The morning after Maddox’s apology felt like stepping into soone else’s life.
I walked across campus under a washed denim sky, no clouds or rain, just the soft winter sun that made the frost on the grass glitter like broken glass.
My breath fogged in front of , but for the first ti in months it didn’t feel like I was breathing through a straw.
The stares were still there, of course, but they were different. It was now out of curiosity instead of cruelty. So people even nodded at when I actually greeted them good morning.
A girl from my psych discussion group actually smiled and said, "Hey, you okay?" like she ant it.
I didn’t know how to answer, so I just smiled back and kept walking.
The whispers had changed too, what began as Kianna did this, Kianna did that turned into;
"Heard Maddox cried in front of the whole hallway."
"Trent’s been hiding in the library like a kicked puppy."
"Anonymous hasn’t posted since the rain video and the account’s gone."
Gone, the word felt odd to .I’d refreshed the forum a dozen tis last night just to be sure.
The profile picture, which was a black square with a white ’A’ had been replaced by the generic gray silhouette of a deleted user with no archived posts or trace.
It was as if these past few weeks had been a bad dream, soone finally woke up from.I should have felt relieved, but instead I felt... waited.
Like standing on a frozen lake and knowing the ice is thick but still listening for the first crack.
Mordred was leaning against his bike outside the humanities building when my last class let out, he was holding his helt and had that smirk that always made my knees weak plastered on his face.
He looked unfairly good in the sunlight, wearing an open black leather jacket and a gray thermal clinging to his chest. He had his sunglasses pushed up into his hair like a magazine supermodel.
"Thought you might want a ride," he said, voice low and warm.
I didn’t answer with words. I just walked straight to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, face pressed to the hollow of his throat that slled like cold air and the cedar soap he used.
He made a surprised sound, then folded in, one hand splayed across my back, the other cradling my head like I was sothing breakable and priceless.
"Hi," I mumbled into his jacket.
"Hi yourself." He replied, then
brushed his lips against my temple. "Rough day?"
"Surreal day." I pulled back just enough to look at him. " I felt like I was living in an illusion, after Maddox deleted the anonymous forum in front of everyone, things have changed completely."
His eyebrows rose. "Really?"
"I don’t know what I believe anymore," I admitted. "But I want to believe it’s over."
He studied for a long second, then nodded once. "Then let’s pretend it is. Just for tonight."
He handed the spare helt, I climbed on behind him and slid my arms around his waist like they belonged there.
"Ready?" He asked. I nodded and tightened my hold around him.
The engine growled to life, and we left campus behind.
We didn’t go to the safe house this ti. He took to the little apartnt above his garage. It was the one he never let anyone see.
Bare brick walls, mismatched furniture and a record player in the corner spinning sothing slow and bluesy. It slled like coffee and motor oil in here.
We made our way to the kitchen and he volunteered to cook. Mordred Sinclair actually cooked because of . How unbelievable.
He chopped onions without cursing, seared chicken like he’d done it a thousand tis and let steal cherry tomatoes straight from the pan while he laughed and swatted my hand with a dish towel.
We moved around each other in the tiny kitchen like we’d been doing it for years. Shoulders brushing, fingers lingering and stolen glances that lasted a beat too long.
He set the table with real plates, not paper. Lit a single candle he claid was "left over from a power outage, not being romantic, shut up." I grinned so wide my face hurt.
We ate on the couch because the table felt too formal. I sat cross-legged, plate balanced on my knees, and he fed bites between his own like it was the most natural thing in the world.
At so point the forks were abandoned completely; he just held a piece of chicken to my lips and I took it, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth when I missed.
Music played low, the first track was Nina Simone, then Otis Redding. He pulled up to dance without asking, just wrapped his arms around my waist and swayed, my cheek against his heartbeat.
The room was small, so we barely moved, just turned in slow circles, foreheads touching and breathing the sa air.
And for the first ti in forever, I let myself smile genuinely. I felt the happiness from the race of my heart when Mordred’s smile grew wider as we slowly danced.
"I could get used to this," I whispered, as he turned around.
He answered by kissing slow and deep, tasting like garlic and red wine on my lips.When we broke apart, his voice was rough. "Stay tonight."
And I did. We laid beside each other on his rooftop watching the beautiful stars in the sky.
I fell asleep on his chest with his heartbeat under my ear, as he pressed soft kisses to my hair and cheeks. I didn’t even rember how or when I got to the bedroom.
The next morning he woke with coffee and a kiss on the shoulder. And we showered together. Mostly laughing, so touching, teasing and watching a lot of soap slid down places it probably shouldn’t.
He dropped at campus with a lingering kiss on the lips against the bike that left a sophomore walking past gaping like a fish.
"Text when you’re done," he said.
I nodded then floated through my classes. Even Ciara’s glare felt distant, like background noise I could finally tune out.
Lesley t in the cafeteria at four, eyes bright. "You’re glowing," she accused, sliding a latte across the table. "Spill."
So I did, every detail I could tell without blushing myself into a coma. She listened, chin in hands, grinning like a proud mom.
"See?" she said when I finished. "Told you the storm would pass."
I wanted to believe her or I already have.
At 6:17 p.m.
Back in the dormitory, I found a white rose. It was taped to our door with a single strip of clear tape, no note or ribbon. Just a perfect bloom with its petals still dewy.
My heart did a stupid flip , thinking it was probably Mordred since he has been so sweet lately. So I texted him a string of heart-eyes emojis and added a thank you for the flowers.
His reply ca two minutes later saying, "It wasn’t , baby."
The smile slid off my face, I stared at the rose like it might bite . Who sent this?
Lesley ca up the stairs behind , keys jingling. "Secret admirer?" she teased.
I didn’t answer, just pulled the flower down, thorns pricking my thumb, and crushed it in my fist.
That night I slept in my own bed for the first ti in days. The room was dark and cold but sowhere in the silence I could have sworn I heard breathing that wasn’t mine.
I lay very still, counting heartbeats, waiting for a red light that never ca.
Or maybe it blinked once, so fast I convinced myself I’d imagined it.
Day One of Peace ended exactly the way it began: with pretending everything was fine, and sothing watching believe it.
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