The music room at the far end of campus was mostly empty after hours—just a few forgotten notes still echoing in the air, a faint hum from the amps, and the scent of old wood and coffee from the teacher’s mug left on the piano.
Musa sat on the edge of a table, legs swinging slowly, headphones around her neck. A quiet beat played from her phone’s speaker, low and steady like a heartbeat. She was humming along, fingers tapping a rhythm against her thigh.
Riven leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as he watched her. He’d shown up half an hour ago, said nothing, just wandered in and leaned there like he always did when he didn’t have the words but still wanted to be near her.
“You know just staring is kind of creepy, right?” Musa said without looking up, but her smirk was obvious.
“I’m not staring,” he muttered.
“You so are.”
“I’m listening.”
Musa rolled her eyes playfully, glancing at him. “Uh-huh. To the music or to me?”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
That made her pause. Her eyes softened as she looked over at him. “You’ve gotten better at this whole… ‘being a human boyfriend’ thing.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said with a crooked smile. “It’ll ruin my reputation.”
She hopped down from the table, crossing the room until she was standing in front of him, her hands sliding into the front pocket of his hoodie without warning. It was his hoodie, not hers, but she stole it constantly.
He didn’t move—just looked down at her like he always did when she got close enough to mess with his heartbeat.
“You’re warm,” she said.
“It’s the hoodie.”
“It’s you.”
He blinked. She always knew how to shut him up in five words or less.
She leaned her head against his chest. “I like when you come here after school. Even when you pretend you’re not here for me.”
“I never said I wasn’t,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, his voice quieter now. “I just don’t like how obvious it is.”
Musa grinned into his shirt. “You’re getting soft.”
“Only for you.”
The beat from her phone faded into silence, but neither of them moved. The music had stopped, but everything still felt like it was playing—just a slower song now. One she didn’t need to write, because they were already living it.