Rain had threatened all day, but the skies held their breath. The campus shimmered in the blue of dusk, damp with the scent of oncoming weather.
Eira had no intention of going anywhere near Callum tonight. That was the plan.
Until she opened her locker and found a note.
"Rooftop. Now. Before the stars hide."
No name. Just that familiar scrawl—sharp, deliberate, unmistakably his.
She should've ignored it.
Instead, she was already halfway up the south stairwell, heart betraying every ounce of logic her brain screamed.
---
The rooftop was empty when she pushed open the door. The breeze hit her first—cool, clean, carrying the smell of rust and clouds.
Then she saw him.
Callum, standing near the edge, hood up, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just summoned her with the most dramatic note in school history.
"You're late," he said without turning.
"I wasn't planning to come," she replied, crossing her arms.
"Yet here you are." He turned then, his smirk just visible under the hood. "Guess I still have my charm."
"Delusion isn't a charm."
He chuckled, and for some reason, it didn't sound like his usual quiet scoff. It was warmer. Realer.
A beat passed. The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable, but weighted.
"Why'd you call me up here?" she asked finally.
Callum took out a small flashlight and pointed it at a rusted telescope near the edge. "Figured you'd appreciate this view more than most."
Eira blinked.
"I didn't know we had a telescope."
"Most don't. It's broken. But if you fix the mount manually—" he crouched beside it, fiddling with the base, "—you can get it to align. Just takes patience."
She raised an eyebrow. "So you brought me up here... for a broken telescope?"
He looked up at her. "You like broken things."
Something in her paused. Just for a second.
Then—
"What makes you think that?"
"Because you haven't given up on yourself yet."
Her chest tightened, but she masked it with a scoff. "You're corny tonight."
"I'm serious," he said, quieter now. "You carry yourself like you're immune to everything. But I see it, Vale. The weight. The pieces you hide."
She looked away, not ready for how those words disarmed her.
"You don't know me," she muttered.
"Not yet," he agreed. "But I want to."
That did it.
Eira turned to him, brows raised. "Why? I'm not exactly a joy to be around."
"Exactly."
"That's not how compliments work, Mercer."
He smiled, then held out the flashlight to her. "Want to fix it together?"
She stared at it. Then, slowly, took it.
They worked in silence, hands brushing occasionally. Each accidental touch left a trail of sparks in its wake. Eira pretended not to notice how warm her face felt. Callum pretended not to glance at her when she was focused.
It was stupid.
It was soft.
It was nothing.
And it was everything.
Finally, they got the lens aligned.
Callum adjusted it carefully, then stepped back. "Go ahead. Look."
Eira bent over, peering through. A gasp escaped her.
The stars had come out—barely—but they were there, glittering shyly behind the clouds. And right in the center, clear as day, was the moon. Bright. Bold. Whole.
"It's perfect," she whispered.
Behind her, Callum leaned against the railing, watching her.
"Not really," he murmured. "But close."
She turned. Their eyes met.
This time, neither looked away.
The wind picked up, tugging at her hair. He reached without thinking, brushing a strand behind her ear.
The contact was brief.
But the silence that followed was full of meaning.
She didn't step back.
He didn't apologize.
Something shifted.
And neither of them could pretend it didn't happen.
---
Down below, hidden in shadow, Theo watched the rooftop from a distance, expression unreadable.
He tapped his earpiece.
"They're getting closer."
Juliet's voice crackled in response. "Should we intervene?"
Theo paused. His eyes lingered on Eira's silhouette—softened, open, entirely unlike the girl they knew.
"No," he said slowly. "Let them burn a little longer."
He turned, vanishing into the dark.
And above them, under stars neither of them noticed anymore, two hearts began to change their rhythm.