---
Lena hadn't realized how quiet her world had become until someone stepped into it and stirred the air. Even with all the noise around school—the stares, the not-so-quiet gossip, the whispers trailing her down the halls—her thoughts had been louder. Thoughts about the way Jace looked at her, like he wasn't afraid of what he saw. Like he didn't expect her to be anything but herself.
That night, she sat at her desk with her sketchbook open, pencil tapping against the edge. The page was blank. She'd tried to draw—really tried—but everything she sketched looked like him. His jacket. His hair. His eyes, dark and steady.
She hated that.
Or at least, she told herself she did.
She didn't.
It was easier when he was just a name on a detention sheet or a threat muttered by Drew in gym class. It was harder now, with every conversation, every look, every silence between them growing longer and more layered.
And Lena didn't know how to *be* with someone like that. Someone who didn't just see the version of her she showed the world but saw through it.
So she closed the sketchbook, turned off the lamp, and let herself drift off with questions she wasn't ready to answer.
---
Wednesday came slowly. Mist hung over the school courtyard, soaking the pavement in a thin shimmer. Lena arrived early, hoping to beat the crowds. She found her usual bench in the back corner, slipped on her headphones, and pretended the world didn't exist.
But it did.
"Hey."
She looked up.
Jace.
He stood in front of her like it was the most normal thing in the world. No smirk. No swagger. Just him in his jacket, holding two paper cups.
"You drink coffee, right?" he asked.
"I'm more of a tea person."
He shrugged. "It's caramel latte. Sweet enough to pretend it's not coffee."
She hesitated, then took it. "Thanks."
"Mind if I sit?"
Lena scooted over.
They sat like that, sipping drinks while the campus stirred awake around them. It was strange, how quiet it felt with him there. Not awkward quiet—just still. Easy.
"Why are you really here?" she asked eventually.
Jace looked at her, unbothered. "Because I wanted to be."
"You don't have friends to hang out with?"
"I do. They're just not here."
"Right."
"Also," he added, "I wanted to prove a point."
"What point?"
"That talking to me in public doesn't mean your life is over."
Lena snorted. "That's bold."
"I'm a bold kind of guy."
She rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling. That annoyed her most of all—that she *liked* this. That she liked *him*.
A few feet away, a group of girls passed by, casting not-so-subtle looks. One of them whispered something. Lena's stomach tightened.
Jace leaned closer. "Ignore them."
"That easy for you?"
"No," he said. "But it gets easier when you decide they don't get to write your story."
Lena stared down at her cup. "That sounds like a motivational poster."
"I'm full of surprises."
They talked until the bell rang. Then they stood—awkwardly, not quite knowing how to say goodbye.
"See you later?" he asked.
"Maybe."
But she meant yes.
---
By lunchtime, the whispers had shifted tone. Not meaner—just... different. Less malicious, more curious. Like people were still deciding how to feel about the possibility that Jace and Lena might be a thing.
Lena didn't bother correcting them. She didn't confirm anything either.
She sat in her usual spot with Amanda and Kayla, listening half-heartedly to their conversation about prom themes and who was dating who.
"You're quiet," Amanda said.
"Just tired."
Kayla leaned in. "So... you and Jace?"
Lena sighed. "We're just talking."
"That's not what Drew said."
Lena's eyes snapped up. "What?"
"He was at the table across from us in chem. Told someone you've 'caught a disease.' Real charming."
The rage hit so fast it surprised her. For weeks, Drew had walked around acting like *he* was the wronged party. Like her pulling away was some betrayal instead of self-preservation.
And now he was spreading rumors?
Lena stood. "I need some air."
She didn't wait for them to follow. She stormed out of the cafeteria and headed for the old gym building—quiet, half-abandoned, perfect for hiding.
She pushed through the doors and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"Rough day?"
She didn't need to look to know it was Jace. "You always appear at the worst possible moments."
"I prefer to think of it as impeccable timing."
She turned. "Drew's telling people I gave him something. Like, an actual disease."
Jace's face darkened. "That's low, even for him."
"I hate this," she snapped. "I hate that people can just say whatever they want and everyone listens. Like truth doesn't matter anymore."
"Then tell your truth louder."
"What if no one wants to hear it?"
"Then they're not your people."
She crossed her arms. "Easy for you to say."
"I used to care what they thought too," he said. "It cost me everything."
Lena blinked. "What do you mean?"
Jace hesitated. "Freshman year. I was trying to be someone I wasn't. Playing nice, doing what Drew did, laughing at the same jokes. Then I stopped—started pushing back. And I found out pretty quick who my friends really were."
"That's why you two stopped talking?"
He nodded. "That and the fact that he tried to fight me over a girl."
Lena tilted her head. "Seriously?"
"She wasn't worth it. But the fight made it clear—we were never friends. Not really."
They stood in silence for a beat.
"You don't deserve what he's saying," Jace added.
"Neither do you."
He shrugged. "I've got thick skin."
"Still."
Their eyes met—quiet, steady, a long look that said more than either of them could admit out loud.
Then the bell rang, breaking the spell.
"I should go," Lena said.
"Yeah."
But neither of them moved.
Not at first.
---
That night, Lena sat at her window with her sketchbook open again. She let the pencil move without thinking.
She drew a boy in a jacket, standing at the edge of a hallway.
Then she drew a girl, looking back.
And between them, she drew the space where a line used to be.
The same line they were now slowly erasing.
Together.
---