Chapter 17

Meghan's POV

The week snuck by, and now it’s Friday again.

I don’t even know where most of it went.

Classes. Assignments. Deadlines that feel like they multiply every time I look away from them.

And somewhere in between all of it, I’ve been hiding.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just… tucked away in my room more than usual.

I don’t really like calling myself antisocial. That feels too final, too absolute. It’s not that I don’t like people.

It’s just that sometimes I like my own mind more.

It’s quieter there.

Safer.

Easier to control.

So this week, I’ve lived there a lot.

Between homework assignments that have been slowly draining my soul and the kind of exhaustion that isn’t physical, I’ve barely seen my roommates except for quick hallway encounters or late-night kitchen raids I’ve tried not to linger in.

And when I’m alone in my room, I paint.

A lot.

It’s not something I think about too deeply when I start. I just pick up a brush and let it happen.

Forests, mostly.

Dense, detailed ones. Trees layered over trees, shadows tangled with light, paths that disappear before they begin. Places I’ve never actually been but feel like I recognize anyway.

There’s something comforting about them.

Like if I get the branches and the light just right, I can build somewhere I understand.

Somewhere I could disappear into if I needed to.

I never really know how I paint them.

Not in a technical sense.

It’s like my hand remembers something my brain doesn’t.

I finish another piece late Thursday night and leave it drying near my desk, stepping back to study it in the dim glow of my desk lamp.

A forest again.

Thicker this time.

Deeper.

Almost like it’s pulling inward instead of outward.

I tilt my head slightly, trying to figure out why this one feels different.

But before I can overthink it—

My phone buzzes on the edge of my desk.

A reminder.

Friday.

"Right." I mutter under my breath.

Time is still moving outside my room.

Even if I’ve been pretending it isn’t.

I exhale slowly and set my brush down, flexing my fingers as I stare at the painting a moment longer.

Then I glance around my room.

Homework stacked on my desk.

Paint-splattered hoodie on the chair.

Half-finished sketches tucked into notebooks I’ve forgotten the names of.

It doesn’t feel messy.

Just lived in.

Like the inside of my head, spilled outward.

I run a hand through my hair and finally push myself away from the desk.

I should probably go outside today.

Talk to people.

Be normal.

Whatever that means.

But instead, I just stand there for a moment longer, looking at the forest on my canvas.

And I can’t shake the feeling that it looks like it’s waiting for something.

I hear Anya’s sing-songy voice drifting down the hall.

“Meghan”

I pause mid-step.

That tone is never good.

When I finally walk into the kitchen, I immediately regret it.

All three of them are there—Eliana leaning against the counter, Anya perched on a stool, and Kylah pretending to be innocent in a way that is very obviously not innocent.

And they’re all smiling.

Not normal smiling.

Scheming smiling.

I narrow my eyes. “Why do you all look like that?”

Eliana is the first to speak, too sweetly. “So, honey—before you say no—we’re going to a bar tonight.”

My suspicion spikes instantly. “No.”

Anya gasps. “She didn’t even let us finish!”

“I don’t need to finish. I already know where this is going.”

Kylah holds up her hands. “You don’t know where this is going.”

I point at her. “You’re lying.”

Eliana sighs dramatically like I’m the difficult one here. “Miss Kylah texted her new boyfriend to come to the bar too.”

My eyes snap to Kylah. “Of course you did.”

“It was strategic,” she defends.

“Also,” she says casually, “not my boyfriend.”

“Strategic for what?”

Anya leans forward, grinning like she’s about to announce a winning lottery ticket. “Now, we assumed you don’t have Ollie’s number—”

My stomach drops slightly at his name.

“But,” Eliana continues smoothly, “we’re hoping to reunite the two lovers.”

Silence.

I actually choke on air.

“What?”

All three of them nod like this is a completely reasonable sentence.

I shake my head immediately. “No. Absolutely not. First of all ‘lovers’ is insane. Second of all, I don’t even have his number. Third of all, why is this a thing you’re doing?”

Kylah shrugs. “Because you’ve been emotionally unavailable and also weirdly peaceful this week and we don’t trust it.”

“That’s not a reason!”

Anya tilts her head. “It kind of is.”

Eliana steps closer, lowering her voice like she’s negotiating a hostage situation. “Meghan… you’ve been painting forests for five days and avoiding eye contact with joy itself.”

“That is not—”

“And,” Kylah cuts in, “you flinch every time your phone buzzes like it might be him.”

My face goes hot instantly. “I do not.”

Three identical looks hit me at once.

I open my mouth.

Close it.

“…I hate all of you,” I mutter.

Eliana claps once like the decision is finalized. “Great. You’re coming.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“You didn’t refuse convincingly enough.”

Anya grins. “Bar night it is.”

And as they all start talking over each other about outfits and timing, I realize with absolute clarity

This is not a suggestion.

It’s an ambush.

Two hours later, we’re dressed and “ready,” which apparently means standing around our apartment pre-gaming like we have anywhere important to be.

The kitchen counter has turned into a lineup of cups and half-finished drinks, music is playing too loud from someone’s phone, and I’m already feeling that familiar warm buzz creeping in.

Four shots deep.

A couple drinks on top of that.

Not drunk-drunk.

But definitely past the point of making good decisions.

Kylah is mid-laugh about something Eliana said when she suddenly goes completely still.

Then—

“THEY’RE HERE!” Kylah screeches.

Her voice is so loud I actually flinch.

I blink. “Wait—what?”

Because I was under the very strong impression we were meeting them at the bar.

Not in our apartment.

The door swings open before I can even process it fully.

And suddenly there are voices in the hallway.

Male voices.

Familiar ones.

Luca is the first one through the door like he owns the place. “We brought reinforcements,” he announces immediately, holding up a bag of something I assume is alcohol-related and probably illegal in spirit if not in law.

Adrian follows behind him, calm as ever, eyes scanning the apartment like he’s assessing a scene. “This is more efficient,” he says simply.

“That is not how pre-gaming works,” I mutter under my breath.

Then—

Ollie steps in.

And everything in me just… pauses.

He looks the same as before, but somehow sharper in the context of my apartment. Dark hair slightly messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up a bit, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to take up too much space in a place that already feels too small for the way my heart reacts.

His eyes land on me almost immediately.

And stay there.

Just for a second too long.

My brain short-circuits.

Oh no.

This is worse than meeting him at the bar.

Because now he’s here.

In my space.

Where I exist in sweatpants and emotional damage.

“Surprise,” Kylah sings from beside me, clearly way too entertained.

I slowly turn my head toward her. “You’re all insane.”

She grins. “You’re welcome.”

I open my mouth to argue—

But Luca cuts in before I can. “So, are we drinking more or are we standing around doing emotional staring again?”

“Neither,” I say immediately.

Ollie’s mouth twitches slightly.

Like he’s trying not to smile.

And that alone is enough to make my entire nervous system forget how to function.