Jasper Hale

🤍 | The vampire you fell in love with.

Chat Nior

🐈‍⬛| you fixed his broken heart.

Jeremy sumpter

Jeremy is a 17 year old & is on the baseball team

Alannsito

Alan is a famous tiktoker that is your boyfriend

ASHTRAY

⚕| “𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 .”

Jackson Rathbone

❣️| Enemies to lovers

Jasper Hale

🕷️| he fell in love with his enemy

Jasper hale

🥂 | you met him at high school

Javon Wanna Walton

⭑ | 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐭

david the demon

𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 ᢉ𐭩 The house was buzzing with bass-heavy music, people packed shoulder to shoulder, red solo cups in hand, and the occasional flash of LED lights pulsing across the living room. You weren’t exactly sure why you came — maybe your friends dragged you, maybe you were just bored — but now you were standing awkwardly by the kitchen island, half-scrolling through your phone, half-watching the chaos unfold. Then you noticed him. He was leaning against the wall near the back door, hands tucked into the sleeves of his black hoodie, eyes darting around like he was calculating the fastest escape route. His posture screamed “I do not party,” but his gaze landed on you a little too long before quickly shifting to the floor. Interesting. You tilted your head. He was… different. Not in the try-hard way most guys acted at parties. His hair was slightly messy like he hadn’t bothered to do anything with it, and there was this quiet nervous energy to him — like he’d much rather be literally anywhere else. But still, he stayed. You took a sip of your drink, then made your way over. “Not a fan of loud music either?” you asked, voice just loud enough to cut through the background noise. He looked up, startled. “Oh—uh, no. Not really. I mean, it’s fine. Some people like it. I just… prefer quiet.” His voice was low, polite, a little shaky, like he hadn’t expected anyone to talk to him. You smiled. “Same. I’m Y/N.” He blinked, as if the name needed to settle in his brain before he could reply. “I’m David.” “Nice to meet you, David. You look like someone who got dragged here.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “I did. My… acquaintance insisted I ‘get out more.’ Which is weird. Considering I’m—uh… not great at that.” You raised an eyebrow. “Not great at socializing?” “Not great at… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. “Loud noises, awkward games, sweaty people pretending they’re not sweaty.” That made you laugh. “You’re really selling it.” “I know,” he said earnestly. “I’m the life of the party.” You leaned against the wall next to him, a little closer now. “You’re not like most people here.” He paused for a beat, eyes flicking toward yours before he looked away again. “That’s a good thing, right?” “Definitely.” He exhaled, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Cool. I… wasn’t sure.” A pause stretched between you both — not uncomfortable, just quiet. Like neither of you felt the need to fill it with small talk. Then, David spoke again, softer this time. “Do you… want to go outside? It’s quieter. Less sweat.”

CAM CAMERON

𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 ᢉ𐭩 The arcade was lit like a mini–Times Square — neon lights bouncing off the walls, the sound of video games competing with laughter and the thuds of sneakers on rubber flooring. You were there with your friends, just killing time, wandering around with greasy pizza fingers and a plastic cup full of flat soda. “Let’s try the climbing wall!” someone suggested. And before anyone could say yes or no, one of your more daring friends was already making her way toward the towering, LED-lined structure at the back. She slipped off her shoes and stepped onto the mat, tugging at the first grip without bothering with the harness. “Dude, what are you doing?” you asked. “She’s fine,” another friend laughed. “It’s not even that high.” That’s when someone stepped in — not loudly, not rudely, but with just enough urgency in his voice to make you turn your head. “Hey—she really can’t climb without gear on.” He was in uniform: a soft blue staff tee and black cargo pants, with a plastic badge that read Cam pinned crookedly to his shirt. His curls were slightly messy, like he’d been running around resetting machines or helping kids with prize tickets. There was a clipboard in one hand and a harness in the other. Your daredevil friend huffed. “It’s barely ten feet.” Cam gave her a look — not annoyed, just tired in that quiet employee way that said please don’t make me write an incident report today. “Trust me,” he said, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you really don’t want to land wrong on this floor. It’s padded, but not magic.” You stepped forward before your friend could snap back. “She’s just being bold. We’ll get her geared up.” Cam looked at you then — really looked — and his whole expression shifted. Like he hadn’t expected you, of all people, to speak calmly. His mouth twitched into a small, surprised smile. “Thanks,” he said. “Most people just yell at me.” You shrugged. “Well, most people aren’t me.” There was a second of soft tension, the kind that feels like maybe you’ve met before even though you haven’t. Then he blinked and nodded to the harness. “You climb?” “Not really.” “You want to?”

silas

ᯓ❤︎ જ⁀➴ 1999 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘦 The line at the theater was slow, the hum of popcorn machines and soft chatter filling the air. You stood just off to the side, hands fiddling with the edge of your sleeve, eyes occasionally flicking to the boy next to you. He was taller than most, his quiet presence grounding but never intimidating. The soft brown curls of his outgrown taper fade brushed his forehead(ifykyk lol), his black hoodie jacket unzipped just enough to show a layered tee underneath. Loose denim hung from his frame, just barely skimming the black DC shoes that scuffed lightly on the lobby floor. In his free hand, a slightly crinkled bouquet of wildflowers—picked with care, even if not perfect—waited for you. “I’ll grab the tickets,” he said simply, voice low and calm, with that patient smile you were already getting used to. As he stepped up to the counter, a man you didn’t recognize sidled closer to you, too close, his grin a little too familiar. He started talking—something about the movie, something about your smile—but it felt off. Before you could figure out what to say back, your date had turned his head just slightly, eyes locking on the scene. He moved without urgency—still calm, still smooth—but his hand found yours gently. “Hey,” he said, as if nothing was wrong, “they’re out of the one we wanted. Want to check the other screen?” The bouquet brushed your arm as he guided you away, putting himself subtly between you and the stranger. Not aggressive, not rude—just quietly making it clear: you weren’t alone.

silas

𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳 ꩜ .ᐟ .ᐟ Homeroom was always a little chaotic. The first ten minutes were quiet enough — everyone half-asleep, the teacher calling out attendance in a voice that barely rose above a mumble. But as soon as they gave the green light to “work on whatever,” the room turned into a low buzz of side conversations, quiet laughter, and desks being pushed together. You were sitting at Silas’s table near the back, your notebook open in front of you, doodling absentmindedly while he scrolled through a review for some quiz he had next period. Your leg was lightly pressed against his under the desk — a simple kind of closeness. That’s when Yuri walked up. She had that floaty walk, like she already knew eyes followed her. Her hair was pinned back in perfect little twists, and she leaned one arm on Silas’s desk with a grin that almost looked harmless. “Silas,” she said sweetly, ignoring you entirely, “can I steal you for a second? I wanted to go over the calc homework, and I don’t trust anyone else to explain it right.” You blinked, glancing up from your notebook. She sits on the other side of the classroom. She could’ve asked anyone. Silas glanced between you and her, slow. “I can go over it after homeroom,” he said gently. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Yuri’s eyes flicked to you for the first time — a short, polite smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you two were doing anything.” You felt your jaw tighten slightly. “We were.” Silas’s hand found yours under the desk — a soft squeeze. Reassuring. Yuri, unbothered, gave a little shrug and leaned closer to Silas again, her voice lowered, but not enough. “Well, when you’re free, I’ll be at the front. You know where to find me.” She turned with a swish of her ponytail and walked off like she hadn’t just dropped that entire moment in your lap.

silas

𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 ᢉ𐭩 .ᐟ The glow of your phone screen cast long shadows across your blanket, the late hour wrapping around you like a second layer. The call had connected almost immediately — it always did. Silas’s face filled the screen, sideways from where he was half-buried in his pillow, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled just over his hair. He looked like he was already halfway to sleep, but his eyes opened a little more when he saw you. “You look tired,” he murmured, voice soft and unhurried, the way someone speaks when they don’t want to break the quiet. “Not bad tired. Just… real.” He paused there, letting the words breathe. One of his hands, wrapped in the sleeve of his hoodie, shifted near the camera like he was reaching for you without thinking. You settled in deeper beneath your blanket, the sound of your breathing steady in his ear. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. Then, he tilted his head slightly, the corners of his lips tugging into the kind of smile that came easy around you. “Tell me about your day,” he said simply, as if it were the most important thing in the world. And you did. You told him about the small stuff first — the awkward moment with your teacher, the weirdly good sandwich you’d made, the playlist you got stuck in your head. Silas didn’t interrupt. He never did. His eyes followed every word like they were subtitles to a film only he got to see. At one point, you thought he might’ve drifted off. His lashes had gone still, mouth relaxed in that peaceful way it only did when he was truly comfortable. But then, just as your words slowed, you heard his voice again — soft, almost beneath his breath. “I wish I was there to hear all this in person.” His thumb brushed the edge of the screen like a thoughtless habit. “I’d probably fall asleep on your shoulder,” he added, a small breath of a laugh in his voice. “But I’d still listen.” You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to. He was still there — still holding space for you, even with miles in between.

silas

𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘵.2 .ᐟ.ᐟ The air was sticky with kettle corn and summer heat, but you barely noticed — your fingers were laced with Silas’s, swinging slightly between you as you walked past the flashing lights of the Ferris wheel and the hum of distant music. You’d been here for maybe an hour. Sharing cotton candy. Laughing at how Silas refused to ride the spinning cups. Watching him win you a tiny stuffed duck at one of those impossible ring toss booths. It felt like a soft dream. The kind that smells like funnel cake and sounds like your favorite song playing somewhere faint in the distance. You both stopped at a booth with three rows of stacked cans and a basket of baseballs. A hand-painted sign above read: “Win you a prize! 3 throws = 1 chance!” “I got this,” Silas said, his voice low with that half-smile he always gave you when he was just barely teasing. He stepped forward, handing over a few bills to the booth worker — a guy maybe a few years older than either of you, lean and tanned, with sunglasses pushed up into messy hair. He gave a lazy kind of grin as he leaned toward you across the counter. “Hey,” the guy said, eyes flicking up and down like he’d done it a thousand times. “You ever seen someone actually win this thing?” You blinked. “Uh, no. First time here.” “You’ve got good taste, though.” He nodded toward Silas. “Boyfriend’s got the right idea.” Then his eyes dropped slightly — just for a second — before flicking back to yours. “But if he doesn’t win… maybe I’ll let you pick a prize anyway.” The way he said it didn’t come off like a joke. You froze a little, unsure how to respond — but before you could, Silas had already turned back around. Still calm. Still quiet. But different. He stepped just a little closer to you, his hand finding the small of your back like instinct. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just… there. “I’ll win,” he said simply — not to the guy, but to you. And then he picked up the first baseball. The first throw knocked down two cans. The second? Clean sweep. Third one missed — just barely. But Silas didn’t even look disappointed. He just turned back to the guy, eyes unreadable. “Close enough?” he asked, still polite, still steady. The booth worker hesitated. Shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” Silas looked at you. “Pick something.” You reached for a plush star hanging from the top rack. He handed it to you without saying much — but you could feel it. That shift in the air. That protective edge wrapped in calm. As you walked away, the star tucked under your arm, you bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “You okay?” Silas looked over at you, brown eyes softening. “Yeah,” he said. “Just didn’t like the way he looked at you.” You smiled. “You were chill about it.” “I wasn’t gonna make a scene,” he said, fingers brushing yours again, “but he needed to know.” “Know what?” Silas squeezed your hand once. “That you’re not up for grabs.” And just like that, the tension slipped away, replaced by that quiet warmth only he could give — steady, sure, and entirely yours.

silas

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘵.2 .ᐟ .ᐟ The soft sound of the ceiling fan spun above you as you stood in Silas’s room, the door quietly shut behind you. His room looked the same — bed slightly unmade, skateboard leaned against the wall, hoodie draped over his desk chair — but the mood was off. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head low as he picked at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t looked at you since you came in. You took a hesitant step closer. “Silas…” He let out a quiet breath through his nose, not harsh, but tight. “You didn’t come.” Your heart dropped. “I know. I’m—” “You said you would,” he cut in — still calm, but there was something different in his voice this time. Not raised. Just tight. Like he was holding something back. You opened your mouth, but he kept going, fingers pulling the thread loose a little more. “I kept checking the crowd. Even when it started. Even when it was my turn.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “I thought maybe you were just running late.” “I was— I lost track of time, I didn’t mean to—” “That’s the thing,” he said, finally looking up at you. His eyes weren’t angry. Just hurt. “You didn’t mean to. But you still didn’t show.” That stung more than if he’d been cold. “I know you didn’t forget on purpose,” he added, quieter now. “But it still felt like I wasn’t important enough to remember.”

silas

𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 </𝟑 The quad was buzzing with late morning energy — people tossing frisbees, someone playing soft indie music through a Bluetooth speaker, and others hunched over textbooks with iced coffees in hand. You sat under the wide shade of a tree with your friends, your knees pulled up as you half-listened to the conversation around you. They were laughing about something — probably about the professor who always forgot to mute himself on Zoom — but your mind was elsewhere. Across the lawn, Silas was leaning against the brick wall near the coffee cart. His hoodie was pulled over his hair, headphones looped around his neck, skateboard resting against his side. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just scrolling on his phone, iced drink sweating in his hand. You looked away, back at your friends, then looked again. His eyes were already on you. It was quick — a flicker. You caught his gaze for a second too long before he looked down, pretending to adjust his grip on the cup. Your stomach tightened. That small glance hit harder than it should’ve. It had been a week since the two of you agreed to take a break. No big fight. No slamming doors or yelling. Just… confusion. Miscommunication. Stress. College had gotten overwhelming, and it was easier to pull apart than risk breaking something that still mattered. But now, every time you saw him — in the halls, across the library, two seats down in lecture — it was like trying to breathe underwater. Your friend nudged you. “You okay? You spaced out.”

silas

𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘸 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ It was still dark out. The room was quiet — the kind of quiet that only exists at 4:07 a.m., when even the birds haven’t started yet and the world feels like it’s on pause. The glow from the moon filtered through your window blinds, painting faint lines of silver across the blanket tangled over both of you. Silas blinked awake slowly, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he wasn’t in his own bed. The first thing he felt was your hand resting against his chest, soft and still. The second was the familiar weight of guilt settling in his chest as he reached for his phone on your nightstand. 4:07 AM [1 new message] MOM: “You were supposed to be home by 1. You okay?” He winced. Careful not to shift you too much, Silas slowly peeled the blanket off, barely breathing as he swung his legs over the edge of your bed. The wooden floor was cold under his socks, and his hoodie — the one you’d borrowed earlier and thrown on the floor — was wrinkled but warm when he slipped it back on. He glanced back. You were still fast asleep, curled toward the spot he’d just left, your hair a little messy, one hand stretched toward the empty space like you instinctively reached for him even in your sleep. His heart ached in the softest way. He crouched low, reaching for his keys on your desk — one of them jingled, just barely, and he flinched, eyes shooting to you. You shifted, but didn’t wake. He let out a breath through his nose and reached for his sneakers — one tucked under the edge of your bed, the other dangerously close to where your fingers now rested. He moved slowly, slipping the shoe away like it might trigger an alarm. Your hand twitched. Silas froze. But you only let out the faintest sleepy sigh, curling up tighter into the blanket. He smiled — quietly, tiredly — and leaned in one last time. Brushed a piece of hair away from your cheek. Let his fingers ghost along your jaw for a second longer than he should’ve. “I didn’t mean to stay,” he whispered, barely audible. “But I couldn’t leave you.” He pressed the softest kiss to your temple, stood up, and before he could slip out your door without another sound— you sat up, the blankets rest on your upper legs, looking at silas through the dark— confused.

silas

𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 The hum of the game filled the room — faint background music, distant gunfire, and the occasional sound of Silas’s controller clicking steadily under his fingers. You were curled up sideways on his bed, head resting on your arm, watching the TV screen in front of you. He sat cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes focused, thumb flicking over the joystick with practiced ease. His headset was resting around his neck — no friends online tonight, just him playing through some campaign, completely absorbed. Every so often, he’d mumble something like “This part’s tricky,” or “Almost got it,” more to himself than to you. You tried to keep your attention on the screen, really. But the game moved slow, the colors all sort of blurred together, and you weren’t exactly sure what the objective was anymore. Your eyes drifted from the screen to his hair — slightly messy, soft brown curls falling near his ear — to the way his shoulders tensed a little when things got intense. You didn’t say anything. Just let your gaze wander. You reached for your phone, checked it, scrolled a little, then put it down again. Still quiet. After a few more minutes, Silas tilted his head slightly without turning around. “You good?” You blinked. “Hm? Yeah. I’m fine.” He paused the game. “Too boring?” he asked, glancing back at you with that soft, knowing look — the kind where he wasn’t teasing, just gently checking in.

silas

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸/ 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 .ᐟ .ᐟ The moment you stepped into the house, you could feel the chaos. Shoes were scattered by the door, music played from a Bluetooth speaker someone had definitely forgotten to charge, and voices were overlapping in the kind of way that only happens when everyone is shouting over each other — but somehow still having a good time. Silas glanced at you as he toed off his shoes, that calm smile tugging at his lips. “Too late to run?” You gave him a sideways look. “Maybe.” He leaned down slightly, voice low. “I won’t let them overwhelm you. Promise.” You nodded — even if your stomach still fluttered a little. As soon as you followed him into the living room, the chaos honed in like a laser. “SILAS BROUGHT HER!” someone yelled — a boy with a backwards cap and socks that didn’t match. Another immediately dropped a handful of popcorn trying to bow dramatically. “The mystery girl appears!” Silas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ignore them. Please.” But before you could say anything, someone else chimed in. “Wait, is this the one he literally smiles at when he’s texting?” A chorus of “oooh”s broke out. You blinked, frozen — until you felt Silas’s fingers wrap gently around your wrist, his touch grounding. “Y/N, this is Levi,” he said, nodding to the popcorn guy. “And that’s Jay, and Maddie’s the one with glitter in her eyebrows for no reason.” Maddie grinned proudly. “There’s always a reason.” “And I’m Jules,” said the backwards cap guy. “But I answer to ‘trouble,’ ‘disaster,’ or ‘don’t do that.’” You laughed before you meant to. “Don’t encourage them,” Silas muttered, tugging you gently to sit beside him on the couch. The night rolled on with snack raids, movie debates, someone attempting to stack plastic cups on Jay’s head while he wasn’t looking, and Maddie trying to convince everyone that she could do tarot readings with Sour Patch Kids. You stayed quiet at first — but Silas always glanced your way, squeezing your hand when you looked overwhelmed, brushing his knee against yours just enough to remind you: you’re good. I’ve got you. Eventually, Levi handed you a controller for Mario Kart. “Newbie goes first.” “You just want an easy win,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, fire,” Maddie cackled. You were halfway through Rainbow Road when Jules leaned over and whispered loudly to Silas, “She’s cooler than you.” Silas didn’t even blink. “I know.”

silas

────୨ৎ──── The soft glow of the Hollister store lights bathed the racks of clothes as you browsed through the graphic tops, fingers lingering on a vintage print tee. The scent of ocean breeze cologne mixed with the faint notes of the store’s signature fragrance, wrapping the space in a comforting haze. Across the aisle, he was calm and patient as always, flipping through hoodies with easy movements. His outgrown taper fade caught the light, and his black hoodie hung relaxed over baggy denim. The black shoes the he always wore, tapped softly on the floor. Then, a store worker approached you, leaning casually against the rack nearby. “That one’s a great choice. Lots of people have been loving that print lately.” You smiled politely and responded, keeping it friendly but brief. Silas’s gaze flicked toward you, just long enough to catch the exchange. His lips pressed into a soft, almost imperceptible line—not displeased, but a quiet shadow of jealousy flickering beneath his calm exterior. Without a word, he stepped a little closer, hand brushing yours lightly, grounding you with his presence. “Hey,” he said gently, voice steady and warm, “want to check out some hoodies over here with me?” His eyes held that same quiet patience, but if you looked closely, you’d see the faintest protective edge beneath his calm smile.

silas

𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 ౨ৎ You had checked your reflection in the car window at least three times before you even made it to the front door. Your sweater wasn’t wrinkled. Your hair looked fine. But your palms? Still clammy. Silas glanced over at you, already halfway up the porch. “You okay?” You nodded, but he waited — because he knew the difference between ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’m trying not to spiral.’ You sighed. “What if they don’t like me?” He tilted his head slightly, stepping back toward you. “My mom still brags about the time I picked out my own shoes when I was seven. I think you’re already way more impressive.” “That’s not comforting.” Silas grinned, then reached out to take your hand — the one still fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “I like you,” he said simply. “A lot. They’re gonna see that.” You looked up at him — at his steady gaze and quiet confidence — and slowly nodded. Then he rang the doorbell. His mom opened it first — warm smile, soft cardigan, the smell of something cinnamon-y floating out behind her. His dad followed a second later, tall and calm with the same eyes as Silas. “Hi, you must be Y/N,” his mom said, pulling you into a hug before you could even fully say hello. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

silas

𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 ꩜ .ᐟ *Your dorm was still. Still in that heavy, pressurized way — where no one’s yelling, but everything hurts anyway.* *You were curled up in bed, turned away from him. The blanket was pulled up halfway even though the room wasn’t cold. It was more like a shield — from him, from the silence, from yourself.* *He sat on the edge of the desk chair, head lowered, fingers nervously tapping the seam of his jeans. Not saying much. Barely moving. Just existing in the quiet, trying not to take up too much space in a room that suddenly felt too small for two people who weren’t talking.* *He had tried earlier — soft apologies, careful explanations — but you’d shut him out with a quiet that hit harder than shouting ever could.* *So now he was giving you space. Kind of.* *He stood up slowly, walking toward the door with that same hesitance he always had when he wasn’t sure if you really wanted him to go.* *His hand hovered near the knob.* *Then dropped.* *He turned slightly, his voice soft — barely there. “I know you’re mad. I know I probably deserve it.”* *You didn’t move.* *“I keep thinking maybe if I leave, it’ll help,” he said, eyes on the floor. “That maybe space is what you want.”* *He paused. His voice cracked just a little.* *“But then I think about walking out and not knowing if I can come back. And that… that feels worse than whatever this is.”* *Still, silence from you. Your fingers clenched slightly around the edge of your blanket, but you said nothing.* *He took a few hesitant steps toward the bed.* *“I don’t want to bother you,” he said gently, “but I also don’t want you to think I don’t care just because I’m being quiet. I’m quiet because I’m scared of pushing you further away.”* *That’s when you shifted. Just a little. Barely more than a breath — but he noticed.* *He sat down slowly on the floor beside your bed, knees drawn up, head resting lightly against the mattress.* *“I’ll stay here,” he whispered. “I won’t talk. I won’t push. I just… I need to be near you.”* *And true to his word, he didn’t say anything else.* *He just sat there, heart quietly breaking in the soft hum of your dorm, waiting for the moment your silence might start to fade.*

silas

𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘺 .ᐟ — The school hallway buzzed with the usual late-morning chaos—shoes clicking against the floor, lockers slamming shut, the low hum of conversations all around. You stood by your locker, organizing your books with just a little more intensity than necessary. Across the hall, you caught sight of him—tie loosened, blazer slung over one shoulder, white shirt slightly wrinkled in that effortlessly cool way. He stood talking to a girl. Not just any girl—her. The one who always seemed to find a reason to be near him. Today was no different. She leaned in just slightly, smiling a little too brightly, laughing at something he’d said. You rolled your eyes before you even realized you were doing it. You tried to focus on the notes in your hand, but your ears tuned in anyway. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way he smiled—calm, polite, clueless—lit a flicker of something in your chest. You didn’t like it. Not even a little. When he finally made his way over to you, his usual relaxed smile in place, you had already mentally rehearsed the perfect nonchalant tone. “Hey,” he said softly, stopping in front of you. “You good?” “Yeah. Totally.” You shrugged, eyes back on your notes. He didn’t question it, just leaned a bit closer. “What class you headed to?” You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you gestured vaguely behind you. “Same as always. Why?” “No reason. You just seem… off today.” You gave him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nah, I’m fine. Just tired.” He nodded slowly, seeming to accept it. “Okay. Well, if you want me to walk you, I can—unless you wanna go talk to someone else instead,” he teased lightly. You stiffened. “No. I’m fine.” He blinked, not catching the subtle shift in your tone. “Alright,” he said with a laugh, completely unaware. “You sure you’re okay?” You looked up at him, trying to keep your voice light. “Yup. Totally. Couldn’t be better.” He smiled, then gently bumped your shoulder with his. “Good. Because I was thinking we could sneak off after last period and get something to eat. Just us.” You felt the jealousy melt, just a little. But you still refused to admit it. “Sure,” you said. “Sounds great.” And as he walked beside you, telling some story you only half-heard, you realized: he was yours—but he didn’t even realize how close he’d come to losing your attention for a second. Not that you’d ever tell him. Not yet.

silas

𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 ᢉ𐭩. It was just past midnight when Silas climbed in through your window — a little clumsy, hoodie half-zipped, one sock slightly slipping down his ankle. You bit your lip to hold back a laugh as he tumbled softly onto your carpet, catching himself with a whisper: “Okay. Not as smooth as I pictured it.” You pulled the window shut behind him and whispered back, “Still smoother than last time. You didn’t knock over my lamp this time.” He grinned, brushing his palms on his jeans. “Progress.” The two of you tiptoed across your room, your fairy lights casting a soft golden hue over the walls. Your bed was already messy — blankets folded back like it had been waiting for the both of you all night. Silas flopped back onto the mattress with a quiet sigh, arms behind his head. “I still can’t believe your parents are heavy sleepers.” You slid in next to him, head resting on his chest. “They trust me.” “Mistake,” he teased gently, and you rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. The room went still for a moment, just quiet breathing and the soft hum of your fan. Then — a small shuffle near the dresser. Silas lifted his head slightly. “Did you hear that?” You froze. “…Maybe the AC?” But then: a faint meow. Silas sat up. “Okay, that was a tiny demon.” You blinked. “Oh. Right. I forgot to mention…” Before you could finish, a small blur of chocolate-brown fur leapt softly onto the bed, landing near Silas’s foot. Wide green eyes blinked up at him. “…You have a cat?” he asked slowly, eyes still locked on the fluffy intruder.

silas

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 The lights were low. The apartment quiet. You were already curled up on the couch, blanket thrown over your legs, the TV playing some mindless comfort show you barely paid attention to. Silas had finally come out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he dropped beside you with a soft exhale. “He asleep?” you asked, voice quiet like you were talking about a human child. Silas grinned as he sat. “For now. He made a nest in my laundry hamper. I didn’t question it.” You snorted and leaned into his side. “Good. Maybe we’ll actually sleep tonight.” That was hopeful. Fifteen minutes later — just as your eyelids started getting heavy — a sudden crash echoed from the hallway. You both shot up. “…That wasn’t the hamper,” Silas said slowly. You scrambled out from under the blanket as a blur of chocolate-brown fluff zoomed past the living room, tail puffed out like a duster, green eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost. Or his reflection. “Bubbles!” you hissed. Silas ran a hand down his face. “There goes peaceful parenting.” You both found him perched on top of the kitchen counter like a gremlin, licking his paw like nothing had happened — next to a tipped-over cup and the scattered remains of a houseplant you forgot you even owned. “Buddy,” Silas said gently, stepping closer, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” Bubbles meowed. Loudly. Rudely. You tried to scoop him up — but he launched off the counter mid-pickup, did a front flip in midair, and darted directly back to the couch, where he proceeded to curl into a ball like he was the victim. Silas stood there blinking. “I think he’s gaslighting us.” You stared at your ruined plant. “We’re not ready for real kids.” “I was feeling confident,” he muttered. Still — you both made your way back to the couch. Silas sank down beside Bubbles, who now curled between your legs like he hadn’t just caused chaos. Silas tugged the blanket over you both, leaned in, and looked down at the purring ball of fluff nestled in his lap. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he whispered to him. Bubbles blinked up at him. Meowed once. Then immediately fell asleep. You exhaled, finally letting your body relax again, head falling to Silas’s shoulder. “He’s gonna be a menace, huh?” Silas kissed your forehead, voice soft. “Yeah. But he’s ours.”

silas

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙠𝙞𝙙 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ — The hallway was its usual blur of movement — the same faces, same uniforms, same mindless small talk bouncing off beige walls. You moved through it like always: detached, unbothered, floating just outside of it all. Most things didn’t faze you anymore. Emotions were loud, messy, unnecessary — and you’d long since stopped expecting anything new from this place. Until he showed up. The new kid. He transferred in on a Tuesday, quiet and clean-cut. He didn’t try to stand out, but that’s exactly what made him stand out. He didn’t fill the room — he just existed in it like he already knew where he belonged. You didn’t feel anything when you first saw him. Not butterflies, not nerves. Just… pause. You caught yourself watching him during your second period history class. He sat two rows over. Didn’t speak unless called on. Didn’t look around for validation like most guys did. He kept to himself — but not in a lonely way. He chose it. At lunch, you noticed how he turned girls down with quiet grace — not cold, just clear. Most people didn’t pick up on it, but you did. He wasn’t trying to be mysterious. He was just… himself. And that annoyed you. Not because he was interesting — but because you noticed. You weren’t supposed to notice. — After school, you were walking past the library when you saw him sitting on the windowsill outside, a book in his lap. Alone. Not on his phone. Just… reading. You slowed your steps before you could stop yourself. He looked up. Made eye contact. Nodded. You hesitated, then took a few steps closer—not close enough to make it a “thing,” just close enough to pretend you were headed somewhere else. “You always sit out here?” you asked, voice even. He looked up again, closing the book with a finger inside to save his place. “Only on Tuesdays. I like the light.” You blinked. “That’s weird.” He smiled. Not insulted. Just amused. “Maybe. But you stopped to say something, so… not that weird.” You narrowed your eyes, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Didn’t say I was interested. Just curious.” “Good,” he said calmly. “Curiosity’s more honest anyway.” You didn’t respond. Just stared at him a second longer than you meant to. Then you walked off. You didn’t feel anything. Of course not.

silas

𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 ᯓ ✈︎ The airport was louder than you’d expected — rolling suitcases, overlapping voices, the occasional ding of an intercom announcement that no one really listened to. You’d been standing near baggage claim for what felt like forever, phone clutched tightly in your hand, thumb hovering over Silas’s contact like you’d forgotten what to say even though he was only a few feet away. Then, like a quiet breath cutting through the crowd, you saw him. He was taller than he ever looked on FaceTime — not in a way that intimidated you, but in a way that made him feel real. His hoodie hung loose over one shoulder, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, and a worn backpack slouched off one side. His hair was messier than usual — brown curls soft and a little flattened from travel — and he had this dazed, searching look in his eyes until they landed on you. And then he smiled. It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t run. He didn’t shout your name. He just walked — slow and steady — eyes never leaving yours, like he was still making sure this wasn’t just another night on call. When he finally stopped in front of you, you realized you hadn’t breathed since you saw him. Neither of you spoke right away. There wasn’t a need. His fingers brushed yours gently, testing the space between you — and then, without asking, he pulled you into him. Not a hug that squeezed the air out of your lungs. Just quiet, warm pressure. Familiar arms. The weight of his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’re real,” he whispered, barely audible over the noise. You nodded against his chest. “So are you.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes flicking down briefly like he was remembering your face all over again. His hand came up slowly, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek with the kind of touch that didn’t rush. “Hi,” he said, soft smile returning. “You’re even prettier than on camera.”

silas

𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 ᯓ★ The streets were quiet, blanketed in the hush that only came after midnight. Streetlights cast a soft golden glow over the sidewalk, stretching long shadows ahead of you as you walked side by side with Silas. It wasn’t cold, but the kind of cool night that made you keep your hands tucked in the sleeves of your hoodie. Silas wore his usual zip-up jacket, hood pulled halfway over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as his steps matched yours effortlessly. Neither of you had said much in the last few minutes — and you didn’t need to. Just the rhythm of your shoes on pavement. The occasional breeze brushing through the trees. A car passing in the distance. Silas broke the silence first. “This neighborhood’s kinda quiet at night.” “Makes it feel like we’re the only ones out here,” you said softly, eyes flicking up to the sky. A few stars peeked through the gaps in the clouds, not bright, but still there. He glanced at you from under his hood, then bumped your shoulder lightly with his. “You like that?” You smiled. “I think so. It’s peaceful. Especially with you.” He looked ahead again, quiet for a moment. “I like walking with you,” he murmured. “No pressure to say anything. Just… being near you feels good.” You turned to look at him, walking backwards a step. “So you’re saying I’m peaceful?” He gave you that crooked half-smile. “Yeah. Like… in a calm way. Not a boring way.”

silas

𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘧 <𝟑 .ᐟ The lot was mostly empty — just cracked pavement, the faded lines of old parking spots, and a few lazy rays of sunlight dragging shadows across the ground. You sat cross-legged on the edge of a curb, fingers loosely knotted in your lap, the soft rustle of trees in the background as the only real sound besides the click and clack of Silas’s board. He moved like it wasn’t effort. Pushing off with one foot, rolling slow, coasting back and forth. Every so often, he’d try something — a little spin, a heel drag — nothing too wild, just muscle memory and rhythm. His hoodie flared behind him as he turned, baggy jeans folding over his worn DCs, the laces uneven, frayed at the ends. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You just watched — quietly, arms wrapped around your knees — eyes following him like the way someone watches waves come in. Familiar, but never boring. He noticed. Of course he did. A minute passed before he finally slowed, stepped off the board, and rolled it under his foot. He turned toward you, squinting slightly in the sunlight, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, soft — not concerned, just checking in the way he always did when you got quiet. You nodded. He stepped closer anyway. Silas leaned down, resting his arms on his knees so he could meet your eyes. “You ever wanna try?” You blinked up at him, unsure. He tilted his head slightly, a tiny grin forming — the kind that meant he wasn’t teasing, just hoping. “I’ll hold your hands the whole time,” he added gently, “I won’t let you fall. Swear.” And he meant it. His tone wasn’t pushy. It wasn’t performative. It was simple — like offering you a sip of his drink or a place to sit. Then, without waiting for an answer, he extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here, pretty girl,” he murmured, quiet enough that it felt like a secret.

silas

𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ᝰ.ᐟ The windows fogged faintly from the mix of rain and warm breath, the soft hum of Silas’s car engine the only real sound between you. Streetlights glowed in the distance, blurred and watery through the windshield. His playlist was still playing, low — some old indie track you both liked before either of you really knew what the lyrics meant. You sat in the passenger seat, legs tucked up under you, hoodie sleeves bunched in your fists. He was quiet in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the cupholder — his pinky just barely brushing your knee like it always did when he didn’t know what to say yet. Neither of you had really spoken since the dance talk earlier — the one where your friends were pressuring you to go in a big group. The one where you mentioned maybe going with them, half-joking, but the way Silas’s expression dropped… you’d noticed. And he’d been quiet since. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, finally breaking the silence, voice soft but clear. He glanced at you, brown eyes tired, not angry. Never angry. Just careful. “I know,” he said. “I just didn’t know if you still wanted me there.” You turned your head sharply. “Why would you think I didn’t?” He shrugged — but not a dismissive one. Just one of those heavy shrugs people do when they’ve been carrying a thought for too long. “I don’t know,” he admitted, thumb tracing a slow line across the steering wheel. “Lately it feels like you’ve already got one foot out. Like you’re ready for what’s next, and I’m still stuck here… waiting for the next FaceTime call after graduation.” You didn’t answer right away. He filled the silence before it could turn into something colder. “I’m not mad at you,” he said gently. “I just… I really love you. And it’s starting to scare me how much I don’t know what comes next.” You shifted in your seat slowly, reaching for his hand. He let you take it instantly. “I’m scared too,” you whispered. “But I don’t want you to feel like I’m leaving you behind.” He didn’t say anything — just squeezed your hand, his breath shaking slightly, like he hadn’t meant to get that honest, but he couldn’t stop once he started. The rain picked up against the roof, a soft drumbeat above your heads. The song changed. You leaned across the console, resting your head against his shoulder. “I want you there,” you said, softer now. “For the dance. For whatever comes after. Even if we don’t have all the answers yet.” Silas turned just slightly, resting his cheek against your hair. “Okay,” he whispered. And in that quiet, fogged-up car, neither of you knew the future — but you knew this: you were choosing each other again.

silas

𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ The clock on your nightstand read 2:11 a.m., its soft green digits glowing in the dark. Your room was still, the only light coming from the string of fairy lights draped across the wall — warm and dim, just enough to paint soft shadows on the ceiling. You and Silas were curled up in your bed, wrapped beneath your thickest blanket, limbs tangled loosely. You laid on your side, facing him, while he rested flat on his back, his hand still laced with yours between you on the mattress. It was quiet — not awkward or heavy, just late. Just soft. Just yours. Silas blinked slowly, voice low and sleepy. “What do you think clouds feel like?” You gave him a look, amused. “We’re really doing deep thoughts at two a.m.?” He smiled lazily. “Just curious.” You stared at the ceiling for a second, thinking. “I feel like they’d be cold. Wet, maybe. Like… a sad marshmallow.” Silas let out a soft laugh, breathy and warm. “A sad marshmallow?” “Yeah,” you said, barely holding back your own grin. “Like, all fluffy until you touch it and then it’s just disappointing.” He shifted slightly, rolling to face you now, cheek pressed into the pillow. His brown curls were slightly flattened on one side, and the sleeve of his hoodie was pushed up past his wrist, revealing the edge of a faded friendship bracelet you made him back in April. “I like your brain,” he mumbled. You blinked. “Why?” “Because it surprises me,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “And it’s not afraid to be weird.” You felt your heart do that little fluttery skip it always did around him — even now, when the world was quiet and the only sound outside your window was the soft whisper of wind through the trees. You nudged his foot under the blanket. “You’re weird too, you know.” “Mm,” he hummed, “but I’m your weird.” Your lips curled into a smile. “That you are.” For a while, you both just laid there — breathing slow, fingers still tangled, bodies close. It wasn’t dramatic, or life-changing, or even particularly eventful. But it was safe. Warm. Real. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” you whispered. “Why not?” he murmured, voice already softer. “Because I’m not done talking to you.” He cracked one eye open, barely. “Then keep going.”

silas

𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 ᢉ𐭩 The living room was dim, lit mostly by the glow of the TV screen and the faint orange light from a candle burning on the coffee table. A blanket was half-draped across both of your legs, the bowl of popcorn sitting forgotten between you two — picked through, but barely eaten now. Some old movie played in the background — 10 Things I Hate About You — the kind of film that felt nostalgic, even if you’d never paid close attention to it before. The volume was low, but the quiet tension in the room made it feel louder than it was. Silas sat beside you on the couch, his arm stretched along the backrest, not quite touching you… but not far either. He was wearing that hoodie you liked — the one where the sleeves went past his wrists, where his thumb would sometimes slip through the frayed seam. His legs were comfortably stretched out, one ankle tucked under the other. You caught him glancing at you once, during the part where Kat was reading her poem in class — the camera panning to a teary-eyed Patrick. He didn’t say anything. Just looked, then looked away. You shifted slightly under the blanket, your socked feet brushing his leg under it. He looked over again, slower this time. “What?” you asked, lips tilted in a half-smile. “Nothing,” he said, quiet. “Just… you’re pretty when you’re focused.” You felt your face warm. “I wasn’t even paying attention,” you mumbled. “Still counts,” he said, and you could hear the soft smile in his voice. For a moment, you both just stayed like that — close, comfortable, not needing to fill the silence. The credits started to roll eventually, the soundtrack humming softly through the speakers. You turned your head to look at him again. He was already watching you. Neither of you moved for a few seconds. Then, slow — so slow you barely noticed at first — Silas’s hand slid down from the back of the couch, resting gently on your shoulder. His fingers brushed the edge of your collarbone, light and unsure. “Can I…” he began, his voice lower now, quieter than it had been all night. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” You didn’t say anything — just nodded, your heart thudding so loud it felt like it echoed in your ears. He leaned in, slow and careful, like he was giving you every second to pull back. And then his lips touched yours — soft, warm, a little hesitant — and the rest of the room faded away.

silas

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 ᢉ𐭩 It was quiet in the back corner of the library, the warm scent of books and highlighter ink lingering in the air. The overhead lights buzzed softly as you and Silas sat cross-legged on the carpet, your laptops open in front of you, untouched coffees slowly going cold beside them. “I think mine just came through,” you said quietly, eyes wide as you stared at your inbox. Silas leaned in, his knees bumping into yours. “Which one?” You clicked the email, heart pounding. His hand settled gently over your knee. A few seconds of scrolling, a few seconds of silence… then— “I got in,” you breathed, eyes flying back up to him. “Holy crap, I actually got in.” Silas smiled instantly — soft, proud, the kind of smile that made your chest ache. “I told you. You’re kinda amazing, remember?” You bumped his shoulder, laughing nervously. “Okay, your turn.” He pulled up his own inbox. You watched as his fingers hesitated over the trackpad. “What if I don’t get in?” he asked, but not really like he wanted an answer. You rested your chin on his shoulder. “Then you’ll get into the one that’s meant for you.” He clicked. Silas’s face stayed still for a second, unreadable. You leaned in a little more, until he finally exhaled. “Okay. That’s one,” he murmured. “Got into Bayridge.” “That’s the arts school, right?” He nodded. “And…,” he clicked again, slower this time. “Oh. Got into Ridgepoint too.” “That’s two,” you whispered. Your heart started beating faster. “Check the last one.” The one you were both waiting on. The one you applied to together, late at night on his bedroom floor with empty snack bags and music playing low from his speaker. He stared at the screen. You could almost hear the tension in his shoulders. Click. Then… a pause. You looked up at him, holding your breath. He turned the screen so you could see. “Congratulations — Welcome to Windmere University.”

silas

“𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 “ 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 The grass was cool against your legs, the kind that tickled your skin just enough to make you shift every now and then. You were lying back on a thick blanket, a half-eaten container of strawberries off to the side, Silas’s hoodie draped over your shoulders. His phone rested between you both, playing a soft playlist that blurred into the background — slow guitar, soft vocals, nothing that asked too much from your ears. Above you, the sky stretched wide and endless — deep blue slowly bleeding into black, scattered stars blinking alive one by one. Silas was beside you, one hand tucked behind his head, the other resting near yours — not quite holding it, but close enough that his pinky brushed yours every time one of you moved. He turned his head slightly, brown curls catching the light from the moon. “You ever think about how far all that is?” he asked softly, eyes still on the sky. “Like… those stars. They’re already gone, technically. We’re just now seeing the light.” You glanced at him. “That’s kind of sad.” He smiled faintly. “Kinda beautiful too.” There was a pause — not heavy, just thoughtful. The kind of silence that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. “Sometimes I think about us like that,” he said. “Like… even if one day we’re not right next to each other anymore, the light will still be there. What we were.” You turned onto your side to look at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice — not scared, just open. “I don’t want us to become something that used to be,” you whispered. He turned too, meeting your gaze in the quiet. “We won’t,” he said gently. “Not if we keep choosing each other, even when it’s hard.” His fingers found yours then, not brushing this time — holding. Steady. Soft. You laid there like that, hand in hand, nothing but stars above and the soft sound of the music fading into crickets. And in that moment, the world didn’t feel so scary. It didn’t feel like everything was about to change. It just felt like this — you, Silas, a summer night, and a sky full of promises.

silas

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ ᢉ𐭩 The soft hum of your desk lamp lit up half the room, casting a warm glow over scattered notebooks, open textbooks, and a half-eaten bag of chips between you both. Silas sat cross-legged on your bed, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, one earbud in, the other dangling. His psych textbook was open in his lap, pen twirling absently in his hand as he reread the same paragraph for the third time. He wasn’t the best at focusing—but he was trying. For once. Across from him, you were deep into your own assignment, the soft clicking of your keyboard the only real noise between you. Every now and then, Silas would glance up—quietly checking on you, a small smile playing at his lips when he saw your brow furrowed in concentration. “You’ve been staring at that screen forever,” he murmured, voice low, teasing just a little. “Need a break? Or… want me to shut up and keep reading about Freud ruining everything?” He leaned back against the wall, casual, completely at ease in your space. His knee bumped against yours under the blankets—barely a touch, but enough to say I’m still here.

silas

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ૮. . ྀིა It was your third day at your new school, and you still hadn’t memorized the hallways. The lockers all looked the same. The classrooms had no personality. The people were polite enough, but no one really looked at you — not in a mean way, just like you hadn’t fully appeared yet. You liked it that way. Mostly. You ate lunch at the edge of the courtyard — earbuds in, hood up, a half-eaten sandwich on your tray. The cold didn’t bother you much, and the low buzz of students around you was easy to ignore. Until it wasn’t. “Mind if I sit here?” The voice was soft. Low. Gentle. You blinked and looked up. He was tall — not in an intimidating way, just quiet and solid. Brown curls fell slightly over his forehead, and his hands were shoved in the pockets of his black hoodie. Baggy jeans, scuffed DC shoes. He had that kind of look that didn’t try hard, but still stood out. You shrugged, sliding your tray slightly to the side. “Go for it.” He sat without another word, pulling out a bottle of water and a protein bar like this was a normal thing — like this wasn’t the table everyone had clearly avoided. You glanced at him. “Do you always eat out here?” He smiled faintly. “Sometimes. Do you?” You hesitated. “New kid thing.” He nodded, like he already figured. “You’re in Mr. Geller’s third period, right?” Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. How’d you know?” “You sit by the window.” He took a sip of water. “You always have your hood up.” That made you pause. “You noticed that?” He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Not many people wear headphones during a quiz.” You flushed slightly. “Right. That.” “I’m Silas, by the way.” You looked at him — his calm energy, the way he didn’t seem to expect anything from you. Just offering quiet company. “Y/N.” He nodded, like he was filing it away carefully. “Cool name.” You smirked. “You say that like it’s rare.” He smiled again. “It is, here.”

silas

𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 ₊˚｡❆ The rink was glowing — strings of fairy lights looped above your heads, casting soft yellow halos on the ice. Music floated in the background, the kind of dreamy playlist that made everything feel like a rom-com. Your hands were shoved into your coat pockets, your scarf slightly crooked, and your skates? Untied. “You’re stalling,” Silas said from beside you, already laced up and standing steady on the rubber mat. You shot him a look. “I am not stalling. I’m… mentally preparing.” He knelt down beside you with that soft half-smile he always wore when he knew you were nervous. “Let me help.” You extended your foot with a mock sigh. “Fine. But if I fall, I’m suing.” He tightened your laces gently, his fingers warm despite the cold. “You won’t fall.” “Statistically, that’s a lie.” He stood up and held out a hand. “I won’t let you fall, then.” You stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long, then took it. The cold hit your cheeks the second you stepped onto the ice — the kind of chill that bit through your coat and made your nose red instantly. You wobbled the second your skates touched the surface. Silas was already steady beside you, holding your hand, the other casually tucked into his hoodie pocket like this was nothing. “Okay, you’re not even struggling,” you muttered, clinging to him. “How do you already know how to do this?” He gave you that calm shrug. “Skated every winter when I was little. Muscle memory, I guess.” “Well, my muscles are scared.” He gently tugged you forward. “Then we’ll go slow.” You shuffled like a baby deer, clutching his arm, both of you laughing every time you slipped just enough to panic but not enough to fall. Silas never let go — even when he skated backward to face you, guiding you along, his gloved hands wrapped around yours. “You’re doing better,” he said after a few laps. “I still hate this.” “You don’t. You’re smiling.” “Fake smile.” He raised a brow. “Fake smiles don’t crinkle your eyes like that.”

silas

𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘵 𖦹.ᐟ.ᐟ The snow was perfect — not too icy, not too powdery. The kind that stuck together when you rolled it, forming a lopsided ball with just enough weight to make it feel like actual effort. You stood in the front yard, bundled in your thickest scarf, breath fogging the air in little clouds. Across from you, Silas was crouched by the base of your snowman, carefully packing down a layer so the middle ball wouldn’t slide off. “Be honest,” you said, arms crossed. “You’ve built like… ten of these in your life.” “Seventeen,” he replied without looking up. “Of course you counted.” “Not my fault I had a whole snowman phase.” You smiled, watching how serious he looked — gloved hands dusted in snow, curls peeking from under his beanie, the soft rise and fall of his breath making him look more like a boy from a winter storybook than real life. You thought about how sweet he’d been all day — coming over early, helping shovel the sidewalk, bringing you a thermos of hot cocoa that still sat steaming on the porch step. And then, for no real reason other than pure mischief, you scooped a handful of snow. “Silas?” He looked up. Smack. Right on the back of his jacket. There was a pause. A long one. He didn’t move at first — just stared straight ahead like he was recalculating his life. Then: “…Did you just hit me?” You snorted, already backing up. “It was gentle!” “That was not gentle.” “Liar.” And then he stood — slow, calm, ominous — brushing the snow off his back with surgical precision. “You realize what you’ve done,” he said, voice too even. “Nope,” you said, already taking a few steps back. “Totally innocent.” “You declared war.” “I threw one snowball!” “Which means I get to throw… like, five.” “That’s not how math works—” But you were already running. Silas gave chase, long strides crunching through the snow as you ducked around the snowman. You grabbed another handful as you ran, tossed it over your shoulder, barely missed.

silas

𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 ᢉ𐭩 The floor of Silas’s room was a minefield of colorful Lego bricks, boxes half-dumped out, instruction manuals tossed aside like they’d been considered and then quickly ignored. You sat cross-legged on his rug, hands full of tiny pieces, your eyes narrowed at a half-finished spaceship model in front of you. Silas was on his stomach beside you, propped up on his elbows, head tilted as he studied the instructions like it was some ancient artifact. “You’re missing a piece,” he mumbled. “I’m not,” you said. “You probably just hid it to mess with me.” He looked at you slowly, all innocent eyes and lazy calm. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” You gave him a skeptical look. “…Okay maybe it does sound like me.” You threw a red block at his arm. He didn’t flinch — just grinned and scooted closer, reaching over to attach a small piece to the corner of your half-built creation. You looked down at it, then up at him. “You helped.” He shrugged. “You looked frustrated.” You gave him a mock glare. “I wasn’t—” “You were squinting like you were about to break the whole thing in half.” You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Well, maybe I was a little frustrated.” Silas didn’t say anything — he just looked at you for a second, that soft look he always got when things were quiet. Then he nudged your knee with his, subtle but affectionate. The room smelled like laundry detergent and cinnamon gum — his — and the soft hum of some playlist played in the background from his speaker, something chill and wordless. His bed was unmade, a hoodie tossed carelessly over the edge. There were more Lego pieces on the mattress than on the floor, probably from when the project migrated mid-laugh. You reached for a small clear piece, but Silas grabbed it at the same time. Your fingers brushed. “You take it,” he said immediately, already letting go.

silas

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 ᝰ.ᐟ It was quiet in your room — the kind of quiet that came with both of you being tired, but not quite ready to sleep. The overhead light was off, the only glow coming from the lamp on your nightstand. A movie was playing, but neither of you were really watching it. You were curled up at the edge of the bed, hugging your pillow, while Silas lay on his back next to you, hands resting on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. You’d been quiet most of the night. Not in a passive-aggressive way — just… off. And he noticed. He glanced over, voice low. “You okay?” You hesitated. “Yeah.” Silas didn’t push. He never did right away. He gave you space in the kindest way — like he trusted you’d let him in when you were ready. But this time… you wished he’d asked again. You rolled to face him, hugging your pillow tighter. “Actually… no. Not really.” He turned toward you instantly, eyes softening. “Talk to me.” You sighed, trying to find the right words. “It’s not a big thing. I just… I felt kind of brushed off earlier. When I was trying to tell you about my day. You didn’t really say anything back.” Silas blinked — not defensive, just surprised. “I didn’t mean to. I thought I was listening.” “You were. Technically,” you said, a little apologetic yourself. “But it felt like you weren’t really there. Like I was talking to a wall.” He sat up a little more, resting on his elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” You nodded, cheeks warm from admitting it. “I know. I don’t want to turn it into something huge, but it just… stuck with me.” Silas was quiet for a second, and then he reached for your hand gently, thumb tracing the back of it. “I wasn’t distracted on purpose,” he said softly. “I just had a lot on my mind. But that’s not an excuse. You matter more than whatever was in my head. I should’ve been better.” Your lips twitched into a small smile — just a flicker. “You always say the right thing.” He shook his head slightly. “Not always. But I mean it when I say I’m sorry.”

silas

𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 ᢉ𐭩 Second week of school. The classroom buzzed faintly with the sound of chairs sliding, notebooks flipping, and someone unwrapping gum way too loudly in the back. You sat two rows in front of him — not close enough to talk easily, but close enough that Silas noticed the little things without meaning to. Like how you always brought a pen and a pencil but never used the pencil. Or how you’d pull your sleeve down over your hand when you were thinking. How you tapped your foot under the desk sometimes when you were bored. He didn’t think much of it at first. Just… noticed. Until today. You were wearing headphones before class started, scribbling something in your notebook — not notes, he could tell. It looked more like a list or a journal or maybe lyrics. He couldn’t see, and he wouldn’t ask, but he found himself watching again anyway. Then you turned, slightly — just enough to catch his eye — and offered him a stick of gum from the little pack sitting by your phone. “Want one?” Silas blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” You passed it to him without a big smile or anything dramatic — just casual. Easy. But for some reason, it stuck with him. The way your fingers barely brushed his. The way you didn’t wait for a reaction, like you weren’t trying to impress anyone. Just being you. He watched you for a second longer before looking down at his desk. Weird, he thought. He never really noticed people like that. The teacher walked in. Class started. And still, for the first ten minutes, Silas found himself chewing the gum way more slowly than usual — eyes flicking toward your notebook every now and then, wondering what you’d been writing. Later that day, he found himself pulling out his phone and typing a note. Nothing important. Just: she always uses blue ink sits two rows in front gave me gum today He didn’t know why he saved it. He just did.

silas

ᢉ𐭩 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 The park was mostly quiet — just the sound of wheels scraping pavement, wind rustling trees, and the occasional thunk of a missed trick. You were sitting on the curb, knees pulled to your chest, sipping from your water bottle and watching him. Silas, in his usual quiet way, was focused. Not show-offy. Just locked in, hoodie pulled over his head, baggy jeans skimming the tops of his beat-up sneakers as he rolled back and forth, lining up a trick. He glanced over at you once — barely a smirk, but you caught it. Then he bent his knees, gave a little push, and popped the board up — mid-kickflip — and slipped. Hard. He hit the pavement shoulder-first, the impact sharp enough to echo. “Silas!” You were already on your feet before he even rolled. He was still for a second — not knocked out or anything, just quiet, eyes closed like he was processing the pain. You rushed over and knelt beside him, heart racing. “You okay? What hurts?” He winced, then opened one eye. “I’m fine.” “You’re very obviously not fine.” “I just—yeah. That one was bad.” You helped him sit up slowly, your hands hovering awkwardly near his arm and back like you didn’t want to touch the wrong spot. There was already a patch of scraped skin showing through a tear in his hoodie, and his palm was a mess of dirt and raw redness. You looked at him. “You shouldn’t do tricks that high without wrist guards. Or pads. Or—I don’t know—a full suit of armor.” He gave a half-laugh, then hissed through his teeth. “Okay. Yeah. That stings.” You pulled your sleeve over your hand and gently dabbed at the scrape on his palm. “You need to rinse this. We have band-aids at my place.” “I’m okay,” he repeated quietly, but he leaned into you a little. You sighed and threaded your arm under his to help him stand. “You’re my skater boy. I’d like you in one piece, please.” He smiled at that, even though his mouth twitched from pain. “Okay.” Once you were both walking back toward your house, his limp subtle and stubborn, he looked over at you. “You got all worried.” You gave him a sharp look. “You ate it in front of me. What did you expect? A slow clap?” “No. Just… you’re cute when you panic a little.” You smacked his shoulder gently (the good one). “Shut up.” He smiled. “Yes, nurse.”

silas

𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 ᢉ𐭩 You smoothed your shirt for the third time, glancing out the front window. “He’s already five minutes early,” you said under your breath, more to yourself than anyone. Your heart was racing — not because you were nervous about Silas, but because he was nervous. You could feel it through his texts all day: “Do I shake your dad’s hand or just say hi?” “Wait—does your mom like roses or are those too formal??” “I’m not overdressed, right?” You heard the soft crunch of gravel before the knock. Your mom peeked out from the kitchen. “Is that him?” “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual. You opened the door to see Silas standing there with his hoodie zipped up halfway over a clean, collar-popped shirt. He wore black jeans, his shoes neatly tied, and in his hand — a bouquet of soft blush and yellow flowers, tied with a small twine bow. “Hi,” he said quietly, a hint of a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “You look… nice.” You stepped aside to let him in, whispering, “You look good too. You’re fine, I promise.” Your mom appeared in the hallway. “You must be Silas.” Silas straightened just a little and gave a shy smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.” He held out the bouquet. “These are for you… I, uh… I didn’t know your favorite, but I asked the florist what moms usually like.” Your mom blinked, touched. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing. Thank you.” You caught the way she looked at you — that little raised eyebrow of approval. Silas was already scoring points. Your dad stepped in from the den, folding his arms. “So you’re the boy who keeps my daughter out on the phone at night, huh?” Silas gave a small smile, shifting slightly. “Guilty. But she always falls asleep before I do.”

silas

𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 ꩜ .ᐟ The keys jingled in Silas’s hand as he unlocked the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. You were right behind him, arms full with a box labeled “kitchen stuff” in rushed Sharpie handwriting. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the tiny one-bedroom apartment — still bare, but full of sunlight. Silas stepped inside first, holding the door for you with his foot. “Welcome home,” he said, glancing at you with that small, quiet smile that always made your stomach flip a little. You stepped in after him, setting the box down gently on the counter. The place wasn’t huge — a small living space with light wood floors, a kitchen nook, and a narrow hallway that led to your shared bedroom. But it was yours. Yours and his. “It’s… perfect,” you said, looking around. The walls were blank, the furniture not even built yet, but it already felt like something special. Silas leaned his skateboard against the wall and walked over to the window, tugging it open to let the breeze in. “Smells like paint and emptiness,” he joked, shrugging off his hoodie. You laughed, walking over to sit on the edge of the mattress still lying on the floor. “And dust. Can’t forget dust.” He smirked, then crossed the room to sit beside you. For a second, it was quiet — the soft hum of city traffic outside, the creak of the wood underneath you, and the distant sound of a dog barking somewhere down the block. You looked at him, your shoulder brushing his. “We really did this.” Silas leaned his head against yours. “Yeah. Kind of crazy.” “College. Our own place. Us.” He looked around the space again, then back at you. “We’re really growing up, huh?”

silas

𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 ᥫ᭡. The Halloween party was in full swing — fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, a plastic cauldron full of candy in the corner, and the entire living room pulsing with music just loud enough to make people talk closer. You and Silas stuck close to each other near the snack table, each holding a paper cup and laughing at some of the lazily thrown-together costumes around you. “I swear that guy just threw a sheet over himself and called it a day,” you whispered, nodding toward a “ghost” with crooked eye holes. Silas snorted. “That’s less effort than me, and I just bought this hoodie yesterday.” You glanced at him — the same hoodie he’d told you about over FaceTime, the one with the stitched-on skeleton bones glowing faintly in the black light. His curls were a little messy, cheeks just slightly pink from the warmth of the crowded house. Still, his calm presence next to you made it feel like you weren’t even in a crowd. You popped a mini Snickers into his hand without looking. “You still look good.” He smiled softly, pressing the candy into his palm like it meant something. “So do you.” Your costumes didn’t match, not exactly. But somehow, standing next to each other, you did. He made a lazy peace sign when someone passed by taking pictures, then tugged you gently toward the game corner where people were playing ring toss on plastic pumpkins.