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. The quiet kind.
For a moment, I just stared at her and maybe at the faint smudge of ink on her thumb, or the way her shoes didn’t quite touch the ground from the bleacher step. I don’t know.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Bus’ll be packed again.”
She blinked at me.
“You can take the train with me instead,” I said finally, eyes dropping to the ground, like that would make it sound less like I cared. “It’s slower, but you’ll have a seat. You can sleep since it’s quite late now.”
Her mouth parted a little, not to talk, just that small surprise she does when she’s not sure if she heard me right. Then she grabbed her pen, flipping open her notebook.
I don’t want to bother you.
I frowned, shaking my head. “You’re not. I just—” I sighed. “It’s quieter. That’s all.”
She stared at me for a beat too long, eyes softening in that way that made my stomach twist, then slowly nodded.
Her hands fidgeted with her bag as she packed up her papers, careful, neat. Like she was afraid to make a sound, even in an empty stadium.
She finally stood up and gave this tiny nod, almost a bow, and that was her way of saying thank you.
I nodded back. “Let’s go, princess.”
—
The train hummed low and steady beneath us, rocking just enough to make the lights overhead flicker every few seconds. It wasn’t crowded; a few passengers were scattered around, mostly students or late-night travellers staring at their phones.
She sat next to me. Her bag was tucked neatly by her feet, notebook in her lap, head tilted slightly toward the window.
She looked comfortable.
Really comfortable.
Her shoulders weren’t drawn up like they always were. Her hands weren’t gripping that damn folder for dear life. She wasn’t even glancing around like she was waiting for someone to say something cruel.
Just… breathing.
I should’ve looked away.
I didn’t.
I scrolled through my phone for the sake of doing something. The muted group chat was still going insane about the photo.
I shut my screen off.
Out of the corner of my eye, she moved. Adjusted her seat a little, tugged her sweater sleeve over her hand, resting her cheek against the cool glass. Her lashes brushed the top of her cheek every time she blinked more slowly.
Was she falling asleep again?
I couldn’t tell, but she looked peaceful enough that I didn’t want to breathe too loudly.
For someone who never looked relaxed around me, this… this felt different.
The way her reflection glowed faintly in the window, the way her lips parted just enough as she exhaled, it made something in me unclench.
Like maybe she didn’t see me as the monster I’d been for the past year.
Maybe she was starting to see me as just… me.
When the conductor called out the next stop, she stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open.
“Still got a while,” I said quietly. “You can sleep.”
She turned her head toward me, still dazed. For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other. Her lips quirked up, small, half-asleep, but there.
A smile.
Then she turned back to the window, cheek pressed against the glass again, lids drooping.
I sat there, phone forgotten, watching her as she relaxed, peacefully drifting into what seemed like a deep sleep.
She must really need this, seeing how easy it was for her to fall asleep on the bus with all the chaos around her and how easy it is for her to do the same again after already napping for two hours.
For the first time in a while, I felt relaxed.
Soon, the train came to a stop, brakes screeching through the quiet car.
I looked over to my side; she was out cold.
Head still against the glass, lips parted, eyes barely fluttering when the announcement came on.
“Hey,” I said softly, leaning a little closer. “Princess.”
She stirred, like she was swimming through fog. Big brown eyes blinked open, heavy and unfocused.
“C’mon. We’re here.”
She nodded, sluggishly at first, then yawned so wide it almost made me laugh. I reached down before she could move and grabbed her bag, slinging it over my shoulder. She tried to protest, a small shake of the head, but her hand barely lifted before falling back to her side.
“Yeah, no. You’ll drop it,” I muttered, stepping off the train.
She followed behind, dragging her feet, her sweater sleeves hanging past her hands like she’d shrunk in the last hour. The station lights were too bright after the quiet dark of the carriage, and she squinted, rubbing her eyes with her fists.
I slowed my pace so she could keep up, taking every chance to glance at her through the reflection of the windows of each store we walked past.
She looked so damn tiny walking behind me, like a sleepy hamster trying to pretend she wasn’t about to fall asleep standing up.
“Stay awake, Campbell,” I said over my shoulder.
She hummed, a soft, tired sound. It wasn’t even a word, but it was enough to make the corners of my mouth twitch.
We passed the bakery that always smelled like cinnamon at this hour, and her head turned toward it automatically. Of course.
I sighed. “You want something?”
She shook her head quickly, cheeks pink.
Ten minutes. That’s all it was. Ten minutes of quiet pavement, city lights, and her half-asleep footsteps following the rhythm of mine.
The kind of silence that didn’t choke, it just was.
When our building finally came into view, I looked back at her one last time.
Her eyes were barely open now, but she was smiling. Small. Sleepy. Real.
And I had to look away before my chest started doing that thing again.