Chapter 5

(Louis’ POV)

The kiss still lingered on my lips the next morning, even after I’d brushed my teeth twice and spent half the night staring at the ceiling in my dorm room. It hadn’t been anything dramatic—no fireworks, no sweeping music like in the movies I sometimes watched on my phone with the volume low. Just a quick, nervous brush of my mouth against Paul’s, followed by my immediate panic and his flat “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine.”  

I repeated the words under my breath as I packed a fresh box in the dorm kitchen. Today’s dessert was lemon bars—tangy, not too sweet, because I’d noticed he finished the chocolate ones faster but still took the fruit ones without complaint. My hands moved on autopilot: pressing the shortbread crust, whisking the filling, sliding the pan into the oven. Baking has always been my reset button. When my family’s old apartment felt too small or the scholarship pressure sat heavy on my chest, I’d measure, mix, and wait. The smell of something warm and homemade made the world feel steadier.

But this morning the steady feeling was missing.  

Paul had said we were dating. Starting yesterday. No joke, no take-backs. I’d asked him twice, maybe three times, because part of me still expected him to laugh or walk away. He hadn’t. He’d just looked at me with those cool, unreadable eyes and repeated “Yes” like it was the simplest fact in the world.  

I tied the ribbon around the box a little tighter than necessary. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since the sports field last night. Every time I remembered the way he hadn’t pulled back, the way his fingers had brushed mine when he took the dessert box earlier, warmth flooded my face. I was sixteen, new here, on a scholarship that could vanish if I messed up. Paul Adriano was the senior everyone treated like royalty. And now we were… dating?  

It still sounded unreal.  

I checked the clock. I needed to be at the gates before his car usually arrived. The campus was waking up—students in crisp uniforms walking in small groups, voices low and polished. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and headed out, the lemon bars warm through the box. My competitive streak, the same one that pushed me harder on the track during tryouts, told me to treat this like any other challenge: show up, be consistent, don’t flinch. But my heart wasn’t listening to strategy. It just kept hoping.

He was already there when I reached the gates.  

Paul stood near the entrance, posture straight, uniform perfect as always. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the dark hair that always fell just so. He wasn’t looking at his phone or talking to anyone. He was simply waiting. For me? The thought made my steps falter for half a second before I forced them steady again.

“Good morning,” I said, holding out the box with both hands like I had every other day. Only this time my voice came out softer. “Lemon bars today. I thought something different might be nice after the chocolate ones.”

He took the box without hesitation. Our fingers touched again—brief, accidental. I felt it was static. Paul didn’t comment. He opened the lid just enough to glance inside, then closed it.  

“You didn’t have to,” he said. His tone was even, almost bored, but he didn’t hand it back.  

“I know.” I smiled anyway. “But I wanted to. That’s kind of the point, right? When you’re dating someone, you do nice things.”

A tiny pause. His eyes flicked to mine, then away. “Is that the rule you’re using?”

I shrugged, falling into step beside him as we walked through the gates. He didn’t tell me to leave. That alone felt like progress. “I don’t have a rulebook. I just… I like doing it. Baking helps me think. And thinking about you makes me want to bake more.”  

That was too honest. Heat crept up my neck. I expected him to shut it down with one of his sharp comments. Instead he kept walking, the box held carefully in one hand.  

We passed a group of juniors who suddenly found the fountain fascinating. Whispers followed us. I ignored them. Paul seemed to ignore everything except the path ahead.  

“So,” I tried after a minute, “what does dating look like? Do we eat lunch together? Walk to class? Or is it more like… official student council business with a side of me bringing desserts?”

He glanced sideways at me. “You talk a lot.”

“You noticed.” I grinned. “I can tone it down if it bothers you.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “It doesn’t.”

My chest did a little flip. Not much, but enough. I matched his pace, keeping just enough space that it didn’t feel pushy. The air between us felt different from yesterday—thinner, charged with the new label we were carrying. Dating. Thirty days, I reminded myself, though he hadn’t mentioned the exact number. I didn’t care about the clock. I cared that he’d chosen me, even if it still felt like a miracle.

By the time we reached the main building, the bell for first period was close. Paul stopped near the steps.  

“I have a student council after classes,” he said, not quite looking at me. “Don’t wait.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “But can I walk you to the gate after? Or meet you somewhere? I have track practice until five, but I can skip cooldown if—”

“No skipping.” His voice sharpened just a fraction. “Your scholarship requires it.”

I blinked. He remembered that? I’d mentioned it once, the first day, in passing. Most people here forgot details like that.  

“Right,” I said, softer. “Then… after practice? I can bring something light. Fruit or whatever.”

Paul exhaled through his nose, almost a sigh but not quite. “You’re persistent.”

“You already knew that.” I tilted my head, studying his face the way I had that first morning. There it was again—that flicker of something beneath the cool surface. Not quite an annoyance. Not quite interesting. Something in between. “I’m not trying to crowd you. I just want to spend time with you. Real time. Not just five minutes at the gate.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Lunch. Courtyard. Twelve-thirty.”

My smile broke wide before I could stop it. “Really?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” He turned toward the doors. “And eat properly. You ran late yesterday.”

He noticed that too.  

I watched him disappear inside, the box still in his hand. My heart felt too big for my chest. This was real. He was letting me in, even if it was only a crack. I turned toward my own building, legs lighter than they should have been after a full morning of nerves.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of lectures I only half-heard. My notebook filled with doodles instead of notes—little lemon slices, a ribbon, the shape of Paul’s cuff when he took the box. When the lunch bell rang, I practically jogged to the courtyard.

He was already there, sitting on the stone bench under the large oak that shaded most of the area. Two trays waited on the low table in front of him. One looked untouched. The other had the lemon bar box beside it, lid open, one piece missing.

I slowed as I approached, suddenly shy. “You saved me a seat?”

Paul didn’t smile, but he didn’t tell me to leave either. “Sit.”

I did, close enough that our knees almost brushed but not quite. The courtyard wasn’t empty—students ate in clusters, voices low—but the space around us felt private. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I picked up the untouched tray. It had a proper balanced meal: grilled chicken, rice, and vegetables. “You got this for me?”

“You were going to forget again.” He took another small bite of the lemon bar. I noticed he’d eaten the corner first, the part with extra zest. “Eat.”

I obeyed, warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the food. We ate in relative quiet at first. I talked a little—about track practice, how the coach wanted me to improve my start time, how the scholarship meant I couldn’t afford any slip-ups. Paul listened without interrupting, his responses short but present.

“You’re fast,” he said once, when I mentioned yesterday’s timed run. “But you learn too early.”

I paused mid-bite. “You watched?”

“Passing by.” He looked away, toward the fountain. “It was noticeable.”

I grinned around my fork. “I’ll fix it. Maybe you can time me sometime.”

He didn’t agree. But he didn’t refuse either.

Halfway through the meal, a group of seniors walked past. One of them—tall, with neat hair and an easy smirk—slowed. Julius, I thought. Paul’s friend from the times I’d seen them together.

“Well, well,” Julius said, voice light but with an edge. “The new couple. How domestic.”

Paul’s posture didn’t change, but I felt the air shift. “Not now.”

Julius laughed softly. “Just saying hello to your… project.” His eyes flicked to me. “Hope you’re enjoying the attention, freshman. It doesn’t last.”

I kept my smile steady, though something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach. “I’m not here for attention. I’m here for him.”

Julius raised an eyebrow. Paul set his fork down with careful precision.  

“Leave,” Paul said, tone flat.

Julius shrugged, but the look he gave me before walking away lingered—curious, almost calculating. I pushed it aside. Paul’s friends were probably protective. That made sense in a place like Crestfall.

The rest of lunch passed easier. Paul asked one question about my classes. I answered too eagerly, then caught myself and asked about his student council work instead. He gave short answers, but he answered. When the bell rang, he stood first.

“Track,” he reminded me.

“Yeah.” I gathered the trays. “See you after?”

He hesitated for half a second. “At the gate. Six o’clock. Don’t run if you’re tired.”

I nodded, chest tight with something bright and hopeful. “Six o’clock.”

The afternoon dragged, but practice flew by on adrenaline. I shaved two-tenths off my start time, Coach noticed, and for once the other guys on the team didn’t side-eye me as much. Word had spread. I was dating Paul Adriano. Some looked impressed. Others are skeptical. I focused on the track and the finish line.

At six, I arrived at the gate slightly out of breath, hair still damp from the quickest shower in history. Paul was waiting again. This time he had his bag slung over one shoulder and—no box in sight. He’d kept yesterday’s, I realized. Maybe today too.

We walked together toward the dorm area, the evening light softening the sharp edges of the campus. I didn’t push for deep conversation. Instead I pointed out small things: a bird on the fountain, the way the glass buildings reflected the sunset in streaks of orange. Paul listened. Once, when I stumbled over a loose stone, his hand came out automatically, steadying my elbow for a brief second before dropping away.

Neither of us mentioned it.

Near the freshman dorm turn-off, I stopped. “This was a good day,” I said quietly. “Thank you for lunch. And for… everything.”

He looked at me then, really looked. The cold mask was still there, but thinner. “It’s only been one day.”

“Day one of thirty,” I replied without thinking. Then I froze. Had he said thirty? Or had I overheard something? No—he hadn’t mentioned the number. But the way his expression flickered, just for an instant, made my stomach dip.

Paul recovered smoothly. “Don’t count.”

“Okay.” I smiled anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

He gave a single nod. Then turned and walked toward the senior residences without another word.

I watched him go, the evening air cool against my warm face. One day down. Paul had let me sit with him, fed me lunch, noticed my running form, steadied me when I almost fell. He kept the desserts. He showed up.

It wasn’t love yet—not the deep kind. But it was something. Real enough that my heart believed it.

I headed inside, already planning tomorrow’s bake. Maybe something with cinnamon. He hadn’t had that yet.

Up in my room, I dropped onto the bed and pulled out my phone. No messages from home—just the usual check-in I’d send later. For now, I let myself replay the day: the brush of fingers, the quiet lunch, the almost-smile I swore I’d seen when I talked about the bird on the fountain.

Paul Adriano was still distant. Still mean when he wanted to be. But he was letting me get closer, inch by inch.

And I was going to keep showing up. Every single day. Until the distance between us f

elt smaller than the space between our knees at lunch.

I fell asleep with the taste of lemon bars on my mind and the memory of his steadying hand on my arm.