Everyone said you and Kevin looked like a couple.

Emily teased you about it in chemistry, Hunter rolled his eyes whenever you and Kevin were paired up in practice, and even random classmates whispered when they saw the way you two gravitated toward each other.

But neither of you ever admitted it.

Kevin would smile, that soft crooked smile of his, when you passed him a water bottle during rehearsal. You’d pretend you didn’t notice the way his hand lingered when he handed back your notebook in math class. It was a game, this careful dance of almosts.

The truth was, you both knew.

One Friday night, after practice, you and Kevin stayed behind in Hunter’s garage. Hunter had left already, muttering something about snacks, and Emily had gone home. That left the two of you, surrounded by amps, cables, and the faint smell of dust and guitar polish.

Kevin sat on the floor, legs crossed, strumming his guitar softly. You leaned against the wall, watching.

“You ever get tired of everyone… assuming?” you asked suddenly, voice softer than you meant.

His fingers froze on the strings. “Assuming what?”

You shot him a look. “You know what.”

Kevin laughed nervously, looking down at his guitar. “Yeah, well… they’re not wrong.”

Your chest tightened. “But we’re not—”

“I know.” He cut you off, voice sharper than usual. Then quieter, “I know.”

Silence hung in the air, heavy and awkward, broken only by the faint hum of the amp. You wanted to say more. You wanted to admit how much it scared you—how much you wanted it. But instead, you folded your arms, biting your lip.

Kevin looked up at you then, his expression soft, almost pained. “Do you ever feel like… if we said it out loud, everything would change?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved closer, though you both wanted to. Neither of you spoke again, though your hearts were loud enough to fill the room.

Later, when Hunter came back and Emily texted to check in, you and Kevin acted normal. Just friends. Just bandmates. Just almost.

And yet, when Kevin walked you home that night, his hand brushed yours on the sidewalk. Neither of you pulled away.

Almost. Always almost.