This is my fault. I replay the moment on the couch like a broken track, the way she leaned in without hesitation, the certainty in her movement. The heat of her breath against my mouth. The way my body reacted like it had been waiting for permission.
And the way I stopped it. My hand around her cheek. Gentle, but firm. Like restraint was the only thing holding me upright.Stupid. And so not like me to be cautious.
If I kiss you, I’m not going to stop.Christ. I’m such a fucking dumbass. I grab my keys and leave before the quiet convinces me I imagined everything.
The studio usually fixes me. Noise. Rhythm. Control. Today it doesn’t. I play too tight, the beat clipped and sharp like I’m afraid of letting it expand. Like if I loosen my grip, everything else will spill out with it.
Luc catches it immediately. “Relax,” he commands through the talkback. “You’re playing like you’re bracing for impact.”
“I am relaxed,” I snap, harsher than I mean to.
Dean’s brow jumps as he glances at me from across the room. “You sure the fuck aren’t.”
Hayden doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches. He always watches, like he’s filing things away for later. We take a break, and I retreat to the corner of the room, towel draped around my neck, heart still racing like I ran instead of played.
“You’re spiraling again.” Hayden steps up beside me.
I scoff. Because he’s not wrong. And I hate that. I deny it anyway. “No, I’m not.”
He tilts his head. “You stopped drinking. You stopped joking. And you’re playing like control is the only thing holding you together. All things that aren’t you.”
“You psychoanalyzing me now?” I bristle. “Cause I get plenty of that at home these days.”
He takes a beat. “I’m noticing,” he clarifies. “Same thing you do to everyone else.”
That shuts me up. Hayden exhales slowly. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to white-knuckle it. We’re here for you.”
The words land heavy. I leave the studio early. By the time I get back to the apartment, it’s already dark outside. The lights are on inside, but the space still feels guarded. Quinn’s bag is by the door, proof she exists here, but her presence is muted by silence.
She’s sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open, glasses on, hair pulled back tight. Focused and professional. Her armor. The same mouth I can’t stop thinking about. Yeah. Not helping. “Hey,” I lift my hand in a quick wave.
She looks up, polite smile snapping into place like muscle memory. “Hey.”
That fake smile is worse than silence. I drop my keys on the counter. “You eat?”
“Yep,” she answers immediately.
I don’t believe her.
She closes her laptop with deliberate finality. “I was just heading to my room actually. I’m exhausted.”
There it is. The retreat. I step into her path, not touching her, not crowding her, just enough that she has to acknowledge me. “Quinn.”
She stops; shoulders tight. “Michael, I really-”
“No,” I cut in, calm but firm. “We’re not doing this.”
Her brows knit. “Doing what?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “The polite distance. The pretending nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened that should matter.” She corrects; jaw tight.
That hurts more than I expect. I release a slow breath, grounding myself. “I was trying to do the right thing.”
Her chin lifts. “Anddoing meis not the right thing?”
“For fuck’s sake.” I rake a hand through my hair and stalk a little closer. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you?”
