Track Eleven
Your POV
The second the message sends, you regret it.
I'm glad it's you.
Not because it wasn't true. But it felt...Too honest. Too soft. The kind of sentence you can't take back or play off if it lands wrong.
You lock your phone like that might undo it, toss it onto the couch, and pace your apartment instead. Once. Twice. Again. You don't know what you were expecting, relief, maybe but what settles in your chest is something heavier. Something that feels like commitment even without the word.
You haven't done anything wrong. That's the worst part.
You were honest. You didn't lie. You didn't lead her on.
So why does it feel like you crossed a line?
You lean against the kitchen counter, staring at nothing, thinking about the way Daniela looks when she's trying not to ask for reassurance. About how easily she reads you. About how Madison doesn't read you and how comfortable that used to feel.
Distance is safer when no one notices it.
Your phone lights up again.
Not a text. Just the screen waking.
You don't pick it up.
Because if you do, you might want more than you're ready to give.
And that scares the hell out of you.
Daniela's POV
Daniela sleeps better than she expected.
Not perfectly, but not restless either.
In the morning, she doesn't reread the texts.
She doesn't screenshot them or overanalyze punctuation.
She just lets them exist. That alone feels like growth.
By the time she gets to the studio later that night, she's decided on one thing: she's not going to push.
But she's also not going to shrink herself to make things easier for someone else.
When she walks in, you're already there, headphones on, hunched over the board. Madison is across the room, laughing too loud, leaning a little too close.
Daniela clocks it instantly. She doesn't react. She sets her bag down calmly. Takes her time. Greets her the same way she always does with anyone else. When she finally meets your eyes, it's brief but there's something unspoken there. A look that says we're not done.
You clear your throat and pull the headphones off. "Hey," you say. "Hey," Daniela answers. Normal. Steady.
Too steady.
They start working. And the energy is...
different. Every time Daniela steps into the booth, your focus sharpens.
Every time Madison interrupts, you get quieter.
The room feels like it's holding its breath, like everyone senses something but doesn't know what to call it.
During a break, Madison drapes herself on the couch beside you, showing you something on her phone. Laughing. Touching your arm.
Daniela watches from across the room, jaw tight but she doesn't look away. You feel it. You always do. Your eyes flick up, meet Daniela's. And for a split second, you look guilty.
That's new.
Later, Daniela finds you alone in the hallway by the vending machines. The music from the studio is muffled here, like the world got quieter on purpose. She doesn't accuse. She doesn't tease.
She just says, "You okay?"
You exhale slowly, rubbing the back of your neck. "You always ask that like you already know the answer." "Because I usually do."
"I'm trying not to mess this up," you admit.
Daniela tilts her head. "By pulling back?"
"By not rushing."
She steps closer not crowding, just enough to be felt. "Those aren't always the same thing." You look at her then. Really look.
"I don't know what pace looks like," you say. "When something feels real, I panic." Daniela softens, but she doesn't retreat. "I'm not asking you to run. I'm asking you not to disappear Y/N"
Silence.
Heavy. Honest.
Finally, you nod. "Okay."
It's small. It's not a promise.
But it's something.
And when Daniela turns to walk outside, she doesn't miss the way you watch her go like letting her walk away is the hardest part.
Your Pov
You're alone this time. No Madison. She mentioned she had some last minute things to do so she had left. That leaves just you at the board, sleeves pushed up, fingers moving with quiet confidence as you cue something up on the screen. You look up when you hear the door.
The pause is brief. Controlled.
But it's there.
You clear your throat and gesture toward the mic booth. "I wanted to run one thing. It was something a little more private so Madison leaving was honestly perfect. If that's okay with you though."
It shouldn't make her heart skip.
It does anyway.
"Yeah," she says. "Of course."
The door to the booth closes behind her with a muted click. Glass between you now. Safe distance. You hand her the headphones, fingers brushing for half a second too long when she takes them. Neither of you comments on it.
She starts the take. Her voice is steady, beautiful, controlled but you hear it immediately. The way she's holding something back. The way the notes feel tight where they should open. You stop her gently. "Again. But don't protect it so much."
Her eyes meet yours through the glass. "Protect what?" You hesitate. Then you press the talk button. "Whatever you're trying not to feel."
That lands. Kind of ironic for you to say..
She exhales, nods once, and starts again. This time her voice cracks just slightly on the second line—not messy, just honest. It sends a quiet jolt through you. You lean forward without realizing it, elbows on the desk, eyes locked on her like the room has narrowed to just this.
When the take ends, there's silence. Too much of it.
You stand. "Come out here."
She does. Now there's no glass. No buffer. Just the two of you standing far too close in a room that suddenly feels much smaller than it did five minutes ago.
"That was different," she says.
"Yeah," you reply. "It was."
Her arms cross, not defensive just grounding. "You keep asking me to stop holding back, but you're the one doing it." You look away for a beat. Then back at her.
"This isn't the place," you say quietly.
She steps closer anyway. Not touching. Just enough that you're aware of her warmth, her presence, the way your attention has nowhere else to go. "Then why does it feel like we're both about to mess it up right here?" she asks.
Your jaw tightens.
Because she's right.
Because your hand is itching to reach for her without permission.
Because if anyone walked in right now, they'd see it written all over both of you. This being different than your first time kissing in the studio. Different than at your house.
"Daniela," you warn, low.
She tilts her head. "Say it."
"Say what?"
"That you feel it too."
The room hums. Equipment idle. Lights buzzing softly overhead.
You don't move. You don't touch her.
But your voice drops anyway. "I feel it."
Her breath catches—not dramatic, just real. Her eyes soften, like she's been waiting for that exact admission.
She doesn't kiss you.
That's what makes it worse.
Instead, she reaches out and hooks one finger into the loop of your sleeve, barely there. A question. A test.
Your body reacts before your brain can stop it. You lean in just enough that your foreheads almost touch. Almost.
Someone laughs in the hallway outside.
The sound snaps reality back into place like cold water.
You step back immediately. Controlled. Professional. Every wall slamming back into place at once.
She lets go of your sleeve.
The space between you returns—but it's different now. Charged. Acknowledged.
"We should stop here," you say, too evenly.
Daniela nods, swallowing. "Yeah."
She grabs her bag, pausing at the door. Turns back once.
"For what it's worth," she says softly, "I don't regret these feelings."
You meet her eyes. "Neither do I."
She starts to walk to leave, you grab her wrist. Her face showing surprise.
"You took your car here?" you ask
"No not this time. Why?" she responds
"We gotta talk, lemme drive you to mines and finish this."
"okay..."she says
And you're left. Your heart pounding knowing the hardest part isn't that you almost crossed the line.
It's that now, you both know exactly where it is. And once you leave this room the question is what is about to happen.