Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lydia B. Kollins was not having a good day.

It was the first day of her second semester of sophomore year, and it already felt like the universe was working against her. She’d slept through her alarm, jolting awake in a panic that sent her scrambling through her morning routine. Her iced coffee, once a crisp, perfect balance of espresso and sweetness, had melted into a lukewarm puddle of disappointment. And to top it all off, she’d nearly gotten into a full-on brawl with a particularly aggressive flock of pigeons outside her apartment.

She loved studying film. She loved the way a single shot could tell an entire story, how lighting could shift the mood, how a well-placed cut could change everything. Pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Film & Television at Boston University had felt like a natural choice, and her first three semesters had been everything she hoped for. Film made sense to her. It was structured, purposeful, something she could dissect and understand.

Electives, however, were another story.

Which was exactly why she was dreading her first class of the semester: Principles of Marketing.

Her academic advisor had insisted a business elective would be “valuable” for her future. Apparently, a basic understanding of marketing was useful in the film industry, something about branding, distribution, audience engagement, but Lydia couldn’t bring herself to care. Lydia cared about art, about crafting something meaningful, something that expressed creativity. She had no interest in branding, profit margins, or how to sell a film like it was just another product on a shelf.

As she trudged toward the Questrom School of Business, her boots scuffed against the pavement, the weight of impending boredom pressing down on her shoulders. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if sheer reluctance alone could slow time.

By the time she reached the classroom, only five minutes remained before the lecture started. She exhaled sharply, pushing the door open, and took in the sight of nearly every seat already occupied. The room buzzed with idle chatter, the rustling of notebooks, the occasional ding of a notification.

Squinting, she made out an empty chair beside a girl with dark skin and long blonde hair. She couldn’t see her face because she’d forgotten her glasses in her rush out the door, but the hot pink zip-up sweater was impossible to miss, standing out like a beacon in the sea of neutral-toned winter sweaters.

Lydia hesitated before stepping closer. The girl remained glued to her phone, fingers tapping out a message with laser focus, her nails—short but glossy, painted with french tips—clicking softly against the screen. Up close, Lydia caught the slight furrow in her brow, the almost imperceptible downturn of her lips, as if whatever she was typing mattered far more than anything happening around her.

“Is this seat taken?” Lydia asked, keeping her voice neutral.

The girl’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their rapid pace. She exhaled sharply through her nose, finally tilting her head just enough to glance at Lydia, dark eyes flicking over her with a barely-there hint of recognition before snapping back to her screen.

“Do whatever you want,” she muttered, her voice smooth but utterly disinterested.

She tilted her phone slightly away, as if Lydia had any interest in snooping, then finally spared her the briefest glance. Her gaze was cool, impassive, her dark eyes unreadable, framed by long lashes. She didn’t shift her bag, didn’t adjust in her seat, didn’t even pretend to make room, like she was daring Lydia to sit down anyway.

Lydia’s jaw tightened.

Great, absolutely fantastic, Lydia thought to herself.

Annoyed but out of options, Lydia slid into the seat anyway, her backpack thumping against the leg of the desk with a little more force than necessary.

She pulled out her laptop, staring at the empty document on her screen while the tension beside her settled like a weighted blanket. Beside her, the girl remained immersed in her phone, unfazed, perfectly content to pretend Lydia didn’t exist.

The air between them felt cold, and for once, it had nothing to do with the Boston January weather.

Chapter Text

At exactly 8:59 AM, Lydia’s Principles of Marketing professor strode into the classroom, setting her coffee down on the desk with practiced ease. The lecture slides were already projected onto the screen, the title of the course displayed in bold letters with Professor Michelle Visage written underneath.

“Good morning, everyone!” Professor Visage’s voice was bright, carrying easily over the low murmur of conversation. “Welcome to Principles of Marketing. I hope you’re all as excited to be here as I am.”

Lydia doubted that.

Beside her, the blonde girl, who still hadn’t acknowledged Lydia’s existence beyond her barely-there do whatever you want , finally put her phone down, placing it screen-side down next to her laptop. In its place, she picked up a large Dunkin’ Donuts cup, the plastic crinkling as she swirled the ice around. The liquid inside was a garish shade of orange, condensation dripping onto her desk.

She lifted the straw to her lips and took a slow sip, her expression flickering with something unimpressed, like she was already over this class before it had even begun. Then, exhaling softly, she settled deeper into her seat, legs crossed at the knee, looking perfectly at ease.

Lydia, on the other hand, was far from it.

“Participation is worth 20% of your final grade,” Professor Visage continued. “To track that, these will be your assigned seats for the semester. When the seating chart reaches you, please write your name exactly as it appears on the student portal.” She clasped her hands together. “If you go by a different name, feel free to add it to a name card for future classes.”

Lydia’s stomach twisted. 

Assigned seats .

She was stuck here. 

Next to her.

A TA began passing around a seating chart, a grid-like map of the classroom where students were expected to claim their spots. It made its way through the front two rows until it finally landed in front of the blonde girl. She picked up a pink gel pen from her pencil case, flicking off the cap with a practiced motion before adding her name in neat, looping cursive.

Lydia tensed.

Shit.

She hadn’t brought a pen. She never did. She typed everything. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but the thought of asking her for something sent a cold prickle of dread down her spine.

She knew it was irrational. It was just a pen. But there was something about this girl’s immediate dismissal when they first met, the way she barely spared Lydia a glance, that made asking for even the smallest favor feel daunting . Lydia had been on the receiving end of criticism before, for her art, for her sexuality, for her sometimes reserved nature, but she had always been able to brush it off. This? This felt different.

The seating chart landed on her desk, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Lydia swallowed.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The girl sighed, rolling her eyes as if this was some great inconvenience. Then, without looking up, she pulled the cap off her pink pen once again. “You should be better prepared next time,” she murmured coolly. But she still handed it over, their fingers brushing for the briefest second.

Lydia inhaled sharply and forced herself to focus on the seating chart instead of the lingering chill the interaction left in her chest. Her eyes scanned for her seat before landing on the name written beside it in smooth, confident cursive.

Kori King.

It suited her.

Lydia had to admit, it sounded like a main character’s name.

She scribbled Lydia Kollins next to it before passing the sheet along. Turning back to Kori, she held out the pen, offering a small, polite smile.

Kori didn’t even glance at her as she plucked it from Lydia’s hand and tucked it back into her sparkly pink pencil case.

Lydia exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to move on.

The rest of class passed in a blur. Professor Visage spent the first hour and a half going over the syllabus, covering everything from office hours to grading policies. Lydia could still feel the presence beside her. Kori sat effortlessly straight, legs still crossed, occasionally tapping her nails against the plastic of her refresher. The faint, rhythmic clicking filled the space between them.

Lydia half-listened, jotting down key points about weekly quizzes and the midterm, but most of it was standard.

Then came the group project.

Thirty-five percent of their final grade. Semester-long. Partnered.

Lydia barely suppressed a groan. She didn’t mind group projects in her film classes. She liked collaborating when it was with people who actually cared. But this? She wasn’t convinced anyone in this class would be tolerable. Least of all Kori.

At least she wouldn’t have to find a partner herself. Professor Visage would be assigning them after next week’s class.

Lydia just had to hope, pray, manifest that whoever she got stuck with would be bearable .

And if she was really lucky, it wouldn’t be Kori King.

Chapter Text

Lydia bolted out of the classroom the moment Professor Visage finished her lecture. She didn’t want to be in this building for another second. It looked like every other lecture hall on campus but something about the energy here unsettled her. Maybe it was the subject matter. Maybe it was the fact that she’d be forced to sit next to Kori King for the rest of the semester. Either way, she needed to get out.

Principles of Marketing was her only class on Tuesdays, so she headed straight home. The bus ride was a quick fifteen minutes, and while she usually liked to walk when the weather was nice, the brutal January chill made her grateful for public transportation.

Lydia’s apartment was on the third floor of a cozy townhouse, which she shared with her best friend and roommate, Suzie. Their place was an eclectic mix of artsy chaos and curated comfort. Movie posters and vintage playbills covered the walls, Suzie’s side featuring old Broadway shows and Lydia’s adorned with David Lynch and Tim Burton films. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the mismatched but somehow perfectly coordinated furniture. A record player sat in the corner next to a growing collection of vinyls, and the coffee table was perpetually cluttered with art books, film scripts, and whatever craft project Suzie had started that week. There were plants in every available spot, some thriving, some on the verge of death. It was a little chaotic, but it was home.

She kicked off her boots, sighing as the warmth of the apartment seeped into her frozen skin.

Suzie was curled up on the couch, nose buried in a cheesy romance novel, her pink-and-white argyle blanket pulled up to her chin. She looked up as Lydia walked in.

"Hey," Lydia greeted, dropping onto the couch beside Suzie with a sigh.

Suzie smirked, lowering her book. "How was Corporate Greed 101?"

"Oh, shut up," Lydia groaned, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "It was just syllabus day. No brainwashing us into deceiving the masses yet."

Suzie sighed dramatically. "What a letdown. I was hoping you’d come back with at least one morally questionable marketing tactic."

Lydia let out a laugh. “There was this one girl, though.”

Suzie’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

“Not like that,” Lydia said quickly, catching the teasing look in her friend’s eyes. “She was awful.”

Suzie perked up, setting her book aside. "Ooh. Spill."

Lydia sighed, running a hand through her hair."I got to class a little late, and almost every seat was taken. So I went to ask this girl if the one next to her was free, and she was just so unnecessarily rude about it. Like, full-on ice queen. And now I have to sit next to her for the entire semester."

Suzie grimaced. "Ugh, the assigned seating curse. That’s brutal."

"I know, right?" Lydia threw her hands up. "I don’t know what I did to deserve this."

“What’s her name?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know her name?”

"Because I’m nosy, obviously." Suzie grabbed her phone. "Come on, I need to put a face to the villain in your origin story."

Lydia hesitated for a second, then muttered, “Kori King.”

Suzie’s fingers flew across her phone as she opened Instagram. Lydia scooted closer, watching over her shoulder.

The first profile that popped up was unmistakably Kori’s. A blonde girl in a pink top, smiling at the camera like she didn’t have a single problem in the world. Lydia blinked. The warmth in that smile was so at odds with the girl she’d met this morning that it almost didn’t compute.

"This her?" Suzie asked, already clicking on the profile.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

Kori’s Instagram was a world away from Lydia’s. First of all, it was public, and she had over two thousand followers. Meanwhile, Lydia had a respectable but humble two hundred and kept hers private. Kori’s feed was picture-perfect. Polished. Every post looked like it could be in a sorority recruitment pamphlet. There were candids of her at parties, sun-drenched beach photos, and shots with other equally gorgeous girls, all laughing like they were living in an early 2000s teen movie.

Suzie tapped on a photo of Kori and another girl with sleek, pin-straight brown hair. They were wearing matching white t-shirts that mimicked the Dunkin’ Donuts logo, but instead of “Dunkin’,” the shirts read "Big" and "Little."

Kori’s said "Little." But she was clearly taller than the other girl. Lydia frowned.

Suzie tapped the tag. The girl’s username was plainjane.

Lydia made a face. "Yikes. Imagine branding yourself like that."

“This girl is in a cult,” Suzie declared, still scrolling.

Lydia blinked. “What?”

Suzie waved a hand at the screen. "She’s in a sorority. That explains everything."

"That doesn’t automatically make her mean."

Suzie scoffed. “Have you not seen Sydney White ? The sorority girls in that movie were evil.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “That was a movie.”

Suzie shrugged. "Correlation is correlation." She kept scrolling. "Do you think there are lesbians in sororities?"

Lydia thought for a second. “There have to be, right? Statistically speaking, at least a few.”

Suzie smirked. “Maybe mean sorority girl is secretly gay.”

Lydia let out a dry laugh. “Doubt it.”

Suzie clicked over to Kori’s tagged photos. The first one was posted by plainjane and had a grainy, greenish tint, like it was taken on film. It showed Kori sitting at a café, mid-laugh, her head tilted back as if someone had just said something hilarious. It was so candid, so unlike the perfectly posed photos on her feed, that Lydia actually stopped to look at it.

The way her eyes crinkled at the corners. The way her shoulders shook from laughing too hard.

Lydia felt warmth creep up her neck.

“She looks way less evil here,” Suzie mused.

Lydia swallowed. “Okay, that’s enough Instagram stalking for today.” She grabbed the phone from Suzie, but the screen was still open to Kori’s profile.

A small pink circle appeared around Kori’s profile picture. A new story.

Before she could think better of it, Lydia clicked on it.

The image was a mirror selfie taken at a café, warm light spilling in through the windows. Kori stood in front of the counter, holding an orange refresher in one hand and her phone in the other. She was wearing the same sweater as earlier, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face. A pair of round sunglasses perched on top of her head, and her lips were pursed in an exaggerated, playful pout, like she wasn’t taking herself too seriously.

Lydia’s stomach twisted, though she couldn’t say why. She glanced at the top of the screen.

Thirty seconds ago.

Lydia’s breath caught in her throat.

She snapped the phone shut and shoved it back at Suzie.

“What?” Suzie asked.

“Nothing,” Lydia said quickly. But she suddenly felt like Kori was watching her. Like she knew what Lydia was doing.

And that was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

One week later

It was Tuesday morning, exactly one week after Lydia’s first marketing lecture.

To her surprise, she was in a relatively good mood. The rest of her week had been enjoyable. Her other classes were solid, and over the weekend, she and Suzie had spent their days thrifting and their nights bar-hopping, a perfect balance of chaos and retail therapy.

Now, she sat at the kitchen counter, absentmindedly scrolling on her phone as she ate breakfast. Suzie stumbled in, making a beeline for the espresso machine. She stood there, waiting for her coffee to brew like it was the only thing keeping her alive, before finally turning to Lydia with a dramatic flourish.

“Lyds, you are walking into battle today.”

Lydia groaned, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "It’s a marketing class, Suzie. Not war."

“Oh, but it is,” Suzie countered, leaning across the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You, a humble film student, forced to co-exist with the enemy-”

"Kori is not the enemy."

"She’s a mean sorority girl with perfect hair. That’s villain-coded if I’ve ever seen it."

Lydia rolled her eyes, but Suzie wasn’t done.

"Look, it’s the first real class, which means today sets the tone for your entire semester. Are you going to let her get away with being an ice queen, or are you going to be the bigger person and kill her with kindness?"

Lydia snorted. "Or I just sit next to her and mind my business?"

Suzie gasped, clutching her chest like Lydia had personally offended her. “Coward behavior.”

Lydia ignored her, finishing the last of her cereal before heading to her room to grab her backpack. But as soon as she stepped out the door, the weight of the day settled over her, dimming her mood.

To say she was dreading this class was an understatement. Not only did she hate the subject matter, she hated the people.

Or rather, one person. But that was beside the point.

✿

Lydia arrived ten minutes early to class, determined to be prepared. Unfortunately, Kori was already there.

She spotted her instantly. It was impossible not to.

Kori sat effortlessly poised at their shared desk, scrolling through her phone with the kind of detached ease that came naturally to people who always seemed put together. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in sleek waves, the cool overhead lighting catching hints of gold between the strands. Against her deep brown skin, the contrast was striking—almost cinematic. Today, she wore a fitted pale pink sweater, the kind of soft, delicate fabric that somehow made her look even more composed. Lydia suddenly became hyper-aware of her own slightly rumpled gray hoodie.

She walked to her seat with her head held high, determined to look unbothered. Sure, her brain was a disaster zone right now, but outwardly? Outwardly, she could at least pretend to have it together.

As expected, Kori didn’t acknowledge her. Didn’t shift, didn’t glance up.

Lydia debated whether or not to say hi. It wouldn’t kill her to be friendly. Maybe Suzie was right about the whole ‘kill her with kindness’ approach.

But then, seconds passed. Too many seconds. Now, if she said hi, it would be weird. So she stayed silent, opening her laptop and pulling up the slides for class.

Professor Visage started the lecture soon after, launching into the “four P’s of marketing,” and Lydia forced herself to focus. Or at least, she tried.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kori put her phone away and pull out a sleek iPad, Apple Pencil in hand. She wasn’t just sitting there looking engaged, but also taking detailed notes. Her handwriting was neat, almost annoyingly so, her strokes quick and precise as she jotted down points from the lecture.

Professor Visage paced slightly at the front of the room, gesturing as she spoke. “Now, can anyone give me an example of a company that successfully shifted its promotional strategy to build a stronger brand identity?”

A brief silence.

Then, Kori’s voice, clear and confident.

“Nike,” she said, as if the answer was obvious. “They moved away from just selling products and started marketing an entire lifestyle. ‘Just Do It’ isn’t about shoes; it’s about motivation. They use emotional branding to connect with consumers.”

Professor Visage nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Nike’s marketing strategy evolved to sell an idea rather than just a product. That’s an example of the shift in promotional focus. Storytelling over simple advertisement.”

Lydia blinked. She barely even knew what the professor had been talking about before that, but Kori seemed to just get it .

She glanced at Kori’s screen, catching neat, structured notes, complete with bullet points and pink highlights like she actually cared about this class. Lydia had assumed Kori was just another bored student forced into a gen-ed credit, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Where the hell did she learn this stuff? Principles of Marketing was strictly for non-business majors, meaning this wasn’t even Kori’s field. So why did she sound like she belonged in a boardroom already? Did she actually like this class? Was she secretly a business minor? Did she have some sort of legacy family connection to corporate America?

Lydia scowled at herself. Why was she even thinking about this? Who cared if Kori King was secretly the marketing girlboss of the century? She probably just retained information well. Good for her.

Still, it was irritating. And worse, she wasn’t sure why it was irritating.

The professor moved on, and Lydia tried to refocus, but the damage was done.

She kept glancing at Kori, not because she wanted to, but because sitting next to her was distracting.

Suzie had been right. Lydia had walked into battle this morning. But the battle wasn’t with Kori. It was with her own damn brain.

She tried to absorb the lecture, but her mind kept drifting.

First, she wondered why Kori had been so cold to her last week. Was Suzie right? Were all sorority girls like this? Or was there another reason?

Then, she started thinking about Kori outside of class. The Kori from Instagram. The one who had taken a selfie at a café last week, refresher in hand, looking effortlessly cool. Was she always this put together, or did she ever have moments of messiness, of chaos? What was her major? Was this marketing class just a requirement for her, too, or did she actually like it? What did she even want in life?

And, most importantly, why the hell was Lydia thinking about this?

The lecture dragged on, but Kori kept answering questions. Not in an annoying, over-eager way, but like she actually knew things .

At one point, the professor brought up pricing strategies, and Kori casually mentioned a study on luxury brand psychology.

Lydia, who had spent the past fifteen minutes internally spiraling, stared at her like she had grown another head.

Of course she would know about luxury branding. She was a luxury brand.

Before Lydia knew it, the lecture was over, and the only thing she had retained from the past two hours was product, price, place, and promotion.

Great. She’d have to go back through the slides later.

Marketing was boring enough without the added distraction of her seatmate. The whole class was just a bunch of overcomplicated theories on how to convince people to buy stuff. The four P’s of marketing? Just different ways of saying make a product, slap a price on it, put it somewhere people will see it, and advertise it. Why did it need to be so technical?

Professor Visage wrapped up the lecture with an announcement.

“I will be posting your partners for the project to the Canvas page after class, along with the instructions and rubric.”

Lydia straightened slightly, resisting the urge to groan. Right. The partner project.

“The first deliverable is due four weeks from now, on February 25. Your midterm is the following week, so I recommend not waiting until the last week to start.”

Lydia reassured herself everything was going to be fine and she would get an okay partner as she packed up her things, forcing herself not to glance at Kori, who had already closed her iPad and was making her way toward the front of the room to talk to their professor. 

Lydia frowned. What could she possibly have to say after barely two lectures?

As she slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way out the door, she couldn’t help but glance back one last time.

Kori stood with her back to Lydia, gesturing slightly as she spoke to Professor Visage. She looked poised, self-assured, like someone who knew people would listen when she talked. Lydia hated to admit it, but there was something magnetic about the way she carried herself.

Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, Lydia turned back around and stepped outside into the crisp January air, a sharp chill running down her body.

She decided to head to her favorite library near the film school to finish up her notes from this class and some work for her class on Thursday.

She found an empty table by a big window, pulled out her laptop, and started typing up notes from the lecture she should have been paying attention to.

She cursed herself under her breath. Next week, I’m focusing. No distractions. No Kori King.

Determined to move on, she refreshed the course page and clicked on the document containing the partner assignments.

Command + F. Type: Lydia Kollins.

The page scrolled automatically, highlighting her name.

Right next to another name.

Kori King.

Lydia closed her eyes, exhaled sharply, and let her forehead drop onto the table with a soft thud.

She was so screwed.

Chapter Text

Lydia shoved the apartment door open, letting it slam behind her as she stormed inside. Her backpack slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of disbelief, frustration, and impending doom.

Suzie, draped across the couch in her usual post-class sprawl, barely looked up from her phone. “Oh no,” she drawled, her voice tinged with amusement. “What happened?”

Lydia exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair as she made a beeline for the fridge. “I-” She stopped, gripping the fridge handle so hard her knuckles turned white. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Suzie sat up properly now, suddenly invested. “Did Kori do something? Did she insult your entire existence again? Oh my god, did she look really pretty today? Wait, did you do something?”

Lydia grabbed a can of diet root beer, slammed the fridge shut, and turned to face her. “We’re project partners.”

A beat of silence. Then-

Suzie gasped dramatically, the kind of gasp that belonged in one of those old movies she was always watching. "No."

Lydia took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes, Suzie.”

Suzie’s lips twitched, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. “Oh, this is too good.”

Lydia groaned, dragging herself over to the couch and collapsing into the cushions like she’d just run a marathon. “This is not good.” She threw an arm over her face, wishing the couch would swallow her whole. “This is a disaster.”

Suzie nudged her knee. “You’re so dramatic Lyds.”

Lydia lifted her arm just enough to glare at her. “Coming from you?”

Suzie gasped, clutching her Star of David necklace as if it were pearls. “Me? Dramatic? Never!”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but Suzie’s antics did little to lift the weight pressing down on her. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Working with her is going to be a literal nightmare. Today in class, she was so fucking annoying. She kept raising her hand, participating, getting all the answers right—like, every single one—and she wasn’t even obnoxious about it, which somehow made it worse. She was just…” Lydia huffed. “Effortless. And it was so distracting, I could barely focus on the lecture.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow. “So, what I’m hearing is: she’s smart?”

“That is not the point.”

“I mean, it kinda is,” Suzie shrugged. “At least she knows what’s going on in your class. You sure as hell don’t, so that’s a plus.”

Lydia scowled. “I guess that’s true.” She sighed, running a hand down her face. “It just sucks. We did not get off on the right foot, and now we have to work together, just the two of us, for an entire semester. This project was already going to be hard for me, but now? Now it’s unbearable. And out of sixty students, she’s the one I get paired with? What are the fucking odds?”

Suzie smirked. “God is one messy bitch,” she said, laughing. “I guess she wanted to see your gay ass crash out the entire semester.”

Lydia groaned, pressing her hands into her eyes. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m crashing out over a fucking marketing project.”

Suzie cocked her head. “Be for real. This is not about the project.” She grinned. “You are so crashing out over Kori.”

Lydia let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think it’s too late to switch out of this class?”

Suzie snorted. “Let’s not run away from our problems, pookie. Besides, you need this class for your degree, and the other options are probably worse.”

Lydia groaned again. “What could possibly be worse than being forced to spend alone time with a girl who absolutely fucking hates me?”

Suzie smirked. “Having to take a finance class.”

Lydia visibly shuddered. Okay, maybe Suzie had a point.

Still, she needed something to take her mind off of this before she spiraled even further. She turned to Suzie, determined. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

Suzie squinted at her. “Lydia, it’s Tuesday.”

“So what? We are young. We are in college. We only live once. Let’s go to Dani’s.”

“Do you not have class tomorrow?”

“Not until noon,” Lydia countered. “And we don’t have to stay out too late.”

Suzie sighed, already caving. “Fine.”

Lydia grinned. “Hell yes.”

Maybe she was crashing out. But at least she could crash out with a drink in her hand.

✿

After dinner, Lydia and Suzie transformed their tiny apartment into a pre-game ritual. The Bluetooth speaker hummed to life, filling the space with the familiar pulse of Pink Pony Club by Chappel Roan, the unofficial anthem of their nights out. The steady thrum of the bass mixed with the scent of setting spray and vanilla perfume, creating an atmosphere of anticipation.

Lydia stood at the bathroom mirror, carefully swiping mascara onto her lashes, her practiced hand steady despite the slight buzz of cheap vodka warming her veins. She leaned in, tilting her chin just so, making sure every lash was perfectly coated. The soft glow from the vanity lights cast her in a warm, golden hue, accentuating the red flush on her cheeks from the alcohol and excitement.

From the bedroom, Suzie rifled through her closet, tossing clothes onto the bed in search of the outfit. Lydia could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the occasional clatter of a hanger hitting the floor, the unspoken language of two friends getting ready together. A spark of nostalgia flickered in Lydia’s chest—this ritual was familiar, comforting.

Her outfit had come together effortlessly. The baggy black jeans sat just right on her hips, slouching in all the ways that made her feel effortlessly cool, while the red crop top hugged her figure, the color bold against her skin. A trio of silver necklaces layered against her collarbones, catching the bathroom light as she moved. She stepped back, assessing her reflection, tilting her head slightly. Yeah—she looked good.

Suzie, now dressed in her own take on jeans and a crop top, whistled. "Damn, Lyds. If I didn’t know you, I’d totally hit on you at the bar."

Lydia smirked, grabbing her leather jacket from the back of a chair. "Well, lucky for you, you do know me, so now you just get to be impressed."

"Ugh, disgusting," Suzie teased, linking arms with her as they made their way to the door. "Let’s go, hot stuff."

With that, they stepped out into the night, the city buzzing around them, ready to disappear into the neon haze of Dani’s. The chill in the air hit Lydia’s skin like a rush of cold water, but it was refreshing, cutting through the heat of the apartment and the lingering excitement of the night ahead. Soon enough, they found themselves making their way to the bar, the rhythmic click of their boots on the sidewalk matching the beat of the music they were about to dive into.

Lydia thanked God every day that she and Suzie had found their apartment in Back Bay. Their apartment was close to campus, close to the bars, close to everything that mattered. Sure, their apartment was a tiny, slightly run-down brownstone walk-up that hadn’t been renovated in decades. The heating barely worked, the walls were too thin, but the location was perfect.

When they got to Dani’s, the bouncer smiled at them, not even glancing at their IDs before waving them in. Inside, the bar was comfortably full but not packed.

Suzie and Lydia grabbed drinks and found their way to the dance floor. Only at a sapphic bar would the DJ be playing Silk Chiffon by MUNA and Phoebe Bridgers, and Lydia loved it.

As the night went on, she danced, flirted, collected a few numbers, and gave hers away in return.

This was exactly what she needed—a distraction from the distraction that was Kori King.

✿

It was just past 1 AM when Suzie tapped Lydia on the shoulder, pulling her out of a conversation with a beautiful fourth-year physics major. Lydia had been leaning in slightly, her fingers grazing the rim of her mostly-empty glass, half-listening to whatever smart thing the girl was saying while focusing more on how good she looked under the neon glow of the bar lights.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Suzie said, voice lower than usual, a telltale sign she was starting to fade. “But I’m getting kind of tired. Can we go soon?”

Lydia blinked, feeling the pleasant haze of the night settle over her. She pulled out her phone, squinting at the screen. 1:04 AM.

She sighed, but she knew Suzie wouldn’t last much longer. “Yeah, okay.”

Turning back to the girl, she offered a small, apologetic smile, making sure to exchange numbers before following Suzie outside.

The cold was immediate, sharp against her flushed skin, cutting through the residual warmth of the bar’s body heat and liquor. She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as they started the walk home. The city was quieter now, but not silent. Boston never really was. The occasional car passed by, headlights slicing through the dark, and groups of students spilled onto the sidewalks, voices loud with post-midnight energy.

They turned onto Commonwealth Avenue, their boots clicking against the pavement, when a group of girls emerged from one of the towering fraternity houses ahead. Lydia could hear them before she saw them, high-pitched laughter, the kind that carried easily in the cold air, little puffs of breath visible under the glow of the streetlights.

At first, it was just background noise. Then she spotted the blonde.

Her stomach twisted before her brain fully caught up.

Kori King.

Lydia felt her whole body stiffen, a stupidly automatic reaction, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Kori, bundled in a puffer coat like the rest of them, walked with an easy stride, head slightly tilted as if she were only half-listening to the conversation around her. Even in the dim light, she looked unfairly good, her long blonde hair tumbling out of her hood, catching just enough of the streetlamp’s glow to make her seem almost cinematic.

Suzie noticed immediately. Lydia knew because she felt the way her roommate’s pace slowed for half a second, the way a quiet laugh bubbled up in her throat. Before Suzie could say anything, Lydia linked their arms, tugging her closer in warning.

Do not start.

Suzie’s body shook with barely contained amusement. Lydia could practically hear her smirking.

Lydia forced her gaze forward. She didn’t look at Kori. Didn’t acknowledge her. Didn’t even let herself check if Kori had seen her first.

But Suzie did.

As soon as they passed, as soon as they were safely out of earshot, Suzie exhaled a laugh, practically bouncing on her feet. “Oh my god, that was intense.”

Lydia groaned. She knew what was coming.

“Did you see her face?” Suzie continued, voice dripping with delight. “She was glaring at you.”

Lydia finally looked over, unimpressed. “Of course she was.”

“No, like, really glaring at you. I thought you were being dramatic, but you weren’t. She hates you.”

Lydia didn’t reply, just shook her head, speeding up slightly as if she could physically escape the conversation.

Suzie, predictably, did not let it go. She spent the rest of the walk home breaking down every possible detail of those two minutes, from Kori’s expression to the way she walked to whether or not she had subconsciously stepped slightly to the side when Lydia passed.

By the time they reached their apartment, Lydia was ready to collapse. She scrubbed off her makeup in record time, barely remembered brushing her teeth, and all but fell into bed.

She told herself not to think about Kori King.

She was already failing.

Chapter Text

One week later

Lydia stood in front of the mirror in her apartment, giving herself a final once-over. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to look perfect for a class she dreaded, but today it mattered. Maybe it was because Kori King would be there and would finally have to acknowledge her. It’s not like Lydia had any illusions that Kori had noticed her before—no, Kori probably didn’t even know her name. But that didn’t stop Lydia’s heart from speeding up just a little bit every time she thought about her.

“Okay, you’ve got this,” Lydia muttered to her reflection, straightening her sweater and adjusting the silver necklaces that hung loosely around her neck. She looked good—almost too good, for a 9 a.m. class.

The walk to class felt longer than usual. The gray sky barely let through any sunlight, and the wind cut through her jacket, sending a chill straight to her bones. She pulled her backpack tighter, trying to distract herself from the dread creeping in.

It wasn’t just the class or the project; it was Kori. The thought of spending an entire semester working with someone who didn’t seem to want to be in the same room as her felt like a nightmare. Lydia’s mind replayed the few moments they’d shared in class so far: the awkward introductions, the dismissive way she’d looked at her. It wasn’t that Kori hated her, Lydia reasoned—it was just that Kori didn’t know who Lydia was, and hated her anyway. And somehow, that stung even worse.

When Lydia arrived at class, the seats were already filling up quickly. She automatically headed for the one she’d claimed earlier in the semester. For once, she’d made it before Kori. She tossed her bag onto the desk and sat down, her fingers drumming restlessly against the wood. The air in the room felt thick, like it was waiting for something to happen.

She pulled out her laptop, trying to focus on the notes from the last class, but her eyes kept drifting toward the door. The sound of shoes scraping across the tile made her heart race. Lydia tensed. A moment later, the door clicked shut, and she looked up.

Kori stood in the doorway, a few quick strides taking her to the front of the room. She was wearing a long coat that fluttered slightly as she moved, her blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She held a large Dunkin’ cup with the same neon orange refresher she always brought to class—the one from the Instagram story that had kept creeping into Lydia’s mind over the past few weeks.

Lydia quickly looked down at her phone, pretending to be busy, but her mind raced. Stop acting like you’re in high school, she told herself. It’s just a class. Just get through it.

Kori’s footsteps approached, each one louder in Lydia’s ears. Lydia could feel the weight of her presence as she drew closer. She wasn’t ready for this. But Kori sat down next to her, moving with that effortless grace that always seemed to make everything else around her feel clumsy.

Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers still drumming against the desk. She glanced at Kori, who was now pulling out her iPad, setting it up with calm efficiency. Kori didn’t seem to notice her at all, absorbed in her own world.

Lydia’s mind raced. Don’t stare at her, don’t stare at her, she repeated to herself, but her eyes kept flicking back to Kori, who was now rifling through her bag. Her hand brushed against a notebook, and Lydia’s pulse skipped. The space between them felt electric—like something was just on the verge of happening, though Lydia couldn’t tell what.

Kori reached into her bag for a name card. Shit. Their professor had suggested name cards the first day, but Lydia had forgotten to make one—twice. This meant Kori definitely didn’t know Lydia’s name. How could she? That realization hit Lydia like a punch to the gut. It also meant that Lydia would have to speak to her first.

Lydia gulped, her palms suddenly sweating. She turned to Kori. “Hey,” she said, her voice shaky. “I haven’t gotten a chance to properly introduce myself. I’m Lydia. I’m not sure if you saw, but we’re partnered for the project.”

Kori didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t even look at her at first. Her fingers continued to tap on the screen of her iPad, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. Lydia waited, her mouth dry, each passing second stretching longer than it should have. Finally, Kori glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Lydia, huh?” she said, her voice cool, casual, almost dismissive. She didn’t sound particularly interested, but she didn’t sound rude either. “Alright, I’ll try to remember that. Not that I’m great with names.”

Lydia forced a smile, but it felt stiff. She bit her lip and glanced down at her hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Great. That’s it, then. She had expected something worse, but this—this was still bad. Still distant.

She tried to push through the awkwardness. “I actually meant to bring a name card,” Lydia said, trying to keep her voice steady, “but... well, I’ve forgotten twice now.”

Kori sat back in her chair, her eyes half-lidded as though she were considering something. Then, without warning, Kori ripped a piece of paper from her notebook with an easy flick of her wrist. It was an effortless, almost lazy motion, yet there was something strangely graceful about it.

She slid the paper across the desk toward Lydia. “Here,” she said, her voice soft but deliberate. “Make one.”

Lydia blinked, surprised by the unexpected gesture. For a moment, she just stared at the paper. Was this an act of kindness—or was it just Kori being Kori? She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she reached for the paper anyway.

As she grabbed the paper, Lydia noticed Kori’s eyes flicked briefly to her face, a hint of something unreadable in her expression before she looked away again.

“Thanks,” Lydia muttered, her voice smaller now, unsure. She quickly scribbled her name, folding the paper into a triangle before placing it in front of her laptop.

Kori didn’t seem to care either way. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting lazily around the room, as though the entire exchange had been no more than a momentary blip in her otherwise perfect morning.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said, her voice low and casual. “Just don’t forget next time, okay?”

Lydia nodded, her throat tight. “I won’t,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant it or not.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the quiet hum of the room. Lydia glanced at Kori, but she was already looking away, glancing idly at her iPad. The air between them felt different, less sharp, but Lydia still couldn’t tell what to make of it. Kori wasn’t being mean. She wasn’t being friendly either. She was somewhere in between, and it left Lydia unsure of what to expect next.

✿

Lydia managed to focus a bit better during the lecture. She stayed engaged for the most part, scribbling notes as Professor Visage rambled on about brand positioning. She even participated once, answering a question with what she thought was a solid response, only to feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she realized it was completely off the mark. Kori, of course, had answered the follow-up question with ease, her voice smooth and confident, making Lydia’s blunder feel even more embarrassing. Still, at least she’d said something—small victories, right?

As the lecture wrapped up, Lydia felt a sense of relief. She could feel her nerves start to unwind just a little, but the thought of the project looming over her wasn’t helping. She was just about to pack up when she noticed Kori, moving with deliberate slowness, taking her time to gather her things. Kori smoothed down the wrinkles in her jacket as she turned, her eyes casually landing on Lydia.

“I’m really busy over the next few weeks," Kori said, her tone measured, eyes already glancing around the room as though she had already checked out of the conversation. "I want to get the first part of the project finished as soon as possible. Can we meet sometime this week to get started?" 

Lydia’s heart gave a quick, erratic thud. She blinked, not quite processing the question at first. The sound of her own heartbeat seemed to drown out the rest of the room. 

“Uh—yeah,” Lydia managed to stammer, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She cleared her throat, trying to push through the nerves that were already building in her chest. 

“Are you free Friday morning?” 

“Friday works for me. I don’t have class then.”

Kori gave a small nod, her gaze already shifting toward the door. “Great, Friday. Is 10 ok? We can meet at the Management Library?”

Lydia’s hands were trembling as she fumbled with her bag, trying to hide it by pretending to be busy. Her fingers brushed against the strap, and for a moment, she forgot what she was even doing. Friday? That was so soon. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Lydia managed, her voice quieter this time, a little more hesitant. She wanted to sound confident, but it felt impossible. Every word felt like it was fighting against the nerves tangled in her stomach.

Kori nodded, already pulling out her phone without so much as a glance at Lydia. The phone was in her hand in an instant, and she tapped the screen with a fluid ease, her gaze on the device, not on Lydia. “Can I get your number in case something comes up?”

Lydia froze, the sudden request catching her off guard. Her mouth went dry, and she had to fight the urge to rush through it. She didn’t know why the simple act of exchanging numbers felt so loaded in this moment considering the context, but it did.

“Sure,” Lydia said, her voice a little too loud, betraying the rush of nerves that had surged back into her chest. She took the phone, her hands feeling clumsy as she typed her number in. 

Her fingers brushed Kori’s as she handed the phone back. The brief contact sent a small jolt through her. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make Lydia’s heart skip. She couldn’t tell if Kori noticed, but it didn’t seem like it mattered.

“Cool, see you Friday at 10,” Kori said, her tone still relaxed, as though she had already checked out of the conversation. She slid her jacket on with effortless grace, her movements smooth and deliberate. Lydia almost didn’t notice how quickly Kori was turning toward the door, already halfway out before Lydia could fully process what had just happened.

Lydia stood there for a moment, still holding her bag, her fingers clutching the strap a little too tight. She felt the air around her settle back into its usual quiet, but there was a lingering heaviness in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to catch up with the interaction she’d just had. What was that? she thought. Was she... nice? She was nice. Right?

But then, the uncertainty crept in. Kori had been polite, sure, but it didn’t feel like there was any depth to it. Was Kori just being polite because they were forced to work together? Or was there something more? Lydia couldn’t tell. She didn’t know Kori at all. And she probably doesn’t care to know me, Lydia reminded herself, trying to shake the thought. She’s probably just doing what she has to do.

The echo of Kori’s voice lingered in her mind as Lydia stood in the now-empty classroom. Friday will definitely be interesting. The words felt strange as she thought them, as though she were trying to convince herself. The nerves in her stomach weren’t going away anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Friday.

It was Friday morning. Lydia woke to the sharp trill of her alarm, the sound cutting through the quiet haze of sleep like a knife. She groaned, blindly reaching for her phone, fingers fumbling across the nightstand until she finally silenced it. 8:00 a.m. The orange numbers on the screen glared back at her, far too early for a Friday morning, but today wasn’t just any Friday.

For a moment, she stayed still, cocooned in the lingering warmth of her blankets, staring at the ceiling as her mind slowly adjusted to wakefulness. The weight of the morning pressed in—the library, the project, Kori. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

With a reluctant sigh, she kicked off the covers and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the heater kicking on. Through the blinds, muted gray light filtered in, casting soft shadows across the room. It looked cold outside. The kind of morning meant for staying in bed, for pressing snooze, for not meeting someone who made her irrationally nervous.

But she didn’t have a choice.

Dragging herself up, she padded across the hardwood floor, her socks muffling her steps. The bathroom light flickered on, too bright, making her squint. She leaned against the sink and blinked at her reflection. Her hair was a wreck—sleep-mussed and tangled at the ends. A pillow crease was etched into her cheek. Fantastic.

She raked a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down, then turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. It didn’t do much to wake her up.

She needed coffee. And for this project to be over.

✿

By the time she stepped out the door, Lydia had gotten herself together. Her hair was brushed, looking significantly better than the tangled mess from earlier. She’d gone with her usual makeup—concealer, eyeliner, nothing too much. For a second, she had considered putting in more effort, but that would be ridiculous. This was just a project. Just a stupid project for a stupid class. Not a big deal.

She repeated that in her head like a mantra as she walked toward campus.

At 9:55 a.m., her phone buzzed in her pocket.

A text from an unsaved number.

I got us a study room.

Then, a second one immediately after:

L318N on the third floor, right next to the elevator.

Lydia sighed. A study room meant they were going to be truly alone. Just the two of them, stuck in a small space together.

She urged herself to relax, giving herself a mental pep talk.

It’s just a project.
It’s not the end of the world.
You will never have to see her again after this semester.

She repeated the words as she entered the Pardee Management Library, taking the elevator up to the third floor. The study room was exactly where Kori had said—right by the elevator, impossible to miss.

Lydia slowed her steps as she approached the study room, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Through the glass walls, she spotted Kori already inside, seated at the table in the center of the small, windowless room.

She looked effortless, as always. Even under the unflattering fluorescent lights, Kori had a kind of careless perfection to her—like she hadn’t even tried, yet everything about her was in place. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, a few loose strands falling around her face, framing it beautifully. She wore an oversized pastel pink sweatshirt that slouched off one shoulder, exposing the thin strap of a tank top underneath.

She was hunched slightly over her iPad, AirPods in, completely absorbed in whatever she was doing. Lydia couldn’t see the screen, only the faint glow of light reflecting off the glass. But the way Kori’s stylus moved in slow, deliberate strokes made her seem deep in thought, her lips pursed in quiet concentration. Occasionally, she rolled the end of the stylus between her fingers, absentmindedly fidgeting as she worked.

Beside her sat another large mango-pineapple refresher from Dunkin’, condensation pooling around the cup in an uneven ring.

Lydia frowned slightly. Was she always drinking one of those? They couldn’t be good for her.

She shifted on her feet.

Kori looked… different like this. Quieter. More focused. There was no impatient sigh, no sharp glance in her direction, no half-smirk that made Lydia feel like she was already losing some kind of unspoken game.

Lydia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

This shouldn’t be nerve-wracking.
It’s just a meeting for a group project.
Just Kori.

She exhaled, steadied herself, and pushed open the door.

✿

The door handle was cold under Lydia’s palm as she pushed it open, the quiet click barely registering over the hum of the library outside. The room wasn’t silent—there was a faint scratching of Kori’s stylus against the glass, the occasional muted sound of movement from beyond the windows—but it felt still in a way that made Lydia hyper-aware of every step she took inside.

Kori didn’t look up, still lost in her own world—music in her ears, iPad glowing beneath her hands. Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing, so absorbed in whatever creative flow had her so completely captivated. And then her mind wandered again—what kind of music did Kori listen to? Probably something mainstream, like Taylor Swift, Lydia thought bitterly.

Lydia hesitated for half a second, lingering in the doorway before forcing herself forward. She wasn’t sure if she should say something, make her presence known, or just sit down and let Kori acknowledge her in her own time. The latter seemed safer, but that didn’t stop her stomach from twisting in discomfort.

She slid her bag off her shoulder and pulled out the chair across from Kori, the legs scraping slightly against the floor. Kori still didn’t react, lost in whatever world she was in, as if Lydia didn’t even exist.

Lydia swallowed and sat down. The table between them felt wider than it actually was, a strange kind of distance stretching the space.

Up close, Lydia noticed the small details—Kori’s nails, painted a pale pink that almost looked white, tapping rhythmically against the Apple Pencil. Her loose strands of hair caught the light, turning almost golden, and the curve of her neck was visible where her sweatshirt slouched off her shoulder. She looked perfect. Perfect in the way that made Lydia feel... uncomfortable. Like she could never match that casual effortlessness. Something about the scene made Lydia feel like an intruder.

Lydia cleared her throat.

Kori blinked once, twice, before finally glancing up. Her expression was unreadable for a second, then something like recognition flickered across her face. Lydia immediately read it as a flash of annoyance, like Kori was irritated that she’d been interrupted.

“Oh,” Kori said, like she hadn’t expected Lydia to actually show up.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, her irritation bubbling just below the surface. “Uh… yeah. It’s ten.”

Kori’s gaze flickered to the time on her iPad screen, then back to Lydia. “Huh. Guess it is.” She said it like she didn’t care either way, her voice empty of any real interest.

Lydia, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, reached into her bag and pulled out her laptop. “So, um… should we get started?”

Kori exhaled through her nose, the sound almost too dismissive. Amusement? Annoyance? Lydia couldn’t tell. “Yeah,” Kori muttered, stretching her arms over her head before slouching back in her chair. “I already have some ideas, so we can brainstorm. Figure out what we want to do and divvy up the work.”

Confidence, as always. Kori spoke like she was in charge, like this was her project and Lydia was just there to help. Lydia felt a spike of jealousy, even though she hated that it bothered her so much.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Lydia replied, forcing a casual tone. “I don’t have any ideas yet. I barely even read the instructions, so I’m fine with brainstorming.”

The confession slipped out before Lydia could stop it, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Why had she just told Kori she was unprepared? The last thing she needed was to give her another reason to think she was lazy.

Kori’s eyes narrowed just a bit, her voice colder than before. “If you need a minute, you can read through the instructions,” she said, as if Lydia had done something wrong, or maybe was just... slow. “Then we can start.”

Lydia nodded, her face flushing. “Sorry,” she muttered. She could feel Kori’s silent judgment pressing down on her, the weight of it making her skin feel tight.

Kori didn’t respond to her apology, simply nodded, and went back to whatever she was doing on her iPad. Lydia opened the instructions for the project on her laptop. It wasn’t anything complicated. They were supposed to develop a new marketing strategy for a brand of their choice, with the first deliverable being a brand audit and competitive analysis. The instructions were clear enough, though Lydia couldn’t help but feel the pressure mounting as she scanned the text.

“Research the brand’s identity, target audience, and current marketing strategy. Conduct a competitive analysis. Identify strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats (SWOT).”

It wasn’t that bad. She had notes from a previous class on SWOT analysis, and she actually felt a little proud of herself for recognizing the acronym.

Once Lydia finished reading, she glanced up at Kori, feeling a growing discomfort as she hesitated. She cleared her throat again—louder this time, but it still came out quieter than she wanted. Kori’s eyes snapped to her immediately, sharp and focused.

“I’ve read through the instructions,” Lydia said, trying to sound confident. “I’m good to start now, if you are.”

Kori nodded, but her expression didn’t change. “Okay, great.” She set her iPad flat on the table and spun a pen between her fingers, not looking at Lydia. “We need to choose a brand. Something we know well, but that could benefit from a new marketing strategy.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the ceiling. “What’s your favorite brand?”

Lydia blinked, thrown off by the question. Favorite brand? It felt too personal somehow, too revealing. She didn’t have a favorite brand. At least, not one she could name without feeling stupid. Kori probably had dozens of brands she could talk about for hours, while Lydia barely knew where to start.

“Uh, I don’t know,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

Kori gave her a look, head tilting slightly. “Well… what do you like?”

Lydia’s mind went blank. What do I like? She wished she had a prepared answer, something clever or unique. Something that would make her seem like the kind of person who had strong opinions about things. Instead, her brain offered up the first thing that came to mind.

“… Coffee?” she offered, half-embarrassed.

Kori’s lips quirked into a small smile, though there was something almost condescending in the gesture. “That could work. I was actually thinking about that too.”

Lydia let out a breath of relief—until Kori continued.

“Since students drink so much coffee, I thought we could do a student-centric marketing campaign for a coffee shop.”

Lydia frowned. “If you already had that idea, why did you ask me?”

Kori lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Because this is a partner project, and I wanted to let my partner contribute.” She flashed a small, knowing smile. “We got to the same place anyway.”

Lydia’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t contributed, not really. She felt like she was being led by the hand, pushed toward an answer she hadn’t even thought of herself.

She fidgeted with the silver ring on her finger, turning it around and around. “What coffee shop did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m partial to Dunkin’,” Kori said easily.

Obviously. Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The giant mango-pineapple refresher sitting next to Kori’s laptop made that clear enough.

“But if you have a real favorite, we can do that instead,” she added, her voice a little too sweet. “I don’t mind.”

Lydia exhaled sharply through her nose. Did she have a passionate coffee shop preference? Not really. Starbucks was too expensive, the campus café was terrible, and the indie places she loved to visit didn’t have enough content to base an entire project on one.

“No, Dunkin’ is fine,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Kori gave a satisfied nod, like she’d won. “Cool. I’ll start a Google Doc.” She paused, staring at Lydia for a beat, waiting for something.

“What’s your email?”

“[email protected],” Lydia replied, trying to keep the awkwardness from creeping into her voice.

“What does the B stand for?” Kori asked, her eyes flicking up.

Lydia’s face flushed red. “That’s not important,” Lydia muttered. She wasn’t fond of her middle name and didn’t typically share it when asked.

The email from [email protected] popped up with a link to the Google Doc that read “Dunkin’ Brand Audit & Competitive Analysis” with pink and orange hearts on either side. Lydia’s stomach churned at the cutesy design, but she didn’t say anything. Kori was already typing in an outline, the words scrolling quickly as she effortlessly filled out the doc.

“So, do you want to split up the work, or work on it together?”

Lydia felt the question more than heard it, like she was being measured. “I don’t know. In my other group projects, we usually worked together,” she said, the words coming out almost too defensively. “But I’ve never done a business class before so I don’t know… maybe that’s not the most productive.”

Kori raised an eyebrow, her smile thin. “Oh, wow, your first business course. What do you study?”

“Film,” Lydia said, then added, realizing to be polite, “How about you?”

“Graphic design,” Kori replied easily. “But I’m getting a business minor.”

Lydia was taken aback. Graphic design? Kori was working towards a Bachelor of Fine Arts? It was the last thing she had expected from Kori, who seemed so… business-y. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “That’s cool. It’ll probably be useful for our presentation.”

“Oh, for sure,” Kori said, her tone light and breezy. “I make a beautiful PowerPoint.”

Lydia could almost feel the condescension dripping from Kori’s words, and her chest tightened. The space between them felt even wider now.

“Anyway,” Kori continued, her eyes already back on the screen, “I was thinking you do the brand identity and analysis, and I’ll take the competitive analysis. Then we can do the SWOT together. Does that work for you?”

Lydia didn’t really care. She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Ok, perfect.” Kori’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she started her section of the doc. “I have this study room until 11, and I’m going to start my section now. You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

“Sure,” Lydia replied, though her voice lacked any enthusiasm.

Without missing a beat, Kori began typing up a competitive analysis between Dunkin’, Starbucks, and McDonald's, while Lydia stared at the Dunkin’ Wikipedia page, feeling completely lost. The minutes stretched out, and Lydia found herself still staring at the computer screen, but it was like her brain couldn’t form a single thought. All she could focus on was Kori—sitting there, typing, every movement too easy, too natural. There was so much Lydia wanted to know, so much she wanted to ask. She wanted to see her drawings. Wanted to know more about her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Kori hated her, and she wanted to know why. She needed to know why. 

And that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Chapter Text

Lydia stared at her mostly empty Google Doc, the blinking cursor taunting her. The document was pathetic—just a handful of half-hearted, scattered thoughts about Dunkin’s brand identity. Barely enough to count as a rough draft. Barely enough to count as anything. 

She drummed her fingers against the table, trying to will herself into writing something—anything—that didn’t sound like it had been cobbled together at the last second. But before she could force out another sentence, Kori’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Alright,” Kori said, stretching her arms over her head before tilting her laptop screen toward Lydia. “I think I’ve got a solid start on the competitive analysis. I still need to add more data, but the framework is solid.”

Lydia blinked, feeling a pit of anxiety brewing in her stomach.

Kori’s screen was already filled with neatly formatted paragraphs and bullet points. They were concise, detailed, and annoyingly professional-looking. The kind of work that looked effortless but clearly wasn’t. Meanwhile, Lydia had spent the past half hour typing and deleting the same three sentences.

“What about you?” Kori asked, her voice deceptively light. She wasn’t even looking at Lydia, just idly spinning her pink and orange beaded bracelet around her wrist, waiting for an answer.

Lydia’s stomach twisted. She could lie—say she had notes somewhere, say she was still organizing her thoughts—but that would only delay the inevitable. And besides, she wasn’t exactly known for being the world’s best liar.

“…I, uh, haven’t written much yet,” Lydia admitted, forcing herself to keep eye contact.

Kori’s fingers stilled. Then she raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable. “Not much as in…?”

Lydia exhaled through her nose, resisting the urge to shrink under the weight of Kori’s gaze. “As in, barely anything,” she muttered. “I was trying to figure out how to start.”

Kori didn’t say anything right away. She just studied Lydia for a beat too long, and Lydia swore she could feel the judgment radiating off her. Then, finally, Kori sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Okay,” she said, dragging the word out. “Well… do you at least have notes? Something we can work from?”

Lydia hesitated again, then slowly turned her laptop to show her screen.

Kori’s expression didn’t change, but Lydia swore she saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Almost as if she was fighting back a reaction.

“…That’s it?” Kori asked, glancing between Lydia’s screen and her own. She wasn’t outright mocking her, but there was something incredulous about her tone.

Lydia bristled. “I was figuring it out,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Not everyone can just crank out perfect marketing analyses like it’s nothing.”

Kori let out a small, amused exhale—more of a huff than a laugh. “It’s not perfect,” she said, her voice a little too easy, like she wasn’t even phased by Lydia’s irritation. “But, sure. We can start from here.” She tapped her fingers against the table, thinking. “Do you want help, or do you want to work through it on your own?”

Lydia’s instinct was to say no, to prove she didn’t need help and could do this by herself. But the truth was, she didn’t want to spend another hour staring at the blank document, barely able to form a thought.

“…Help would be good,” she admitted begrudgingly.

Kori nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “Okay. Let’s start with what you have, then.”

She stood, dragging her chair from across the table to directly next to Lydia. Lydia had sat next to her before—plenty of times in their lectures—but this felt different. More intentional. More like Kori was making space for her instead of just being assigned to it.

Kori scrolled through Lydia’s section of their shared document, fingers tapping absently against the table. “Alright, so brand identity,” she said, barely glancing at Lydia’s almost-empty section. “Dunkin’ is built on convenience, affordability, and loyalty. It’s fast, it’s cheap, and people swear by it. Anything you’d add?”

Lydia stared at the words on the screen, then at the oversized Dunkin’ cup next to Kori’s laptop, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic. She resisted the urge to laugh.

Kori was sitting here, saying all of this with complete seriousness—while wearing a pink and orange bracelet, pink-painted nails tapping rhythmically against the table, and a half-finished Dunkin’ refresher within arm’s reach.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You, uh… you’re kind of the target audience.” 

Kori followed Lydia’s gaze to her cup, then down to her wrist, where her pink and orange beaded bracelet caught the light. She blinked, then let out a small laugh, shaking her head.

“I mean… yeah,” Kori admitted, twisting the bracelet between her fingers. “But so are a lot of people. It has good rewards.”

Lydia hummed, still staring at the bracelet. “You really committed to the aesthetic, huh?” she said, only half-joking.

Kori smirked. “Oh, this? It’s not—” She hesitated, like she was going to explain, then just shook her head. “Never mind.” Instead, she tapped Lydia’s laptop. “Okay, so let’s actually write something.”

Lydia refocused, typing as they bounced ideas back and forth. Kori, much to Lydia’s reluctant relief, didn’t seem frustrated with her lack of progress. If anything, she was… patient. Helpful, even. The kind of person who didn’t just get things done but wanted them to be done right.

And she was good at this. Annoyingly good.

“See?” Kori nudged Lydia’s arm lightly with her elbow. “Not so bad once you get going.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “Whatever.”

Before Kori could say anything else, a sharp knock on the door cut through the quiet.

Kori looked up immediately, straightening in her chair. “That’s probably—”

The door swung open before she could finish, and a voice rang out.

“Hey girl, are you ready to go?” 

Lydia startled, looking up just as a tall girl stepped inside. She had deep brown skin, sleek jet-black hair that cascaded just past her shoulders, and the kind of presence that filled a room effortlessly. Just like Kori, she was gorgeous in that maddeningly effortless way—sharp eyes that took in everything, a smirk that hinted she was always in on some inside joke.

She was dressed in leggings and an oversized BU sweatshirt, the kind of outfit that could mean she’d just finished a workout or had absolutely no intention of ever going. Either way, she looked put together in that casually cool way Lydia could never quite pull off.

Kori leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “Yeah, lemme just pack my stuff.” She pushed away from the table and walked back to her seat, grabbing her pink Longchamp bag and gathering her things.

Lydia sat frozen as the girl stepped closer, giving her an appraising once-over before offering a lopsided grin.

“Hey, I’m Lana. Kori’s sister.”

Lydia blinked. Sister? They didn’t look alike at all. But before she could process it, she found herself nodding stiffly.

“Hi,” she said. “Lydia.” Lana’s grin widened. “Are you guys twins?”

“Actually—” Lana started, but Kori shot her a warning look.

“We’re sorority sisters,” Kori corrected, throwing Lydia a glance as if to make sure she wasn’t getting any ideas. “Lana, you need to stop telling people we’re real sisters. Too many believe it.”

Lana’s smirk only grew. “But we are technically sisters,” she said, winking like she was in on some joke Lydia wasn’t.

Kori huffed, shouldering her bag. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to Lydia, “we have some good stuff so far. We can make a plan on Tuesday for another time to meet?”

Lydia barely registered the question. Her brain still felt scrambled from everything—Kori sitting close, actually being helpful, not being nearly as unbearable as she’d convinced herself.

“Yeah, sure,” Lydia said, the words feeling automatic.

“Great.” Kori smiled at her—just a small, fleeting thing, but real. Then she swung her bag over her shoulder and followed Lana out the door, their voices slipping into easy conversation as they disappeared down the hall.

And just like that, Lydia was alone.

The silence pressed in around her. She let out a slow breath and leaned back in her chair, staring at the empty space where Kori had been sitting just moments ago. It was ridiculous how quickly the air in the room felt different without her there, like the absence of her presence left some weird, lingering static in the air.

Lydia’s gaze dropped to her laptop screen. The document was no longer as empty as before, yet she barely remembered typing half of it. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for once, it wasn’t the assignment that had her distracted.

Kori was confusing. Impossible to pin down.

She was beautiful in a way that made Lydia defensive, good at things Lydia struggled with, and somehow—not as much of a nightmare to work with as Lydia had expected. She was frustrating and smug but also… patient. Helpful. And that stupid little smile she’d given Lydia before leaving? It had been effortless, like it hadn’t even crossed her mind to be anything but kind.

Lydia shut her laptop, exhaling.

She had no idea what to make of any of this.

But one thing was certain—there was a lot she needed to unpack with Suzie when she got home.

Chapter Text

Lydia didn’t linger at the library. 

After Kori left with her friend—Lana—she sat for a moment, staring at the empty space across from her. The lingering warmth of their conversation still buzzed faintly in her mind, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Instead of trying to untangle it, she took a deep breath, shut her laptop, and packed up her things.

The walk home was brisk, the wind stinging her cheeks, but she welcomed it. At least it gave her something else to focus on—something other than how Kori had actually been nice today. Or the way she’d sat so close. Or the way Lydia still wasn’t sure whether to find her completely infuriating or… something else.

Not that it mattered—Suzie wasn’t home to hear her overanalyze it anyway. She had rehearsal all afternoon for Sweet Charity , the musical she’d been cast in, which meant Lydia had to wait before she could dump every single detail onto her. 

Probably for the best. 

Giving herself a little time to process before blurting everything out meant she could at least pretend she had a handle on things.

In the meantime, she had work to do. Thankfully, it wasn’t marketing work. She had an assignment for her Production class—a silent film project she actually wanted to work on. Unlike the endless torment of trying to analyze Dunkin’s branding, this was something her brain could actually function through.

As soon as she got home, she kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her coat, and made a beeline for the fridge. She grabbed a Diet Coke, cracked it open with a satisfying hiss, and took a long sip before flopping onto the couch with her laptop.

Her desk was in her bedroom, neat and mostly unused, but she rarely worked there unless she had to. When she was alone, she preferred the living room. The soft hum of the city outside her window, the slightly lumpy cushions of the couch, the freedom to stretch out without feeling boxed in.

She set her Diet Coke down and opened her laptop, pulling up the assignment details for her silent film.

The project was simple: a short, black-and-white silent film focusing on visual storytelling. No dialogue, just framing, movement, and expression. Something Lydia could easily do. 

Flipping through her notebook, she skimmed past half-scribbled lecture notes until she found her rough storyboard—just messy stick figures and arrows, but enough to guide her. She had already shot some test footage earlier in the week. Now, it was time to piece it together in Premiere Pro.

She fell into her usual editing rhythm, fine-tuning clips, adjusting the brightness and contrast to get the right cinematic feel. The footage wasn’t perfect—she caught a stray shadow in one shot that she hadn’t noticed while filming, and one of her transitions felt a little too jarring—but it was nothing she couldn’t fix.

At some point, she reached for her Diet Coke, only to find it empty, condensation slick on her fingers.

When had she even finished it?

She sighed, stretching her arms over her head, rolling the stiffness out of her shoulders.

Just as she reached for her laptop again, her phone buzzed on the couch beside her.

For a second, she thought it might be Suzie texting to say rehearsal was over, but when she glanced at the screen, she froze.

A notification from Instagram.

Kori King (koriking) has requested to follow you.

Lydia blinked.

Her stomach flipped.

Then, without thinking, she turned off her phone and tossed it onto the couch.

Nope. Not dealing with that right now.

She exhaled sharply and turned back to her laptop.

Silent film. Editing. That was what mattered.

✿

Lydia leaned back on the couch, blinking at the screen. 

The film was coming together—finally. She’d smoothed out the rough cuts, tweaked the pacing for more emotional impact, and even layered in subtle ambient sound. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. The kind of progress that made sense , unlike the never-ending torment of her marketing project.

She stretched her legs out, wincing at the stiffness in her lower back. She’d been hunched over her laptop for hours without realizing it.

She glanced at the clock on her phone. Five o'clock. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

With a groan, she pushed herself up from the couch, needing a break. Suzie should be back soon, she thought. Rehearsals for Sweet Charity usually ran late, but it had been a few hours since Lydia last checked.

Sure enough, as Lydia wandered toward the kitchen to grab a snack, she heard the front door creak open.

She had just torn open a pack of peanut M&Ms, popping a handful into her mouth, when Suzie’s bright, sing-songy voice rang through the apartment.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Lydia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. 

She grabbed another Diet Coke from the fridge and wandered into the living room just as Suzie kicked off her shoes with an exaggerated groan, tossing her rehearsal bag haphazardly by the door. She was still in her practice clothes—leggings and an oversized Little Shop of Horrors t-shirt, her curly red hair piled into a messy bun, stray strands sticking to her forehead.

“How was rehearsal?” Lydia asked, as she cracked open her soda.

“Grueling. My feet are in agony, but we’re finally getting our shit together. It’s a miracle.” Suzie flopped onto the couch dramatically, then turned her head, narrowing her eyes. “Now, tell me—how did it go?”

Lydia frowned. “How did what go?”

Suzie shot her a pointed look. “Your meeting with Kori?”

Lydia hesitated, pressing her lips together. “Fine,” she muttered.

Suzie tilted her head. "That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’ That sounds like something happened fine.”

"Nothing happened," Lydia insisted, a little too quickly.

Suzie’s gaze sharpened. Lydia knew that look. It was the you’re lying, and I’m about to drag the truth out of you look.

With a sigh, Lydia dropped onto the couch beside her. “Ugh, I just—suck at marketing, okay? The quizzes are fine, but when it comes to the actual project, my brain just shuts down. I’m so screwed for the midterm.” She groaned again, grabbing a throw pillow and pressing it over her face in defeat.

Suzie plucked it away effortlessly. “Are you sure the problem is marketing… and not, say, your partner?”

Lydia sighed. “She was actually… kinda nice today.”

Suzie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“She, um… helped me with my section when I couldn’t come up with anything,” Lydia admitted reluctantly.

Suzie hummed, stretching her arms across the back of the couch. “Not to play devil’s advocate, but it is her project too. She probably just wants a good grade.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lydia shrugged, shifting in her seat. 

She hesitated, debating whether to mention the Instagram request. Before she could overthink it, the words tumbled out:

“She followed me on Instagram.”

Suzie blinked. Then sat up straighter. “Wait—what?”

Lydia scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah. A few hours ago. I haven’t accepted it yet.”

Suzie’s mouth fell open. Then, slowly, her expression melted into one of pure delight. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” Lydia groaned. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

Suzie studied her for a beat before shrugging. “She’s probably just curious about her mysterious project partner. You give nothing away to people you aren’t close to.”

“That is so not true,” Lydia protested.

“Oh yeah?” Suzie smirked. “What does Kori actually know about you?”

Lydia scoffed, holding up her fingers one by one. “She knows I’m a film major. She knows I’ve never taken a business class before—”

“And that’s it.” Suzie let out a short laugh. “That’s literally nothing. I’d be curious too.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “So… should I accept her follow request?”

Suzie’s head jerked back like the question physically pained her. "Bitch, yes. What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know!” Lydia groaned, pressing her hands into her face. “She’s just confusing. One minute she’s glaring at me like I killed her childhood pet, and the next she’s smiling and being nice—”

Suzie gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls, as dramatic as ever. “Oh no. Not smiling.”

Lydia shot her a glare. “You know what I mean!”

Suzie was already giggling, but at that, she fully cackled. “Oh my God. You are so down bad.”

Lydia recoiled. “What? No, I’m not. I still kind of hate her. And she’s definitely straight.”

Suzie wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Oh, babe. We’ve all been down bad for a straight girl before.”

“I’m not—”

“I think,” Suzie cut in, patting Lydia’s knee, “you need to do some real reflection on why she gets under your skin so much.”

Lydia fell silent.

She hated that Suzie might have a point.

Sure, she thought about Kori a lot—but not in a romantic way. It was just… normal. When you dislike someone, you think about them. That’s what people do. It’s petty and toxic, but whatever.

"She bothers me because she's mean," Lydia finally said, as if that was the ultimate argument. “I don’t like mean people.”

Suzie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Mhm. Whatever you say, girl.”

Lydia groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. “I don’t like her. She’s just… confusing.”

Suzie snorted. “You’re the one making it confusing.” She tilted her head. “So, are you gonna accept her follow request or what?”

Lydia hesitated, her thumb hovering over her phone screen. “I don’t know.”

Suzie gave her an incredulous look. “What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s just Instagram.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. It feels weird.”

Suzie rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. You are so dramatic.” She leaned in, peering at Lydia’s phone. “C’mon. Just do it.”

Lydia inhaled sharply, then exhaled. Before she could overthink it, she tapped Accept.

Done.

She stared at the screen like it might explode.

Suzie grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Lydia locked her phone and tossed it onto the couch, like that would make it less real. “I’m never opening Instagram again.”

Suzie cackled. “Oh, babe. You’re gonna be checking that app every five minutes to see if she watches your stories.”

“I hate you,” Lydia muttered.

Suzie winked. “No, you hate Kori. I’m just here to make sure you process your feelings like a healthy adult.”

Lydia scoffed, but before she could argue, Suzie clapped her hands together. “Anyway, we’re going out tonight.”

Lydia blinked. “What? Since when?”

“Since now. You need a break, and I need alcohol. We’re going to Dani’s.”

Lydia groaned. “I don’t know if I feel like it…”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Suzie pointed at her. “You just sat here spiraling over an Instagram request for, like, five whole minutes. You need a distraction. And what better distraction than getting drunk and dancing with me?”

Lydia sighed. Suzie had a point.

“Fine,” she grumbled.

Suzie beamed. “Yes! That’s the spirit.” She stood up, already heading for Lydia’s room. “Now, let’s find you something hot.”

Lydia groaned again, but deep down, she knew this was probably a good idea.

Anything to get out of her own head for a while.

Chapter Text

Four days later, Tuesday

Lydia’s weekend had been a blur, filled with distractions she hoped would quiet her mind.

After accepting Kori’s follow request, she had done everything in her power not to think about it—not to wonder if Kori would interact with any of her posts, not to check if she had watched her stories.

So, she kept busy.

Friday night, she and Suzie went to Dani’s, where she gave herself permission to drink, dance, and forget—at least for a while. She posted a story of her and Suzie in the mirror of the bathroom at the bar, their faces flushed with excitement. Lydia’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Kori had watched it.

By Saturday, the hangover had settled in, and Lydia had spent hours holed up in her apartment, iced coffee in hand, editing her silent film project. She snapped a photo of her laptop screen—Premiere Pro open, her iced coffee beside it—and posted it to her story. Kori watched that too.

Sunday was quieter. Lydia tried to catch up on readings for her other classes, but her mind kept drifting. She FaceTimed her mom, who rambled on about the latest book club drama, while Lydia mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. That's when she saw Kori had viewed her story—the one featuring the outdoor cat that liked to visit their doorstep. Lydia froze for a moment, and then, in a rush of anxiety, locked her phone and tossed it across her bed. She didn’t want to overthink it.

Monday was a whirlwind—two back-to-back classes with barely any time to breathe. Production 1 was first, where her silent film was shown to the class for the last round of feedback before submission. Lydia sat nervously in the darkened room, watching her film play out on the screen. The tiny imperfections—like the stray shadow or the awkward cut—seemed to scream at her. But when the film ended, the class seemed to appreciate it. Her professor praised her visual choices, and a few students left positive comments. Lydia felt her anxieties begin to slip away, her cheeks flushing with a quiet sense of relief.

After class, she posted a snippet of her silent film to Instagram Reels, a short black-and-white clip that looped seamlessly, offering a glimpse of the emotion without revealing too much. As the views rolled in, a few likes from classmates and a comment from Suzie, calling it "genius." 

Lydia felt a strange satisfaction, knowing her work was out there, even if it was just to her measly two hundred followers. She didn’t expect Kori to notice, but when Kori liked the video, Lydia’s chest fluttered unexpectedly.

Her second class of the day, a lecture on camera techniques, was a struggle. Lydia couldn’t focus. Her mind kept returning to the like, to Kori. 

She probably hadn’t even watched it and just likes everything on her feed, Lydia tried to reassure herself. It doesn't mean anything.

But what if it did? What if Kori had actually watched the video? What if Kori liked Lydia’s art and, for just a moment, saw her for something more than the girl who fumbled her words in class and couldn't write a single sentence? The thought made Lydia smile despite herself, but it also terrified her.

She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she cared. She wanted to impress Kori. She wanted to be something more in Kori’s eyes. And that… that was a problem.

✿

Lydia snapped out of her thoughts as she neared the lecture hall.

It was Tuesday, and Principles of Marketing was waiting for her. The weight of everything that had happened over the weekend seemed to follow her, but the door to the classroom loomed ahead. 

Lydia stepped into the lecture hall, her eyes immediately drawn to Kori sitting in her usual spot. The difference between them today felt even more pronounced than usual. Kori sat there with effortless poise, her blonde hair flowing in soft, sunlit waves that shimmered like a halo. She wore a pastel pink sweater that clung to her frame—perfectly neat, cozy, and feminine. A mango pineapple refresher rested between her hands, the bright orange and yellow of the drink somehow matching her soft, cheerful aesthetic.

It couldn’t have been more different from Lydia’s own vibe. Lydia’s black leather jacket hung loosely over her shoulders, the faded band tee underneath barely visible. Her dark jeans had rips at the knees, and her Doc Marten boots clicked on the floor as she walked in. Her hair, more of a mess than a style, was tangled and pulled back into a loose, sloppy ponytail. The contrast between them couldn’t have been sharper. Kori looked like a spring day in full bloom, while Lydia felt like she had walked in from a rainy, overcast afternoon.

“Hi,” Lydia smiled as she slid into the seat next to Kori.

“Hey,” Kori mumbled, still engrossed in her phone, barely lifting her gaze.

Great, we’re back to this, Lydia thought bitterly. She felt a flicker of frustration. Lydia never knew what to expect with Kori. It wasn’t like Kori was being outright rude, but the indifference cut deeper than any outright dismissal.

Lydia grabbed her laptop, setting it on the desk with a quiet thud, hoping the noise would distract her from the awkwardness. She opened her notes, and pulled out her name card, feeling a small sense of pride that she’d remembered it this time. The brief moment of accomplishment was immediately wiped out when Kori’s voice broke through the silence.

“How was your weekend?” Kori asked, still not looking up.

Was she talking to me? Lydia wondered, scanning the room to see if anyone else was around. There was no one close enough for Kori to be addressing, and yet Lydia hesitated. It felt like a trap. Was Kori being polite, or was she just being… Kori?

“Yes. You.” Kori let out a light laugh, calling her out for looking around.

“It was good,” Lydia said, avoiding Kori’s gaze, choosing to focus instead on the glowing screen of her laptop. “How about you?”

“It was good. We start recruitment this week, so we spent the whole weekend prepping and practicing. It was really busy but super fun.”

Lydia blinked, not sure how to respond. "Recruitment? For what?" Her voice came out more confused than she intended.

Kori let out a small chuckle, the kind that almost felt like she was laughing at Lydia's ignorance. “My sorority. We recruit new members every Spring, and the process is… a lot, to say the least.”

Lydia’s eyebrows furrowed, a mix of intrigue and disbelief. Why was Kori telling her this? Were they supposed to be friends now? Why was Kori sharing personal details about her weekend? 

Lydia could not help but be curious though. She had never really spoke to anyone in a sorority before. As a horror movie buff, she had seen her fair share of sorority-based horror films but she couldn’t help but wonder what they were like in real life.

Everything about Kori—her beauty, her confidence, her life outside of this lecture hall—was fascinating to Lydia, and she hated to admit it. But she had to keep reminding herself that Kori had never exactly been warm to her. Just because she was being nice now didn’t mean Lydia should fall for it.

Lydia hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. She didn’t want to make this a conversation. She didn’t want to seem too eager, but she also didn’t want to be rude. Yet, her curiosity won.

“Sounds intense,” Lydia said, her voice casual, though she couldn’t entirely hide the genuine interest that slipped through. “I mean, all the rehearsals and prepping… what do you even do for recruitment?”

As soon as the words were out, she felt the regret wash over her. Why was she asking? Why did she care? She was trying to keep a distance, not get dragged into another one of Kori’s confusing mood swings. But Kori had opened the door, and despite herself, Lydia had to step through.

Kori, clearly unaware of Lydia’s internal struggle, answered with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s like speed dating. The girls come to our house, we talk to them for a bit, they leave, and we talk to the next girl. You know, if you're interested, it’s not too late to sign up?”

Lydia blinked, her face flushing hot with surprise. Wait—did she just invite me? The words hung in the air, feeling heavier than they should. "Uh, I don’t really think that’s my style, I’m sorry," Lydia said, her voice tight, trying to brush it off casually, but feeling like the heat in her chest was betraying her.

Kori didn’t push it. Instead, there was a brief silence, one that made Lydia feel both relieved and... oddly uncomfortable. As the quiet stretched on, Lydia could feel the weight of the conversation settling in. Do I look like the kind of girl that would join a sorority?

There was an awkward beat of silence before the lecture finally began.

As Professor Visage started speaking, Kori immediately perked up, answering questions effortlessly. Lydia couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of her eye. Her ease with the material was infuriating and oddly fascinating. 

The professor’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Can someone explain the difference between the core product and the augmented product, and how differentiation helps brands stand out in the market?”

Without thinking, Lydia’s hand shot up. The words slipped out before she could stop them, the familiarity of the concept from her production classes kicking in. She wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip by.

“The core product is the essential offering,” Lydia said, glancing up at the professor. “For example, in film, the core product would be the movie itself—the basic story. But the augmented product is everything that surrounds it: the marketing campaign, special features on DVDs, the soundtrack, even the star power of the actors. These additions create a unique experience for the audience and can make the film stand out, even if the story itself is similar to others.”

The professor nodded, looking pleased. “Exactly! The extras that help the product stand out and appeal to a broader audience are key to differentiation.”

Lydia felt a small wave of pride. It was a relief to finally speak up and get it right. She glanced over at Kori, half-expecting to see her roll her eyes, but instead, Kori had briefly looked up from her iPad when Lydia spoke. Their eyes met for a split second, before Kori’s gaze returned to her screen.

Lydia’s stomach did a weird flutter. Was Kori impressed? Or was she just pretending? It was hard to tell. But Lydia couldn’t let herself dwell on it. It was probably nothing.

After the class ended, Lydia slowly packed up her things, her mind still spinning from the lecture—and from Kori.

“I think we picked the wrong topic for our project,” Kori said as she slid her iPad into her tote.

Lydia blinked. “What?”

“We should have done a film production company or something. Your answer to Professor Visage’s question was really good.”

Lydia felt her face flush again. She hadn’t been expecting praise, especially from Kori. “Oh, thanks,” she said, unable to hide the slight edge of surprise in her voice. She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, but she could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks.

“I’m not going to be able to meet this week because of recruitment, but we should find a time next week to meet and grind out the rest of the project.”

Lydia nodded, feeling a pang of uncertainty. “Yeah, sure. Just text me when you have time, and we can figure it out.”

“Sounds good,” Kori said with a smile, her tone easy. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the room, leaving Lydia sitting there, lost in her own thoughts.

Lydia sat still for a moment, processing everything. Her chest felt tight with a confusing mix of emotions—surprise, warmth, and the nagging unease that had been with her from the start. It was a strange shift. Kori’s words had been genuine, her tone lighter than usual, but Lydia still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Was Kori actually nice? Or was this just another game she was playing? Despite everything, Lydia still couldn’t shake the feeling that Kori had no real interest in being her friend, and that the moment any of this felt too personal, Kori would pull away again.

But Lydia couldn’t deny it—there was something about Kori, something she couldn't ignore. She hated that she was so drawn to her, but she couldn’t help it. Kori might not be an enemy anymore, but Lydia wasn’t sure if that meant they were friends either.

Sighing, Lydia packed up her things, her mind swirling with questions she wasn’t ready to answer. As she headed toward the door, she found herself glancing back at Kori’s empty seat. A strange, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She shook her head and tried to focus on something else, anything else.

But it was impossible to stop thinking about Kori, and the tangled mess of emotions she was causing in Lydia.

Chapter Text

One week later, Tuesday

The familiar hum of the classroom filled the air as Lydia walked in, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly above her. The past week had been a blur—classes, late-night editing sessions, drinks with Suzie and their other friends—but through it all, one thought had stubbornly lingered in the back of her mind.

Kori King.

It had been seven days since she last saw her. Seven days of pretending she wasn’t wondering about her. Seven days of convincing herself she didn’t care. She had acted flawlessly—smiling through lectures, laughing at Suzie’s antics, throwing herself into weekend plans like nothing was different. But every time she had a quiet moment to think, her mind betrayed her, circling back to blonde waves and deep brown eyes.

Lydia still couldn’t put her feelings for Kori into words. Did she hate her? Was she jealous of her? Or—God forbid—was Suzie actually right?

No. Absolutely not. It had to be one of the first two. Maybe both.

Lydia was jealous. She was jealous of the way Kori seemed to float through life effortlessly, how she always looked effortlessly beautiful, even first thing in the morning. How her smile could brighten a room without even trying. How she spoke in class with such poise and intelligence, as if confidence was something she was rather than something she practiced.

Yeah. It had to be jealousy. Because falling for a straight girl—this straight girl—was not an option.

Lydia slipped into her seat, letting out a small breath. For once, she had beaten Kori to class. She allowed herself to savor the tiny victory, the brief moment of peace before she had to face her again.

It didn’t last long.

The door swung open, and Kori walked in.

Like always, she looked perfect. Today, it was a pair of light-wash jeans and a pink off-the-shoulder sweater, her blonde waves cascading down her shoulders in that effortless, tousled way that probably took hours to achieve. As she moved closer, Lydia caught the faint gleam of gloss on her lips under the fluorescent lights.

Lydia had put effort into her appearance today too, she needed it. Her signature winged eyeliner was sharp, her dark hair sleek and straight from last night’s flat-ironing, held back by a black headband. She had chosen her outfit carefully. She decided on a green and black striped knit sweater tucked into a flowing black maxi skirt. Maybe not the most practical choice for a February day in Boston, but practicality wasn’t the point. She wanted to look good. No—she needed to look good.

Kori slid into the seat beside her, offering a small smile. “Hey. You beat me here today.”

Lydia forced a casual shrug, ignoring the way her heart kicked up at the simple greeting. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Kori set her bag down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Classes, studying, went out with friends,” Lydia said with a vague wave. She quickly shifted the conversation. “How was your recruitment?”

Kori brightened. “It was good! We had Bid Day yesterday, and I’m really excited about the new girls.”

Lydia nodded, pretending she understood the significance of that. “That’s great.”

Before she could think of anything else to say, Kori added, “Sorry I wasn’t able to meet about the project this week. I had a bit of free time, so I finished my section and did some rough notes for our SWOT analysis so we can tackle the rest next time we meet.”

Lydia blinked. Wait, what?

She hadn’t even thought about the project since last week. She shouldn’t be surprised that Kori had not only thought about it but had actually worked on it in her free time. Of course, she had. Kori was the kind of person who probably color-coded her planner and had a five-year plan mapped out in aesthetically pleasing bullet points. 

But the way Kori said it. It wasn’t smug, exactly, but was it a dig? A passive-aggressive reminder that Lydia had done nothing? Or was Lydia just reading into it too much?

She studied Kori’s expression, searching for smugness, condescension—anything. But Kori just looked… normal. Casual. Like this was just a simple update, not a carefully veiled jab.

Maybe Lydia was overthinking it.

Or maybe Kori knew exactly what she was doing.

Either way, Lydia suddenly felt the need to defend herself. She forced a shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Oh, cool. Yeah, I was gonna get to it this week.”

Not technically a lie. She had planned to work on it… eventually. Probably.

But now, with Kori sitting there, perfectly composed, perfectly prepared, Lydia felt like she had already lost some invisible battle.

Kori gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied with Lydia’s response, and turned her attention to her iPad. Meanwhile, Lydia’s thoughts spiraled. She’s not mad… right? If Kori was annoyed about doing extra work, she wasn’t showing it. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Maybe she had expected Lydia to slack off from the start. Maybe she thought Lydia was incompetent.

Before Lydia could dwell on it any longer, the professor strolled into the room, setting her coffee down on the podium with a familiar clatter.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get started.”

Her voice cut through the low murmur of conversation, and Lydia straightened slightly in her seat, grateful for the distraction. Around the room, students shifted, flipping open notebooks and tapping away on laptops. Lydia pulled out her own, determined to focus.

She tried. She really did. But even as she typed out notes, her mind kept wandering to the girl beside her. Kori, who looked effortlessly composed, her brows furrowed slightly as she tapped her Apple Pencil against her lip, completely absorbed in the lecture.

Lydia swallowed. Get a grip.

✿

By the time class finally ended—after what felt like twelve hours—Lydia all but slammed her laptop shut.

As students packed up their things, the usual post-lecture buzz filled the room—zippers closing, chairs scraping, scattered conversations starting up. Lydia moved slower than usual, shoving her laptop into her bag as she stole a glance at Kori.

Kori, of course, wasn’t in any rush. She tucked her iPad into her tote, adjusting the strap over her shoulder before turning to Lydia. 

“So,” Kori started, pushing her hair over one shoulder, “do you want to meet at the same time on Friday morning? Same library as last time?”

Lydia hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. She really didn’t want to meet with Kori again. But she knew she had to. There was no way around it. She thought about rescheduling, maybe pushing their meeting to later in the day to buy herself more time, or realistically, more time to procrastinate. But there was no good excuse. 

“Yeah,” Lydia said, forcing a nod. “That works.”

“Cool.” Kori gave a small smile. “See you then.”

Lydia managed a quick, tight smile of her own before Kori turned and walked away, her figure blending into the stream of students filing out of the room.

Lydia stayed seated for a moment, watching Kori leave. Her chest felt tight, like something was squeezing her ribs. She didn’t want to feel this way, but the unease swirling in her stomach was undeniable. The truth was, she couldn’t stop thinking about Kori. And it was messing with her head.

The classroom was nearly empty now, the quiet hum of fading conversations replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Lydia lingered, staring at the spot where Kori had sat just moments before. She should leave. She should just get up and go before she started overthinking everything. But instead, she stayed. Staring at the empty desk, feeling the weight of it all settle deeper in her chest.

She didn’t want to feel this way. Didn’t want to feel like her entire week was already shaped around Friday morning. But that’s exactly what was happening. Every time she thought she had a handle on it, something would happen—something small, like Kori’s smile or the way her eyes lit up when she spoke—and Lydia would lose herself in the mess of it.

Finally, she stood, slowly. She grabbed her bag, but the weight of the project and the emotions she was trying to untangle seemed to drag her down. She moved toward the door, trailing behind the last few students, but her mind was already back on Kori.

It was only week five of the semester, which meant there were nine more weeks of Kori to get through. Nine more weeks of awkward silences and strange glances. Nine more weeks of whatever this... this thing was.

She could do it. She had to.

Lydia sucked in a breath, shaking her head as if she could shake away the thought. She could do this. It was just a project. But as she walked out of the building, the feeling in her chest told her it was more than that. And she wasn’t sure if she could survive the next nine weeks of trying to ignore it.

Chapter Text

Lydia let her head fall back against the couch, exhaling loudly as the glow of her laptop screen cast a dull light over the living room. The entire day had been a blur of studying, note-taking, and reading an overcomplicated essay on postmodernism in 1970s cinema over and over again until the words stopped making sense. Her brain was fried. Her body was exhausted. And yet, the only thing looping in her head wasn’t her upcoming assignments.

It was Kori. Again.

She groaned, her fingers digging into her forehead, as if trying to press the thought out of her head.

Lydia was sick of it. She was sick of noticing the way Kori tucked her hair behind her ear in that effortless, almost delicate way. Sick of replaying every awkward and fleeting interaction they’d had in her head, like analyzing it from every angle Was Kori being kind? Or was she just being polite? Was Lydia imagining something more, or was she just another confused girl reading too much into nothing? 

The tight, restless feeling in her chest was familiar, and it gnawed at her every time she thought about their last conversation that morning. The way Kori’s eyes flickered to hers before quickly turning away—had it meant something? Or had Kori just been distracted?

It had only been a few hours since Lydia had last seen her, and she already had another couple of days before she’d have to face her again. But it didn’t matter how much time passed. Kori was always there, lurking in the back of Lydia’s thoughts, stubbornly refusing to leave.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her palms over her face. She needed to stop thinking about her.

She needed a distraction.

But what could really distract her? It wasn’t like she could just snap her fingers and make Kori go away from her mind. The thought of trying to focus on something else felt ridiculous.

But maybe she should focus on someone else. What better way to shake the stupid, straight girl from her mind than to focus on someone else? Preferably a gay girl who actually showed interest in her.

Her mind wandered back to the last time she and Suzie had gone to Dani’s. It had been a good night. A rare escape from the endless pressure of schoolwork and life. The laughter over vodka sodas, the warm bodies packed onto the tiny dance floor, the deep thrum of bass vibrating through her chest. She had talked to a few girls that night, but only one had been bold enough to slip Lydia her number.

Lydia could still picture the girl clearly: tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that seemed to demand attention. She’d been dressed in a sleek black leather jacket that gave off an effortlessly cool vibe. Warm brown skin, a sharp jawline, dark eyes that glittered with something flirtatious as she leaned in close to Lydia over the pounding music.

Lydia remembered the feeling of the girl's voice—low and smooth, like dark honey, with a teasing edge to it that made her want to lean in closer. She smelled like something rich and musky—expensive perfume mixed with the faintest trace of whiskey, a scent that stayed in the air long after she was gone.

The girl had leaned in even closer at one point, her lips brushing Lydia’s ear as she whispered, “You should text me sometime.” Lydia had wanted to feel something. She had wanted to be swept up in the moment, to be brave enough to let herself fall for the flirtation, to act on it without overthinking. But she hadn’t.

Lydia hadn’t followed up. At the time, she told herself she was just busy. That she didn’t care that much . But now? With Kori taking up so much space in her head, this girl might be exactly what she needed.

Lydia straightened slightly, reaching for her phone. Eleven days. That wasn’t that bad… right?

She turned to Suzie, who was curled up at the other end of the couch, flipping lazily through a script. “Be honest. Has too much time passed for me to text that girl from the bar?”

Suzie barely looked up. “Which girl?”

Lydia sighed, pulling at a strand of her hair. “The one who gave me her number the last time we were at Dani’s.”

Suzie’s eyes flicked up as she smirked. “Wait, do you mean the tall one? Or the one who said she ‘loves your vibe’ like three separate times?”

Lydia groaned. “The first one.”

“Ah, good choice.” Suzie grinned. “Damn, that was almost two weeks ago.”

Lydia groaned again, dropping her head back against the couch. “I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Suzie tilted her head, considering. “Mmm… nah. You’re good. Just say you got busy.”

“With what?” Lydia raised an eyebrow.

Suzie waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t know. School, life, some tragic battle with seasonal depression. It’s February in Boston, no one expects you to be thriving.”

Lydia huffed, her thumb nervously scrolling over her phone screen. “You really think it’s not too late?”

Suzie shrugged. “It’s only been eleven days. If she was into you, she’ll be happy to hear from you. If not, who cares?”

Lydia frowned, glancing at the blank screen. She felt like an idiot. “I don’t want to seem like I forgot about her.”

“Then say you didn’t.” Suzie leaned over dramatically, resting her chin on Lydia’s shoulder. “Say you meant to text, but you’ve been drowning in film essays and existential dread.”

Lydia snorted. “That’s not an excuse. That’s just my life.”

“Exactly. Own it.”

Lydia sighed, staring at her phone, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She knew she needed to send something casual but not too eager. She had to make it sound like she wasn’t emotionally spiraling, that she wasn’t too obsessed with... whatever it was she felt for Kori.

After a moment of hesitation, she typed:

LYDIA: Hey, it’s Lydia from Dani’s. Sorry for the delay in texting, I’ve been swamped with school stuff lately. Would love to grab a drink sometime if you're free!

She stared at the text for a beat, her finger hovering over the send button. It was fine. Casual. Nothing too crazy.

She turned her phone to Suzie for approval, “is this good?”

“Yes, dummy. Just send the text.”

Taking a deep breath, Lydia hit send.

She waited. Five minutes passed. Then her phone buzzed.

JO: Hey, Lydia! No worries, I totally get it. I’ve been busy too. I’d love to grab a drink sometime! How about Thursday? What’s your schedule like?

Lydia’s heart skipped. Thursday? That was perfect. As Chappell Roan always said: never waste a Friday night on a first date . Thursday gave her a little breathing room, a night to reset before the weekend. Plus, it was a chance to focus on someone—anyone—other than Kori before she would have to see her again the next morning.

She responded quickly, eager to lock in the date.

LYDIA: Thursday works! I’m free after 7 if that works for you.

A few more back-and-forth texts, and the date was set. Cocktail bar near campus. Lydia had been a few times before with friends. It was somewhat casual, but nice. A perfect spot for a first date.

Lydia dropped her phone onto the couch beside her and sat up, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. She turned to Suzie, who had gone back to flipping through her script.

“I am going on a date Thursday,” Lydia announced, forcing a grin as she tried to ignore the pang of doubt in her chest.

“Yay, I’m happy for you,” Suzie responded, grinning back. “This is good for you. You haven’t been on a date in so long, I was starting to worry you were becoming a nun.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

She was happy. This girl was beautiful and seemed genuinely excited to go out with her. It would be a distraction, something to pull her out of the spiral she had found herself stuck in. At least, that’s what she told herself.

She could only hope that Thursday would be enough to take her mind off Kori, even if just for a little while.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Thursday

Lydia stood in front of her mirror, studying her reflection with a mix of excitement and nerves. Her heart beat a little faster as she thought about the night ahead. She was putting herself out there, which felt like a small victory in itself.

Her plan was simple: stay casual, enjoy the night, and avoid overthinking. She’d been on first dates before—this was just another one, another chance to unwind. But now that the night had finally arrived, her stomach fluttered with uncertainty.

She took a slow, deep breath, willing her nerves to settle. There was no reason to feel this way. She had everything under control. She turned back to the mirror, letting herself focus on the task at hand. She wanted to look put together, but still like herself. Something natural yet striking.

Lydia pulled on a black leather jacket, the worn material soft against her skin. It fit her perfectly, the weight of it a comforting presence. Beneath it, she wore a simple, fitted black tank top that showed just enough to feel confident but not too much. The contrast of the dark fabric against her skin made her look effortlessly cool, like someone who knew exactly who they were. The high-waisted black jeans hugged her hips, the fabric stretching slightly as she moved. The flare at the ankles gave the outfit a little twist, subtle yet stylish. Her boots were ankle-high, matte black with chunky heels and she loved how they tied her look together. 

She slid her fingers through her hair, pulling it into a messy, yet deliberate ponytail at the nape of her neck, leaving a few strands to frame her face. Her makeup was a little more dramatic than usual. She had layered on a rich winged eyeliner, the lines sharp and dramatic, with the flick at the corners giving her eyes an intense, captivating look. Her eyeshadow was smoky, dark hues of gray and charcoal blending into her eyelids, making her blue eyes stand out even more. 

Lydia looked at her reflection again, running a hand over her jacket sleeve, trying to banish the restlessness crawling through her chest. It wasn’t nerves, exactly. She’d been on enough dates to know she could handle herself. But something about tonight felt different.

Her phone buzzed on the bed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She reached for it, her pulse quickening as she saw the message from Jo.

JO: Hey, I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon!

Lydia’s heart skipped. She’d confirmed the time and place earlier, but now it felt real. She had ten minutes left before she had to leave.

She tossed the phone back on the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror again, taking one last look at herself. She still felt a little nervous, but that was normal, right? It was a first date. It was supposed to feel this way.

She wandered into the living room where Suzie was lounging on the couch, giving her a 360 of her outfit. 

“You look cute,” Suzie said, giving her an approving glance before raising an eyebrow. “Nervous?”

Lydia shrugged, her nerves suddenly more apparent as she looked at her friend. “A little. I’m just... I don’t know. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” Suzie assured her with a grin. “Just relax and have fun. It’s not that serious.”

Lydia smiled weakly, trying to convince herself that Suzie was right. This wasn’t a big deal. Just two people going for drinks. 

“Thanks, Suzie,” Lydia said softly as she headed toward the door.

“Go have fun,” Suzie called after her. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Lydia stepped out of the apartment, feeling a fresh wave of nerves rush through her. The cool night air hit her face, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She couldn’t afford to overthink it. Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about Kori, or anything complicated. It was just about enjoying herself.

When Lydia reached the bar, she paused before pushing open the door. The warmth from inside wrapped around her like a blanket, making the outside world feel distant and unimportant. The bar wasn’t too crowded, but the buzz of conversation created a lively atmosphere. The dim, golden lights bathed the room in a cozy glow, and the low hum of music filled the spaces between words. It felt intimate, the kind of place where you could talk and laugh without anyone listening too closely.

She spotted Jo immediately, standing near the bar, her presence effortless and cool in a leopard print top and baggy blue jeans. Lydia couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked.

Here goes nothing, Lydia thought.

“Hey,” Lydia greeted, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Jo’s face lit up as she stepped forward, her eyes warm and inviting. “Hey, you made it!” She pulled Lydia into a quick hug. Lydia stiffened for a second, the closeness catching her off guard, but then relaxed, trying not to let it show.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Lydia replied, her smile somewhat forced.

The two of them made their way to a small table on the left side of the bar, the chatter around them fading into the background as they settled into the easy rhythm of conversation. The soft hum of music blended with the murmur of other patrons, creating a cozy atmosphere that made Lydia feel a little more at ease. A server quickly approached to take their order. Jo went for a fancy cocktail called Princess Peach, while Lydia kept it simple with a vodka soda—she didn’t care for overly sweet drinks and liked to keep things straightforward.

Moments later, their drinks arrived. Lydia wrapped her fingers around the cool glass, taking a cautious sip. She didn’t want to drink it too fast, but the liquid courage was already starting to settle some of her nerves. She needed it.

Jo launched into a story about her political science classes, hardly pausing to take a breath. Lydia listened intently, but she found herself noticing how little Jo asked about her. She didn’t seem particularly curious about Lydia’s day or what she was up to, and her questions about Lydia’s film studies felt more like a formality than a real desire to understand. Jo’s stories dominated the conversation, as she casually dropped names of professors, classmates, and friends, without much regard for Lydia’s responses.

Lydia couldn't help but compare Jo to Kori. The way Kori had seemed so distant at first—so wrapped up in her own world. But Kori had a way of pulling her in, of challenging Lydia’s thoughts, of making her feel like she was more than just an audience. Jo’s energy was different. She was confident, sure, but Lydia couldn't help but feel that it was more about Jo’s own need to be seen than about creating a connection.

As the evening wore on, the topics shifted to lighter subjects—favorite bands, recent Netflix binges, the best coffee spots in the city. They found a few common interests, and Lydia laughed more than she expected, but it all still felt a little... one-sided. Jo seemed to thrive in the spotlight, drawing the conversation back to herself whenever there was an opening, as if the night was mostly about her experience, her thoughts, her excitement.

Lydia tried to shake off the comparison to Kori. Kori had been aloof, but there was something magnetic about her, a warmth that Lydia had never expected. Jo, on the other hand... Lydia couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt a little like she was just another person to listen to Jo talk. It wasn’t a bad thing. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, but Lydia couldn’t help but notice.

Jo was deep into a story about her competitive dance team when Lydia’s attention suddenly wavered. She heard the door open, the cool night air rushing in before it closed again. 

Lydia glanced up instinctively, and then she saw her.

Kori.

Lydia completely froze, feeling a pit in her stomach. The sight of the familiar blonde hair and deep skin, she had practically memorized by this point. Her pulse quickened as she watched Kori walk into the bar with her friends, her laughter carrying across the room as they found their way to a booth near the back.

What the hell was she doing here? Lydia felt her stomach churn, her thoughts spinning. The only reason she was even on this date was to try and forget about Kori, and now Kori was here? Of all places.

Jo was still talking, unaware of Lydia’s growing tension. She leaned forward, continuing her story about the dance team. But Lydia could barely focus, her mind racing. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she couldn't shake the image of Kori, so effortlessly confident, surrounded by people who seemed to gravitate toward her.

Lydia's breath caught in her throat. Her thoughts raced. The last thing she wanted was to think about Kori right now, but the moment felt suffocating. Her chest tightened, and she suddenly needed to get away, just for a moment.

A sharp, involuntary cough broke from her, the sound slicing through Jo’s monologue like a crack in the floor. Jo paused, raising an eyebrow.

“You okay?” Jo asked, her eyes darting to Lydia’s flushed face.

“Yeah, just… just need a second,” Lydia managed, her voice tight, betraying her unease. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Without waiting for Jo’s response, Lydia stood quickly, grabbing her purse off the table. She didn’t even wait for Jo’s curious gaze to follow her as she made her way toward the back of the bar, trying to push the chaos of her thoughts to the side.

Lydia pushed her way into the bathroom. She didn’t actually need to use the bathroom; she just needed a moment. She washed her hands slowly, trying to steady her breathing, before grabbing a paper towel to dry them. The hum of fluorescent lights above felt too harsh, too invasive, pressing in on her already-overloaded senses.

The bathroom door swung open abruptly, and Lydia froze.

“Jewels, you cannot bring him to our date party. He’s so gross,” Kori’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Lydia’s heart pounded in her chest as she turned, wide-eyed. Kori strolled into the bathroom, her lip gloss gleaming under the harsh lights. She was followed by a shorter girl with brunette curly hair, who—thankfully—headed straight for a stall.

Kori headed straight for the mirror, opting to touch up her lip gloss, her eyes narrowed with concentration, her usual nonchalance masking whatever else was simmering beneath the surface. Jewels’s voice called out from behind her, still muffled by the stall door.

“He’s not that bad. Plus, his dad is super rich, so we’ll probably get free drinks.”

Lydia turned back to the sink, quickly finishing drying her hands as Kori finally glanced over in her direction. Their eyes met through the mirror, and for a second, Lydia thought she might choke on the awkwardness that instantly swelled between them.

Kori blinked, as if she hadn’t expected to see Lydia, and her confident composure faltered just slightly. For the briefest moment, she looked... unsure? But it passed quickly, replaced by her usual grin. 

She recovered easily, her voice as cool as ever. “Oh hey,” Kori said, her smile flashing as if nothing had changed. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Lydia’s heart lurched in her chest, and she felt that familiar flutter of uncertainty in her stomach. Her words came out before she could stop them. “Ditto.”

The tension hung between them for a moment before Kori's tone softened, teasing. “So, big Thursday night plans?”

Before Lydia could respond, Jewels’s voice rang out from across the room, “Who are you talking to?” She exited the stall and scanned Lydia with an unreadable look. Lydia’s stomach twisted as she saw Jewels’s eyes linger on her for a beat too long, her gaze calculating. “Oh,” Jewels said, her voice taking on a knowing note. 

Lydia’s thoughts spiraled. Oh? What does that mean? Did Jewels know who she was? Why did she say it like that?

But before she could dive into a sea of self-doubt, Jewels smiled—soft and sweet, a warmth that Lydia wasn’t sure she deserved but desperately needed. It eased some of the tension that had built up in the bathroom, making it just a little easier to breathe.

“Hi, I’m Jewels,” she said, sticking out her hand with an inviting grin. But then, as if remembering the proper bathroom etiquette, she quickly retracted it with a sheepish chuckle. “Wait, no, I need to wash my hands first.”

Lydia couldn’t help but smile despite herself as Jewels turned to the sink. “No worries, I’m Lydia,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light and casual, though her nerves were still tangled in her chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Jewels responded with an almost mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Lydia caught the briefest flicker of Kori’s expression in the mirror—a sharp, almost imperceptible glare. Kori’s lips pressed together briefly before she turned away, clearly irritated by something. But what?

Jewels, either oblivious or purposefully ignoring Kori’s reaction, turned back to Lydia, still watching her like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “So what brings you here on a Thursday night?”

Lydia hesitated, torn between telling the truth and trying to come up with a lie. But Jewels’s watchful eyes seemed to be searching for an answer, so Lydia simply blurted, “I’m on a date.”

Jewels paused, her tone sweet but sharp beneath the surface. “Oh wow. Is it not going well? Why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

The words felt like a gentle jab, though Lydia wasn’t sure whether Jewels intended it that way or if she just had a way of cutting through the tension with her calm demeanor.

“I’m not hiding,” Lydia said too quickly, too defensively. She shifted on her feet, looking at her reflection instead of at Jewels. “Just needed to reapply my lipgloss.”

“Mhm.” Jewels didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press.

“Don’t let us keep from your date,” Kori chimed in suddenly, her voice light and carefree, almost mocking in its casualness. “Jewels, let’s go.”

Lydia’s breath caught.

Jewels gave Lydia one last look, watching Lydia with that same unreadable expression. Then, finally, she smiled.

And then she was gone, following Kori out of the bathroom, leaving Lydia standing there, still gripping the counter like it might steady her.

Lydia waited a beat, just to make sure they were both gone, before she gathered herself and made her way to the door. She kept her distance, making sure not to follow too closely behind them, as she slipped out of the bathroom. Her heart was still hammering in her chest as she made her way back to her date. 

Jo was still at their table, phone in hand, scrolling through something with more focus than she had given Lydia all night.

Lydia settled back into her seat, smoothing her palms over her jeans, trying to shake off the tension that had clung to her after her brief, awkward bathroom encounter with Kori.

The bar was busier now, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of glasses and the occasional laugh that rang out from the crowd. Lydia’s eyes, however, kept flicking back toward the booth where Kori had sat with Jewels. From her vantage point across the room, Lydia could see Kori leaning back in her seat, her eyes scanning the bar, seemingly chatting with her friends, but every few moments, Lydia could feel her gaze drift toward her—subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there.

Lydia’s stomach did a strange flip, and she forced herself to look away, focusing on the condensation forming on her half-finished drink. Jo was talking again, her voice rising over the noise, but Lydia barely heard it. Her mind was buzzing, her pulse quickening. Why was Kori looking at her? 

But just as quickly as the moment had come, it slipped away. Jo was asking if Lydia wanted to try another drink, her voice bright and chipper, oblivious to Lydia’s inner turmoil. Lydia barely registered the question, caught in the memory of the way Kori’s eyes lingered on her for a fraction too long.

Lydia nodded absently. “Yeah, sure. Whatever,” she muttered, her gaze still flicking toward Kori. She saw Kori smile at something someone had said, then her eyes swept over to Lydia one more time before the moment passed entirely.

Lydia didn’t want to overthink it. She didn’t want to make this into something it wasn’t. But it was hard to ignore that feeling—that flutter in her chest, the strange pull of attention from across the room.

She forced herself to take a long sip of her drink, the cool liquid doing little to settle the heat she felt rising in her cheeks.

The date continued, but Lydia couldn’t shake the feeling that it was already over. As the night stretched on, the spark that had initially been there between her and Jo started to flicker and die, replaced by a weight of silence between them. Jo’s stories grew more distant and less engaging, while Lydia's thoughts remained tethered to that one lingering moment—Kori’s glance, fleeting but sharp, as if there were something unsaid.

Eventually, Jo suggested they call it a night, and Lydia agreed, though she could barely muster the energy to respond with anything more than a soft “Sure.”

They left the bar together, the night air cool against her skin, but Lydia’s thoughts were miles away. 

At the bus stop, Jo turned to her with an easy grin. “This was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

Lydia blinked, momentarily thrown. Fun?

Had they been on the same date?

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, not wanting to hurt Jo’s feelings. She’d text her later—let her down gently. She couldn’t deal with it right now.

The bus arrived, and Jo gave her a small wave before disappearing onto it.

And just like that, Lydia was alone.

She started walking, letting the quiet of the streets settle around her. But her mind wasn’t on Jo, wasn’t on the date, wasn’t on anything she probably should be thinking about.

It was on Kori.

On the way she had looked at her. On the way Jewels had said she already knew who Lydia was.

Like there was something unsaid.

Of course there was. There always was.

Jewels and Kori were friends, sorority sisters, part of a world that Lydia wasn’t a part of. She was just the girl Kori was forced to do a group project with.

And yet, the way Kori had looked at her tonight didn’t feel forced.

Lydia exhaled sharply, shaking her head at herself.

She didn’t know what any of it meant.

But she knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it.

Chapter Text

Lydia couldn’t sleep. 

Suzie had already been asleep when she got home, so she had no one to talk to. No one to help her sort through the mess in her head.

Which meant her thoughts had nowhere to go but around and around in circles, crashing over her like relentless waves.

Every time she closed her eyes, the scene in the bathroom replayed like a looped film reel.

Jewels had said "I know."

It was such a simple phrase. But it had lodged itself deep in Lydia’s brain, like a splinter she couldn’t remove.

I know.

Jewels knew who she was. Which meant Kori had talked about her. Maybe even shown her a picture.

It made sense—after all, they were working on a project together.Kori must have mentioned her at some point.  But that didn’t explain how Jewels had said it, the knowing smirk, the glint of amusement in her eye, like she was in on some joke that Lydia didn’t understand. 

That wasn’t just casual recognition. That was recognition—the kind that came from gossip, from inside jokes, from stories told at someone else's expense.

Had Kori been talking shit about her?

The thought sank its teeth into Lydia’s brain. Of course she had. What else could it be?

Jewels smirked when Lydia introduced herself, like she already had a fully formed opinion on her. As if, behind her eyes, she was saying: Oh, you’re that girl. I know all about you. The weirdo Kori’s stuck with all semester. The one who never knows what’s going on. The one who’s always awkward and saying the wrong thing. Kori can’t wait to get rid of you.

And then there was that comment about the date.

“Is it not going well? Why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

Was Jewels mocking her? What had Kori said about her? Probably how she was awkward and weird and undateable? Maybe even how she looked tonight—out of place, trying too hard.

Lydia hadn’t considered that possibility before. But now? Now it felt obvious.

And when they left the bathroom, Jewels and Kori had been giggling.

They had to be laughing at her. 

Maybe at how pathetic she was. Maybe at how her date hated her. Maybe about her stupid shoes.

Lydia had thought they were making progress. That maybe, somehow, they were starting to get along.

But clearly, she’d been wrong.

Kori hated her. She always had. And she probably always would.

The glare Kori gave Jewels? It was obvious now—it wasn’t because Kori was annoyed at Jewels for saying something inappropriate. It was because Kori didn’t want Lydia to know.

She didn’t want Lydia to realize that outside of their forced collaboration, she was just a joke.

Lydia knew Kori hated her. Knew she would always hate her. Maybe even resent her for being stuck with her all semester.

And it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Kori wasn’t important. Not really.

But the realization still hit like a brick to the chest.

And more than anything, Lydia felt stupid.

Stupid for thinking things had changed. Stupid for believing, even for a second, that Kori had been anything more than polite.

Stupid for liking her.

Because she had, hadn’t she? Not in the way that mattered—not in the way that would ever mean anything—but in the way that made her want to believe Kori was different.

But Kori wasn’t.

People like Kori didn’t like people like Lydia.

And people like Lydia? They shouldn’t like people like Kori.

She refused to let herself be weak.

Giving in to Kori—letting her occupy this much space in her mind—was letting her win. And Lydia had already let Kori win too many times.

Not tonight. Not anymore.

She grabbed her phone and shoved her headphones in, scrolling through her saved podcasts until she landed on one about David Lynch. Blue Velvet and the Art of Suburbia.

The familiar opening music hummed in her ears, and a calm, analytical voice filled the silence of her room.

Lydia closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

The words washed over her, abstract yet comforting. Maybe that was what she needed—something surreal, something outside of herself, something bigger than a stupid group project and a stupid sorority girl who didn’t matter.

She let the podcast carry her away, let her thoughts blur into half-formed images of red curtains, flickering lights, and the hum of Roy Orbison’s In Dreams.

And finally, finally—she slept.

✿

Lydia let herself sleep in.

When she finally checked the time, it was already 9:00 a.m.—not late exactly, but later than she would have woken up if she actually cared. But she didn’t. Not today.

She was meeting Kori at 10, but what was the point of rushing? Kori was going to hate her no matter what she did or how she looked. 

So she stayed in bed, scrolling through TikTok, letting the screen's dull glow wash over her. She barely registered the videos—something about a new indie horror film, someone making a bizarrely complicated breakfast sandwich, a girl ranting about a bad date.

The last one made her stomach twist, so she scrolled past it quickly.

At 9:20, she finally forced herself out of bed. The air in her apartment was cool against her skin.

She went through the motions in the bathroom, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush with the same amount of enthusiasm as a robot going through its programming. The minty burn barely registered. She tied her hair back into a low ponytail—not bothering to style it, not even bothering to check how it looked.

It was a choice. A deliberate one.

Kori thought she was some awkward, weird, pathetic girl? Fine. Lydia wouldn’t try to convince her otherwise.

She threw on the baggiest pair of gray sweatpants she owned, the fabric pooling around her ankles. Then she grabbed the red BU hoodie her dad had given her when she first committed to the school. It was slightly oversized, worn soft from years of washing, the cuffs frayed at the edges.

It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t flattering. But it was comfortable. And more importantly, it sent a message—one that said I’m not trying. I don’t care.

She shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers and grabbed her backpack off the chair where she’d tossed it the day before.

The apartment was quiet. Suzie was still asleep, her door shut, a faint strip of light visible underneath. Lydia considered knocking—considered telling her about last night. But that would require admitting how much this was actually bothering her, so she didn’t.

Instead, she grabbed her headphones and shoved them in, pressing play on Charli XCX’s brat .

With her bag slung over one shoulder, she double-checked that she had her laptop and notebook, then stepped out the door.

The morning air was sharp and cold, Boston’s early spring still clinging stubbornly to winter’s chill. Lydia shoved her hands deep into her hoodie pockets as she walked, the music filling her ears, blocking everything else out.

She was still ten minutes away when her phone buzzed. She checked the time—9:56 a.m.

KORI: Hey, I’m here. Same study room as last time 

Lydia rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to respond. Kori would see her when she saw her. She didn’t need to know her whereabouts.

Part of Lydia felt a smug sort of satisfaction at the thought of Kori sitting there, waiting for her. Let her wait.

A little pettiness never hurt anybody.

By the time Lydia finally reached the study room—10:10, because she’d stopped to pet a dog on the way—Kori was already inside, seated at the same spot as last time.

Lydia spotted her through the glass.

Like always, Kori looked effortlessly put together. Her golden blonde ponytail was sleek, not a single hair out of place, with two perfectly curled strands framing her face like she’d stepped straight out of a Pinterest tutorial. Lydia caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the window and couldn’t help but compare—her own dark ponytail was already coming loose, baby hairs frizzing at her temples, the top slightly bumpy no matter how many times she’d tried to smooth it down.

Even their ponytails existed in separate worlds.

And their outfits? Even more so.

Kori was in a matching baby pink zip-up and yoga pants, fitted snugly against her figure—tiny waist, long legs, the kind of proportions that looked effortless but had to be genetic. Meanwhile, Lydia was practically swallowed by her oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants, slouching slightly as she stood outside the room.

Kori looked composed. Lydia looked like she had just rolled out of bed.

Through the glass, Lydia could see Kori’s iPad propped up on the table, her Apple Pencil moving swiftly across the screen. She was drawing—Lydia could just make out a rough sketch taking shape, though she couldn’t tell what it was from this angle. Beside her, the same mango refresher sat on the table, condensation beading along the cup.

Lydia sighed, adjusted her backpack on her shoulder, and finally pushed the door open.

Kori looked up immediately. 

"Hey," she said, smiling.

The smile made Lydia irrationally mad.

Of course, Kori was being nice. Of course, she was acting like she didn’t talk badly about her behind her back.

Fake.

Lydia dropped into the chair across from her, barely sparing her a glance. "Hi," she said flatly, tugging her laptop from her bag.

She half-expected Kori to shrink back at her tone, maybe falter a little. But instead, Kori just adjusted her chair, scooting closer.

Lydia stiffened.

There was no reason for her to sit that close. The table was huge. But Kori still moved in like they were—what? Friends?

Lydia caught the faintest whiff of Kori’s shampoo, something floral and soft—jasmine, maybe, or vanilla. It clung to the space between them, and for some reason, that pissed her off even more.

Kori’s laptop was already open, the shared Google Doc pulled up on her screen. The cursor blinked patiently in the middle of the section Lydia had completely ignored for two weeks.

"So," Kori started, scrolling through the document, "I finished my part." She gestured toward the neatly written sections, all formatted perfectly, because of course they were. "I also wrote out some basic points for the SWOT analysis—we just need to elaborate more. I was thinking we could work through the rest together?"

Lydia nodded stiffly, biting the inside of her cheek, and they got to work.

Kori’s fingers flew over her keyboard as she cleaned up some phrasing in the Brand Identity & Overview section. Lydia forced herself to focus, forcing down the lingering irritation bubbling under her skin. Every now and then, Kori would ask a question—softly, like she was trying not to push her luck.

"Do you think we should mention their brand partnerships here?"

Lydia shrugged. "Probably."

Kori hesitated, then typed it in herself.

Lydia felt a flicker of guilt at her own unhelpfulness, so she forced herself to lean forward, skimming the screen. "We should add something about their social media presence," she mumbled.

Kori nodded, seemingly encouraged. "Good idea. I can start that—just tell me if you want to add anything."

She sounded so… normal.

Like she didn’t hate Lydia. Like she wasn’t secretly annoyed by her.

It was infuriating.

Lydia tapped aggressively on her keyboard, adding a few sentences of her own. Kori stole a glance at her but didn’t say anything.

After another few minutes, Kori sat back, stretching her arms. "Okay, I think that section’s solid."

Lydia barely glanced up. "Cool."

Kori hesitated, twisting her straw in her mango refresher. "So, SWOT analysis?"

Lydia nodded, cracking her knuckles. "Let’s get it over with."

Kori smiled a little, like she found that amusing. Lydia refused to let herself wonder why.

They worked through the SWOT analysis methodically, breaking down the strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats of their chosen brand. Kori typed out her ideas in smooth, efficient motions, while Lydia leaned her chin on her hand, occasionally throwing in comments.

"They’ve got a solid reputation, so we should put that under strengths," Kori said, glancing at her.

"Yeah, but their quality is all over the place," Lydia muttered. "Half the time my iced coffee tastes like sewer water."

Kori huffed out a small laugh and added it to weaknesses. "Fair point."

Lydia tried not to notice how Kori’s brows knitted together in focus, how she absently spun her beaded bracelet around her wrist when thinking. She tried not to notice anything at all.

An hour later, they finally had everything written out.

Kori sat back with a satisfied sigh. "Okay, I think that’s everything. Now we just need to do final edits and add our citations."

Lydia clicked over to the bibliography section and immediately scowled. "Ugh. APA?"

Kori raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it’s a business class. What else would we use?"

"MLA," Lydia grumbled. 

Kori laughed under her breath.

Lydia glared at her, mostly because it was true. She hated APA. The stupid in-text citations, the endless formatting rules. She typed out a source with a sigh and then frowned. "Wait, do we italicize this or—"

Kori leaned over, their shoulder brushing Lydia’s.

Lydia tensed.

"Here, let me fix it." Kori’s fingers moved smoothly over the trackpad, adjusting the formatting like it was second nature. Her nails were short, neatly trimmed, painted a soft pink. Lydia caught herself staring and snapped her gaze back to the screen.

"See?" Kori said lightly. "Not so bad."

Lydia made a face. "It’s the worst."

Kori just smiled, turning back to the document.

After a few more tweaks, the bibliography was finished.

Kori hit save and exhaled. "Okay. Done. Ready to submit?"

Lydia blinked. "That’s it?"

"That’s it. At least until we have to write our proposal and make our presentation."

Lydia looked at her—at the smug little tilt of her lips, the easy confidence she always carried.

Something about it made Lydia’s chest feel uncomfortably tight.

"Okay," she muttered. "Let’s submit."

“You should do the honours,” Kori said, nodding at Lydia’s screen.

Lydia rolled her eyes, but there was no point fighting. She exported their doc to a PDF and submitted it through the course page. It technically wasn’t due until Monday night but Lydia was happy to have it over with. 

She was already reaching for her bag, halfway to standing, when Kori’s voice stopped her.

"So… how was the rest of your date?"

Lydia froze.

God, this girl would never stop. She probably already knew how badly it went and just wanted to hear Lydia say it so she could laugh about it later with her friends.

"Fine," Lydia replied, voice clipped.

"Oof, just fine?" Kori tilted her head, stirring her mango refresher with her straw. "She didn’t sweep you off your feet and whisk you off into the sunset?"

Lydia’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She didn’t want to give Kori any more material. She was annoyed she was even asking in the first place. They weren’t friends. They were like… coworkers at best.

"Yeah, it was fine. Not all of us are living in a rom-com," Lydia muttered, shoving her laptop into her bag.

Kori hummed, amused. "Shame. You seem like the type who’d secretly want that."

Lydia’s head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

Kori just shrugged, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I don’t know. You just seem like a hopeless romantic."

Lydia let out a sharp laugh. "Right. That’s me."

"Hey, I could be wrong." Kori leaned her chin on her hand, watching Lydia too closely, like she was studying her. "But I don’t think I am."

Lydia scoffed, gripping her bag like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. "Well, you are. Completely wrong."

Kori smirked but didn’t argue. "If you say so."

Lydia turned away, shoulders stiff. "Why do you even care?"

Kori was quiet for a second too long.

Then, too soft, too casual: "I don’t know. Just curious."

Just curious. Sure. Lydia didn’t believe that for a second. 

She shoved her laptop into her bag, ignoring the way her pulse had started hammering for no good reason.

She needed to get out of here. Away from this conversation. Away from Kori.

Midterms were coming up the next two weeks, and after Tuesday, she wouldn’t have to see Kori again until after spring break. She wished she never had to see her again.

Chapter Text

Suzie was sprawled on the couch when Lydia walked in, kicking off her shoes and shrugging off her coat.

"Damn, you were gone for a while," Suzie remarked, glancing over.

Lydia checked her watch—1 p.m. Huh. She hadn’t even realized.

"Yeah, I guess. We had a lot to do." She flopped down onto the couch beside Suzie, stretching her legs out with a sigh. "But we submitted it, so woo—no more Kori ‘til after spring break."

Suzie raised an eyebrow. "Don’t you have a class with her on Tuesday?"

Lydia groaned. "Yeah, but I don’t have to talk to her."

"Sure, it’s not like you sit next to her," Suzie said, unconvinced. Then her grin sharpened. "Anyway, enough about public enemy number one. I wanna hear about your date."

Lydia gulped. She already knew exactly where this conversation was going.

"To be honest," she sighed, "it wasn’t great."

"Aww." Suzie patted Lydia’s knee. "What happened?"

"She just… wasn’t for me. Super self-centered. Talked about herself the whole night, and barely asked me anything. I want someone who actually wants to know me, not someone who just needs an audience."

Suzie sighed dramatically. "Damn. She was so cute too. What a tragic waste of potential." 

"Right?" Lydia huffed. "I mean, she’s probably not a bad person. Maybe she was just nervous. But I swear, I could’ve walked out halfway through, and she wouldn’t have even noticed."

Suzie snorted. "I cannot believe you sat through all that. You’re a better woman than me. I would’ve made up a fake emergency halfway through my drink."

Lydia exhaled through her nose, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch cushion. "Yeah, well… I had other things on my mind by the end of the night anyway."

Suzie turned to her, intrigued. "Oh?"

Lydia hesitated.

She hadn’t even fully let herself process it yet. The way her stomach had clenched at the sight of Kori walking in. The way it had felt like her date faded into white noise the moment she saw her. How, even hours later, lying in bed, she’d kept replaying it—kept trying to convince herself that her reaction wasn’t a big deal.

There was no point in pretending she wasn’t thinking about it. Maybe if she said it out loud, it would lose some of its power over her.

"You’ll never guess who was there," she said finally, keeping her tone light like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it hadn’t been circling her thoughts the entirety of last night.

Suzie narrowed her eyes. "I don’t know, we have way too many opps at this point. Give me a hint."

Lydia lifted an eyebrow. "My most recent opp."

Suzie gasped, clutching her chest. "No!"

"Uh-huh." Lydia nodded, slumping deeper into the couch. "Kori. With, like, four of her friends. They looked like a girl group or something."

Suzie stared at her, then let out an incredulous laugh. "That’s actually insane. The girl you’re obsessed with crashed your date? What are the odds? I swear, sometimes your life plays out like a movie."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I am not obsessed with Kori."

Suzie just smirked. "Girl. I see you creeping her stories when we’re watching TV. You can’t hide anything from me."

“I’m not creeping,” Lydia scoffed. “I follow her. I click through stories. I see hers. It’s normal.”

"Yeah, but on hers, you linger for way too long."

Lydia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because, unfortunately, Suzie had a point. 

Since following Kori a few weeks ago, Lydia had watched every story, and seen every post. She never liked anything, of course—not that Kori would notice her in the sea of likes she got. But still, liking felt like a step too far. A level of engagement she wasn’t willing to admit to.

Suzie was still watching her, amused but also a little knowing, like she saw right through Lydia.

“Whatever,” Lydia muttered, needing to change the subject before Suzie got any more ideas. She took a breath and forced herself to sound casual. “So I went to the bathroom during the date, and Kori and her friend came in. And when I introduced myself to her friend, she said she already knew who I was.”

Suzie’s expression shifted, intrigue flickering in her eyes. “Huh.”

“Yeah, that’s weird, right?”

“That’s super weird,” Suzie said slowly, like she was turning the thought over in her head.

Lydia swallowed hard, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t like the idea that Kori talks about me to her friends.”

Suzie hesitated. “Well… you don’t know she talked about you in a bad way.”

Lydia let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “She definitely is, though.” 

She looked away, staring at the floor as she twisted the fabric of her hoodie between her fingers. “It wasn’t just her friend saying she knew me. It was her body language, her facial expression. It felt like there was some kind of joke between the two of them that I wasn’t in on.”

Her throat felt tight, her voice thinner than she wanted it to be. “Because clearly, I am the joke.”

The words sat there, heavier than she’d expected. And before she could shove them down—before she could do the usual thing, where she pretended she didn’t care—a lump formed in her throat.

God, she hated this.

She hated how much space Kori was taking up in her mind. She hated how affected she was by a stupid look, by an interaction that was probably meaningless. She hated that, even now, she was analyzing every shift in expression, every glance between Kori and her friend, searching for proof that they had laughed about her the second she walked away.

She hated that this made her feel small.

She hated that some part of her believed it.

A tear welled up before she could stop it, sliding down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, mortified, but Suzie had already noticed.

“Oh, Lyds…” Suzie’s teasing demeanor instantly softened. She scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Lydia’s shoulders and pulling her in.

Lydia stiffened at first, but Suzie didn’t say anything—didn’t push, didn’t pry. She just held her.

And Lydia, exhausted from holding it all in, let herself lean into the comfort.

“I just don’t get why she even thinks about me,” Lydia mumbled after a moment, voice thick. “Like, why am I worth talking about?”

Suzie sighed. “People talk. It doesn’t mean you’re a joke.”

Lydia scoffed. “It felt like it.”

Suzie was quiet for a second, then squeezed her arm. “Even if it was, who cares? Kori’s just some stuck-up girl who thinks she’s better than everyone.”

Lydia let out a shaky breath. “Right.”

“You have so many people who actually like you, you know that?” Suzie nudged her. “Like me, for example. Your favorite person in the world.”

Lydia let out a long sigh, melting into Suzie’s side. She was drained—mentally, emotionally. She just wanted to stop thinking about Kori King, stop replaying every moment from last night, stop feeling like she was losing some unspoken battle she hadn’t even meant to fight.

Suzie gave her shoulder one last squeeze, then pulled back, patting Lydia’s knee. “Alright, you know what we need?”

Lydia wiped at her face, sniffling. “A personality transplant?”

“No, dumbass,” Suzie said, standing up and stretching. “We need a girls’ night.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Fine. A girls’ day. A mental reset.” Suzie pointed at her. “You’re putting on pajamas, I’m ordering Thai food, and we are doing a movie marathon of all your favorites, starting with The Rocky Horror Picture Show .”

Lydia huffed a quiet laugh. “Suze—” 

“Nope. No arguments.” Suzie waggled a finger at her. “You’re getting some Pad Thai, Tim Curry in fishnets, and two hours of not thinking about any blonde sorority girls.”

Lydia wanted to argue—wanted to say she was fine, that this was unnecessary, that she didn’t need a distraction.

But honestly?

It sounded nice. And technically, as a film major, this could count as studying.

“…Fine,” Lydia muttered, standing up and trudging toward her room.  “But only if you order spring rolls.”

“Obviously,” Suzie called after her. 

A little while later, they were curled up on the couch, steaming takeout boxes spread across the coffee table, the opening credits of The Rocky Horror Picture Show rolling onto the screen.

Lydia slumped deeper into the cushions, twirling noodles around her chopsticks as Suzie, already in a better mood, belted out the lyrics to Science Fiction/Double Feature in an exaggerated falsetto.

And maybe it didn’t fix anything.

Maybe it didn’t loosen the tight, uncomfortable knot in Lydia’s chest.

But it helped.

Sitting here, wrapped up in blankets, eating too much food, watching their comfort movie—it reminded Lydia that there was more to life than this stupid situation with Kori. That there were still good things. Safe things.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The next day, Saturday

It was barely past noon when Lydia heard a knock on the door. She was still in bed, curled on her side, letting herself sink further into the cocoon of blankets and self-pity. The weight of last night still clung to her, heavy and suffocating. She wasn’t ready to face the world yet.

“Suzie,” she yelled, “who’s at the door?”

She heard movement—footsteps, the creak of the floorboards, the faint rustle of Suzie pushing open the blinds. Then, Suzie’s voice rang out, far too casual. “It’s Sam. I invited her over. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

Lydia groaned into her pillow. Great.

Sam Star was one of Suzie’s friends from her theatre classes—short, blonde, and carrying the thickest Southern accent Lydia had ever encountered. A costume design major, Sam had met Suzie in Theatre Collaboration 1 last year, and the two hit it off immediately. 

When Suzie first introduced them, Lydia had dismissed Sam without a second thought. A blonde, Southern theatre kid? Lydia thought she had her all figured out—probably some bubbly, pageant-type who'd spent her whole life as the lead in every school musical, charming everyone around her with a perfect smile.

But there was more to Sam than Lydia expected. She was blunt. Sharp-tongued. Unapologetically honest, never hesitating to speak her mind, whether it was a compliment, criticism, or something in between. Lydia, on the other hand, was careful—constantly overthinking every word, choosing her responses with precision, and weighing every option before she spoke. Naturally, their personalities clashed. Sam would roll her eyes at Lydia’s dramatics, and Lydia would bristle at Sam’s relentless, no-holds-barred commentary, convinced that every word was a critique, every glance a judgment.

Sam lived in the same dorm building as Suzie and Lydia, and more often than not, she was at their place instead of her own. Whether it was late-night study sessions or just hanging out, Sam became a fixture in their small, cramped dorm room, adding her energy and her unfiltered thoughts to their space. At first, Lydia found it annoying, but she wasn’t going to ask Suzie to kick her out. 

But then, one night, after too many drinks and a conversation that had started with something casual and spiraled into something much heavier, Sam had shared her story. About what it was like growing up in a tiny Alabama town, knowing she was a lesbian before she even had the words for it. About keeping her head down, playing the part, knowing that if she let anything slip, it wouldn’t just be awkward—it would be dangerous. She had come out in college, miles away from the people who knew her, and even then, it hadn’t been easy.

Lydia felt a pang of guilt. She regretted judging Sam so quickly, assuming things about her without knowing her at all. But as she listened, Lydia came to admire Sam’s honesty. Sam had spent her whole life lying to everyone around her, wearing masks just to survive. Now, for the first time, she was free to be herself—and it was clear that Sam’s bluntness came from a place of authenticity, not malice.

From that night forward, Lydia couldn’t ignore the shift in their relationship. Sam wasn’t just Suzie’s friend anymore—she had become one of Lydia’s closest friends too. She was still blunt, still unfiltered, and still had little patience for Lydia’s dramatics. But now, Lydia understood that Sam’s sharpness wasn’t judgment. It was a reflection of her own survival, of the strength it took to be true to herself in a world that wasn’t kind. Somewhere along the way, Lydia had come to appreciate that about her.

Sam wasn’t the kind of friend you could fool.

Lydia knew that the second she stepped out into the living room, Sam would take one look at her and know something was off. Sam wouldn’t tiptoe around it—she’d ask outright, no hesitation, why her eyes were swollen, why she looked like absolute hell. Sam didn’t sugarcoat things. She wasn’t one to say what you wanted to hear. If you looked bad, she’d say it—and then, without missing a beat, she’d help you fix it. That was Sam. Honest. No pretense. The kind of friend who told you what you needed to hear, even when it wasn’t easy to hear, but who would also roll up her sleeves and be there to help you through it.

Outside her door, Lydia could hear Sam and Suzie chatting. She couldn’t catch the words, but she knew she couldn’t avoid them forever.

Getting out of bed felt like peeling off a second skin. Every movement was sluggish, weighted down by the exhaustion that still clung to her bones. She shuffled into the bathroom, her limbs heavy as lead, and turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto her face. It stung against her tired skin, but the sensation did nothing to erase the damage. Her reflection in the mirror was pitiful—blotchy cheeks, tired eyes, lips pressed into a tight frown that seemed to sink deeper with each passing second.

Lydia rummaged through the cabinet, grabbing the jade roller she’d borrowed from Suzie. She pressed the cool stone beneath her eyes, hoping it would offer some relief from the puffiness. It helped—kind of. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, trying to flatten down the worst of it before securing it into a loose bun. It was a half-hearted attempt, but it was all she could manage.

She brushed her teeth and threw on a sweatshirt over the shirt she’d slept in. She didn’t look her best, but Sam had seen her worse. Lydia remembered the time Sam had come to the dorm while she was recovering from food poisoning.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia braced herself and stepped out of the bathroom. She reached for her glasses on the counter, sliding them on as she squinted at her reflection one last time. The glasses helped cover some of the puffiness, though they didn’t make her look any less like she had just crawled out of a hole. 

The voices in the living room grew louder—Suzie’s laughter mixing with Sam’s unmistakable drawl.

Sam sat with her back perfectly straight on the couch, her posture as precise as always. Her blonde hair was impeccably styled, and her outfit—casual but carefully chosen—looked effortlessly put together, the kind of look Lydia had never quite mastered. Her Southern accent filled the room, warm and confident as she chatted with Suzie.

Lydia leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed defensively. "Hey," she forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

Sam didn’t even look up right away. When she did, her eyes flicked over Lydia quickly, scanning her from head to toe before she raised an eyebrow. “Damn,” she drawled. “Who died?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, feeling a wave of irritation and self-consciousness sweep over her. “Oh, fuck off. Do I really look that bad?” She turned to Suzie, hoping for some backup, but the second she opened her mouth, she could already feel Sam’s judgmental stare lingering on her.

Suzie glanced at Lydia with a slight wince before shrugging. “You’ve looked better.”

Lydia’s shoulders slumped, and she stomped over to the recliner beside the couch, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh. “Does no one tell a little white lie anymore?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

Sam tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, clearly not buying Lydia’s act. “No, but seriously, are you okay? Food poisoning again? I told you to stop going to places with two stars on TripAdvisor.”

“I’m fine.” Lydia tried to sound nonchalant, but even she didn’t believe herself. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping Sam wouldn’t see right through the lie—though, of course, Sam always did.

Sam crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Bullshit.” She raised her eyebrows, looking at Lydia like she was the most open book she’d ever read. “Now tell me what happened, or I’ll make Suzie spill the beans.”

Lydia shot a pleading look at Suzie, who had her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t bring me into this,” Suzie protested, her eyes widening as if she was about to be dragged into a court case. “But, Lyds, if she tries to get it out of me, I don’t think I can hold it in. Please, don’t put me through that.”

Lydia sighed dramatically, falling back into the chair as if it could absorb all her frustration. She didn’t even try to fight it. “Listen to your roommate, Lydia,” Sam added, her voice low, like a challenge. The way Sam was looking at her, with that piercing gaze, Lydia felt like she was being read—every thought, every emotion laid bare.

“Ugh, it’s this girl from my marketing class.” Lydia slumped deeper into the chair, her voice thick with frustration. “It’s stupid.”

Sam’s concern was immediate, her tone shifting to something softer. “My god, what did she do to you?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, her throat tight as she spoke. “She’s just... mean. Like, she’s been cold to me since the moment we met. I have no clue why it’s getting to me so much, but it hurts. You know?”

Sam’s face softened with empathy. “Yeah, trust me, I know.” She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle before adding, “Can’t you just ignore her?”

“Not really.” Lydia shook her head, the feeling of being trapped settling back into her chest. “We sit next to each other. Assigned seats. And we’re partners for the group project, which isn’t over until the end of the semester. I’m stuck with this bitch for a while.”

Sam leaned back against the couch, her eyes narrowing in thought. “That sounds like a nightmare. Honestly, though, it’s kind of impressive that she can get under your skin that much. You usually don’t let people get to you like this.”

Lydia bristled slightly, the truth of Sam’s observation stinging more than she expected. Normally, she was in control, able to dismiss people who rubbed her the wrong way. But with Kori? It was different. Something about her made Lydia feel off-balance, insecure, like she was fumbling in a world where everyone else had it figured out. “I don’t know what it is about her,” Lydia admitted, her voice tight. “She just... makes me feel invisible. Or worse—like I’m doing everything wrong.”

Suzie, who had been quietly listening, chimed in. “You’re not doing anything wrong. If she’s being an asshole, that’s her issue, not yours.”

“Exactly,” Sam added, sitting up straighter, her eyes locking on Lydia with an intensity that made her feel like she was being read like a book. “Don’t let her make you doubt yourself. People like her? They’re the ones with the problem.”

Lydia bit her lip, the familiar anxiety bubbling back to the surface. Her fingers absently curled around the sleeve of her sweatshirt, the fabric soft against her fingertips, grounding her in the moment. “It’s hard not to. She’s... pretty. And confident. And smart. Everything about her just seems perfect, like she’s got it all figured out. And then there’s me—just... trying not to screw up. And somehow, I feel like I’m ruining her perfect life just by existing in it.”

Sam scoffed lightly, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh please. Perfect? You don’t even know her. Maybe she’s got nine toes. Maybe her grandmother’s a murderer, for all we know. People who act perfect? They’re always hiding something.”

Lydia couldn't help but laugh, the tension in her chest easing for a moment. Sam’s blunt, no-nonsense approach was just what she needed to snap her out of her spiral. She appreciated Sam’s way of cutting through the bullshit and getting straight to the point.

“I’m curious now,” Sam said, grinning wickedly. “Someone show me the demon.”

Lydia hesitated for a second but then pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a swipe. She typed in Kori’s name and clicked on her profile. With a sigh, she tossed her phone onto Sam’s lap. “If you like anything, I will literally kill you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Sam smirked, scooting over on the couch to make room for Lydia between her and Suzie. She took the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen.

Lydia stood up from her recliner, arms crossed, pacing as she watched Sam scroll through Kori’s photos. Sam tapped the first photo, a shot of Kori in a tight pink mini dress. She was standing on a balcony, the Boston skyline spread out behind her. The setting sun bathed her in a golden light, and the way she tilted her head, smiling effortlessly, made Lydia’s chest tighten with a mix of admiration and irritation. It looked like something out of a fashion magazine.

Lydia sat down next to Sam as she moved to the next photo, lingering a little longer on this one. Kori was posing with a friend, a girl Lydia recognized as Jane from her other photos. They were both wearing matching red shirts, standing in front of the sorority house. The Greek letters stood out in stark white against the red brick, and the entire picture radiated the kind of polished, perfection that Lydia couldn’t even begin to relate to. 

Sam was thinking something, her expression unreadable, but Lydia couldn’t figure out what.

The next photo was a solo shot of Kori, taken in some trendy café or boutique, maybe—Lydia couldn’t place it. But it didn’t matter. Kori was beautiful. Her smile was radiant, the kind of smile that seemed like it could light up the world, and the photo had that effortless, candid feel, even though Lydia knew it had to be staged. Kori didn’t do anything without thinking it through, Lydia was sure of it.

Sam scrolled again, this time landing on a group photo. It was a picture of four girls, all in short dresses, standing close together. Lydia immediately recognized the two on either side of Kori—Jewels and Lana. The fourth girl was a stranger to Lydia, but frankly, three of them were enough.

Sam looked up from the phone, her face changing in an instant. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together in a tight line.

Lydia caught the shift in Sam’s mood, her own curiosity piqued. "What?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

“That’s Jewels,” Sam said, her voice flat. She didn’t even look at the photo again, her gaze fixed on the wall. “My old roommate.”

“Wait, Jewels from Lydia’s story and Sam’s evil roommate Jewels are the same person?” Suzie chimed in, her voice light but clearly intrigued.

“Yep.” Sam muttered, rolling her eyes and letting out a short breath. She paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what story?”

Lydia shifted uncomfortably, remembering the tension of that night. “I ran into her and Kori in the bathroom at the bar on Thursday. I had a feeling she gave off shady vibes.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

Lydia’s shoulders slumped as she recounted the encounter. “When I introduced myself, she smirked and said she already knew who I was. That’s part of why I lost it earlier. I just... I hate the idea of Kori and her friends talking about me, like I’m some kind of joke.”

Sam’s expression shifted slightly, and she raised an eyebrow. "Well, shit. That’s messed up. I’ll be happy to fight Kori for you if you want. Hell, I’ll even fight Jewels. Actually, regardless of whether you want me to, I may just fight her anyway," Sam added with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Suzie chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned forward, placing a hand on Sam’s arm. "Let’s not resort to violence, okay?" She rolled her eyes playfully but with an undertone of genuine concern. "Lydia doesn’t need a fight, she needs a plan to get her head straight."

Lydia leaned back against the couch, feeling the weight of her thoughts slowly lift. The tension in her shoulders started to melt away as she breathed out, her mind quieting for the first time all day. She let her gaze linger on the phone in Sam’s hands, where Kori’s radiant smile still lingered in her thoughts—but now, it didn’t seem so overwhelming.

Maybe she didn’t have to keep obsessing over Kori. Maybe she didn’t need to let Kori’s presence consume her every thought. Lydia realized, with surprising clarity, that she didn’t have to let Kori have so much power over her. She didn’t even know the whole story. All she had was the feeling Kori had given her, and that didn’t have to define her.

She quietly resolved, with a sense of quiet determination, that Tuesday was going to be different. She wouldn’t let Kori affect her like this anymore. She was going to face her with a clear head, treat her like anyone else—at least, she’d try. She wasn’t going to let the fear of judgment dictate how she felt.

But for now, Lydia let herself be surrounded by the comfort of her friends. Sam and Suzie knew exactly who she was and loved her anyway. These two girls—her friends—were what mattered. They were the ones who stood by her, who didn’t judge her for her messiness or her fears. Kori? She wasn’t going to waste any more of her headspace on someone who didn’t truly matter.

For now, she was just going to be here, in this moment, with her friends who cared. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Tuesday

For what felt like the first time all semester, Tuesday morning wasn’t a total disaster. Lydia woke up feeling… okay. Not great, not glowing, just okay. And honestly? She’d take it. After the emotional tornadoes of previous Tuesdays, “okay” felt like a goddamn vacation.

She felt refreshed. Saturday had been unexpectedly great—after she’d finished her emotionally exhausting trauma dump, Sam and Suzie had declared an emergency girls’ outing and dragged her to a nail salon. Lydia hadn’t realized how badly she needed it until she was already in the chair, the soft whirr of the nail file buzzing like white noise against the static in her head. She chose a cherry red polish—bold, classic, kind of bitchy in the best way. When the first glossy coat went on, she watched it gleam against her pale skin and felt something shift. Just a little.

Her nails were still short—bitten down from stress and practical by default—but the red made them feel intentional. Like she hadn’t just clawed her way through a breakdown the past two days. Every time she looked at her hands, they reminded her of a version of herself she could maybe be: someone a little louder, a little meaner, a little more in control. It was ridiculous, she knew that. They were just nails. But for once, she felt powerful. 

Sunday was quiet—just her, her laptop, and a sugar-free RedBull. For once, she sat at her desk hoping the change of scenery would trick her brain into being productive. Her desk lamp cast a warm glow over the clutter—sticky notes, film books stacked haphazardly, an empty mug she kept meaning to take to the sink. She spent most of the day buried in her film studies, scribbling down ideas for an upcoming paper and rewatching clips from old movies, letting herself get lost in the familiar comfort of analyzing shadows and framing. At some point, she sighed and pulled out her marketing notes, flipping through them with mild resentment. It wasn’t thrilling, but she managed to focus long enough to review the key concepts. Just enough to feel like she’d done something. 

Monday had been great too. After her morning Production 1 class, her professor posted grades for the silent film project. Lydia hated checking grades—it always felt like opening a message from someone you maybe drunkenly texted. But this time, it was different. 100%. Her eyes darted over the comments once, then again. “Beautiful tone and texture. Smart visual choices. Clearly intentional.” She’d spent hours agonizing over that project—rewatching clips, adjusting exposure, doubting every damn frame. But it had been worth it. The validation settled somewhere deep in her chest, warm and buzzing.

Later, in her afternoon class, Lydia found herself unusually sharp. She wasn’t just following the lecture—she was in it, making comments about framing and lens choices, tossing out references to films she actually liked, not just the ones they were assigned. Her professor nodded along, impressed. People even looked at her when she spoke. It was small, but it mattered. It reminded her she wasn’t just floating through school; she had a voice, and sometimes, people listened. By the time she packed up her bag at the end of the day, she felt… okay. Like maybe she could walk into marketing class on Tuesday and survive it. Maybe even with her head up.

Now it was Tuesday, and Lydia stood outside the marketing building, cradling her iced coffee like it might shield her from whatever awkward tension awaited inside. The wind bit at her cheeks, but her cherry-red nails looked fierce wrapped around the plastic cup, so she didn’t care. She took a long sip, squared her shoulders, and walked in.

The hallway smelled faintly of printer toner and someone’s overly ambitious cologne. Her boots clicked against the tile with a little more purpose than usual. When she stepped into the classroom, her gaze moved automatically, annoyingly, to the same place it always did.

Kori was already there, of course. All blonde gloss and pink accessories, straight out of a Pinterest search for ‘girly aesthetic’. She was leaning slightly over her desk, scrolling through her tablet, her hair falling forward in perfect waves like it just happened to look like that. Lydia’s stomach did a little involuntary lurch. Stupid. She told it to shut up.

She wasn’t here for Kori. Not today.

Lydia pulled out her chair and dropped into it without a word. Her eyes stayed fixed on the front of the room, on nothing. She could feel Kori’s presence beside her—bright and humming like a neon sign buzzing just at the edge of her peripheral vision. It was ridiculous. Lydia wasn’t looking at her. She wasn’t avoiding her. She just didn’t need to look. There was a difference.

She pulled out her laptop and opened it with exaggerated care. The soft click of the hinge sounded louder than it should’ve in the buzz of pre-class chatter. Her screen lit up. She scrolled, pretending to read, the words a blur.

But then, just as she started scrolling through her notes, she heard it—that familiar, light, too-casual voice.

“Hey,” Kori said, like they were friends. 

Lydia blinked at her screen. She didn’t respond right away.

“How was your weekend?” Kori asked. Her voice was soft but clear. There was something in the way she said it. Light. Open. Almost… hopeful?

Lydia could practically hear the smile curled around the words.

Which somehow made it worse.

She turned slowly, raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she said, voice flat like a doormat.

A beat passed.

“Why?”

Kori looked mildly surprised—like she hadn’t expected to be challenged. Then, just as quickly, she smiled. That small, soft kind of smile that could be mistaken for politeness if you didn’t know better. But Lydia had been watching too closely for too long.

“No reason. Just wondering.” Kori’s hand drifted up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and Lydia noticed her nails were painted a glossy pale pink again. A little chip at the edge of her thumb. Human. She almost looked… nervous?

Lydia gave a tight, not-quite-smile. More like a glitch in her face. “It was uneventful,” she added, short and sharp like the snap of a twig.

Silence settled between them. Lydia didn’t look, but she could feel Kori turning toward her just slightly. A shift in energy. A glance that lingered a second too long. Like she wanted to say something else—ask something, maybe. But she didn’t.

Instead, a soft “okay,” and the rustle of Kori turning back to her desk.

Lydia stared at her screen, heart ticking a little faster than necessary.

A few minutes later, Professor Visage strode in, flanked by the usual chaos of shoulder bag and tumbler of coffee, and launched into a review for next week’s midterm. Lydia welcomed the distraction. She took notes, underlining phrases she needed to remember and writing down acronyms she’d need to memorize. 

Lydia managed to get through the whole lecture without turning to look at Kori, and she felt proud of herself. There were a few moments where she felt a shift—like the air beside her had changed temperature slightly, like someone was watching her—but she didn’t break. She kept her eyes on the slides, her notes, her pen, anything but the person radiating pink and floral perfume beside her. And now, with the lecture wrapping up, she actually felt prepared . Like she might not totally flunk the midterm.

“How are you feeling for the midterm?” Kori turned to her, voice light and warm, like they were just two normal classmates who didn’t hate each other.

Lydia blinked. For half a second, she didn’t respond—not out of rudeness but surprise. She shouldn’t still be surprised at this point; Kori always tried to make small talk with her. Maybe she was a little fake, maybe she was a little too put together, but she was polite. One of those girls who probably said "thank you" to baristas with eye contact and meant it.

“Pretty good, actually,” Lydia said, her voice catching on the unexpected truth. There was confidence there—quiet but real. It almost startled her. She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I studied over the weekend.”

“That’s great,” Kori said, smiling like she genuinely meant it. “Seriously. I’m glad.”

Glad? Lydia resisted the urge to squint at her. Why would Kori care if she was doing well? It wasn’t like they were friends. And it wasn’t like Kori needed the grade bump from a strong partner—she clearly had this class on lock. No, there was no way she actually cared. Maybe she was just saying that because it sounded nice. Because she was playing some sort of long game Lydia didn’t understand.

Lydia didn’t respond. Instead, she busied herself with shoving her notebook into her bag like it was a delicate operation requiring laser focus.

“If you ever want someone to study with,” Kori added, casually reaching for her iced refresher and taking a sip, “or, like, need help going over stuff—feel free to text me.”

Lydia’s hand froze on her zipper.

What was that supposed to mean? Need help going over stuff ? Was that a dig? Did Kori think she couldn’t handle the material herself? Was this her sorority’s philanthropy initiative? Tutor the weird girl in your class, make a difference?

“Thanks,” Lydia said, short and clipped, her tone stiff enough to make the sarcasm obvious.

Kori nodded. She didn’t look offended—not exactly—but something shifted in her face. Barely. A subtle dimming, like a lamp turned down a notch. Not disappointment. Not quite hurt. Just… quieter. Something Lydia couldn’t read, and didn’t plan to try.

They packed up the rest of their things in silence. Lydia pretended to be completely consumed by the act of wrapping her charger cord.

She was almost at the door when Kori’s voice reached her again—softer this time, but clear. Deliberate.

“I like your nails, by the way. The red really suits you.”

Lydia stopped in her tracks.

Her first instinct was to laugh, like it had to be a joke. But there was no sarcasm in Kori’s tone. No mockery. Just… sincerity.

She turned slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder.

Kori stood a few steps behind, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked briefly to Lydia’s hands, then back up—meeting her gaze for a second that felt like ten.

“Thanks,” Lydia said, after too long a pause. The word came out tight, awkward, like it had caught on something on its way up her throat. She didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and walked—practically ran—out, heartbeat pounding, louder than the click of her boots on the tile.

She liked her nails?

She didn’t smile. She didn’t let herself.

But the words followed her down the hall anyway, clinging to her like static.

The red really suits you.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She glanced down at her hands again, just to make sure they were still there. Yep. Ten fingers, still attached. Nails painted cherry red three days ago at the salon with Suzie and Sam. A little chipped from anxiety-picking, but still mostly intact.

She hadn’t expected anyone to notice—least of all Kori King, who probably had her nails done every week in a new shade of pink.

And red wasn’t even Kori’s color. Lydia had never seen her wear it. Kori was all pretty pinks and soft neutrals, not bold reds. So… why say anything?

Was it a trap? Like one of those backhanded compliments girls in high school used to throw at each other. “You’re so brave for wearing that,” or “That’s such an interesting choice.” But that wasn’t how it had sounded. Kori hadn’t smiled or smirked. She hadn’t laughed. Her voice had been… gentle. Like she meant it.

So maybe she meant it?

But why?

Why would Kori—who barely talked to her outside of this class, who Lydia was certain thought she was weird and insufferable—make a point to say something like that?

Lydia walked faster. Her face was hot. Her palms were sweating.

It was ridiculous. It was just nail polish.

Still, her brain wouldn’t let it go.

Maybe Kori felt sorry for her. Maybe she thought Lydia was so socially inept that a crumb of kindness might stabilize her. Or maybe—no, wait—maybe she was just trying to make herself feel better. Like, “Oh look, I said something nice to the gothy loser girl. Aren’t I so generous and evolved?” 

…Right?

But the way she’d said it—it had been soft. Almost tentative. Like it mattered whether Lydia liked hearing it or not. And that wasn’t like Kori. Or at least, not the version of Kori Lydia had built in her head.

She adjusted her backpack strap, muttering to herself under her breath. “She probably compliments everyone’s nails. She probably complimented the professor’s nails.”

She didn’t believe it.

Because the truth was, no matter how many scenarios she spun out in her brain—sarcasm, manipulation, performative kindness—none of them explained the way Kori had looked at her.

Not smug. Not patronizing. Just… quietly sincere. 

Like she actually meant it.

And that was the worst possibility of all.

Because if Kori meant it—if that tiny, gentle compliment wasn’t part of some game or joke—then Lydia would have to start rethinking everything.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

Not even close.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Thursday

Lydia was back to square one. 

The fragile confidence she’d stitched together—this illusion of emotional detachment, of not caring about Kori King or her unreadable expressions—had lasted all of forty-eight hours. That’s how long it took for one offhand compliment to completely short-circuit her progress.

But this spiral was different.

It wasn’t the usual “Kori hates me and I’ll die alone and get a C in marketing” flavor of anxiety. No, this one was worse. Because this time, it was about the horrifying, destabilizing possibility that Kori might actually like her.

And not just tolerate-her-existence like. Actually like her. Or… at least not hate her. Which was somehow more confusing because why would someone like Kori like someone like her?

On Tuesday, Kori had done two things Lydia couldn’t shake. First, she’d offered to study together. And second—worse—she’d complimented her. Unprompted. No audience. No snark. Just a quiet, deliberate “I like your nails.”

And Lydia hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. She knew it was irrational to obsess over something so small. But she was spiraling. Again.

She hadn’t told Suzie. She couldn’t. Not until she had a definitive answer to the most pressing question of her semester: Does Kori King hate me, or not?

Lydia had spent the last two days in a fog of study sessions, half-finished papers, caffeine crashes, and obsessively replaying every moment of that post-class conversation. When she wasn’t worrying about her midterm, she was mentally cataloging every interaction with Kori and building elaborate, branching theories about her intentions. Kori was starting to feel less like a classmate and more like a puzzle Lydia was trying to solve.

Next Friday, she’d be flying back to Pittsburgh for spring break—seven days of suburban quiet, family dinners, and being roped into playing Mortal Combat with her little brother. Her older brother had his cliché “last college spring break” trip to Cancun with friends, which meant Lydia would be on little-brother-entertainment duty for the week.

She didn’t mind. She was glad her brother still wanted to hang out with her. But she knew she wouldn’t get a second alone to sit in her room and overanalyze Kori’s tone of voice, her facial expressions, the way she said red really suits you like it meant something. No. If she didn’t get clarity before break, she’d be dragging this whole emotional mess onto the plane with her.

She wanted it resolved. Done. Finished.

Which was probably why, against every instinct in her brain screaming this is a bad idea , she reached for her phone and opened Kori’s contact.

Technically, she hadn’t rejected the study offer. She’d just… dismissed it preemptively and maybe a little rudely. But Kori had offered, hadn’t she?

Lydia tapped out a message with all the emotional weight of defusing a bomb:

LYDIA: Hey, if you have time this weekend, do you want to study for the midterm? Maybe go over the case study?

She stared at the message for a solid minute before hitting send. The second it went out, she dropped the phone like it was going to bite her.

Too casual? Too desperate? What if Kori didn’t even remember offering to study with her?

Lydia groaned and flopped backward onto her bed, eyes locked on the ceiling.

She was losing her mind over a straight girl in a pink sweater who had complimented her nails.

She needed a distraction. A chore. Something unimportant but time-consuming and just physically demanding enough to stop her from checking her phone every two seconds.

Her eyes swept over the chaos around her and she grimaced. Her room looked like it had been ransacked by a film student on the verge of a breakdown. Which, to be fair, wasn’t that far off.

She started with the laundry, because it was the most visible and the least emotionally charged. She flung open her closet door and began aggressively folding things—not with care, but with vengeance. T-shirts she hadn’t worn in months were suddenly enemies. That one blue cardigan she’d worn when she first met Kori got an extra hard shake before she stuffed it into the drawer.

Her desk gave her pause. Sacred ground. The nerve center of her academic anxiety. It was dusty, chaotic, and hauntingly familiar. She wiped it down with a damp paper towel, stacked her notebooks in a perfect line, even cleaned the corners with a Q-tip. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

She said she liked your nails. She asked if you wanted to study. Who does that unless they—

Lydia knocked a stack of post-its off the desk just to shut herself up.

She moved to her bookshelf next. Reorganized it by color, then author, then genre, then back to color. She didn’t care that it made no sense. She just needed something to do.

Four hours passed like that. Scrubbing, sorting, pacing, overthinking.

And then her phone buzzed.

Lydia froze mid-reach, a battered copy of Theories of Film and Culture in one hand.

She turned toward the bed slowly, like it might explode.

The screen lit up.

One new message.

She dropped the book on the floor and lunged.

KORI: Sure! I’m free Saturday if that works for you

Lydia stared at the screen. 

Okay. Okay. This was good. She said yes. She said yes.

But Lydia couldn’t respond right away. That would be psychotic. Kori had taken four hours—well, technically four hours and some minutes—to reply. Social protocol demanded at least a one-hour buffer. Forty-five minutes, minimum. She tossed her phone face down on the bed like it was radioactive and started pacing again.

And then it buzzed.

KORI: My friend is also taking the class but is in another section. Would you mind if she studied with us as well? 

Lydia blinked. Once. Twice.

A third person? What did that mean?

Was Kori just being nice before, like a “sure, let’s study” kind of nice, but didn’t actually want to be alone with her? Did Lydia scare her off with the text? Was this a buffer move? Like, “Hey, this girl’s weird, better bring backup”?

Or maybe—maybe—it was innocent. Maybe her friend actually wanted help. Maybe it wasn’t about Lydia at all.

But that somehow felt worse.

She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or irritated. Relieved she wouldn’t have to sit across from Kori, alone in a coffee shop or library corner, pretending she wasn’t analyzing every blink and sigh and sip of her overpriced drink.

But also… annoyed. Because it was Kori’s friend. Which meant sorority-adjacent. Glitter-adjacent. “Let’s say things that sound nice but are actually passive-aggressive” adjacent.

And Lydia did not trust that energy.

She flopped face-down on the bed with a groan, muffled into her comforter.

Why couldn’t this girl just pick a lane? Hate her or like her. Ignore her or compliment her. This middle ground—this weird, polite purgatory—was slowly eating Lydia alive.

After exactly fifty-three minutes—not an hour, but close enough to seem casual without being suspicious—Lydia sat up, picked up her phone, and typed:

LYDIA: Saturday works! And yeah, your friend can join—totally fine.

She stared at it.

Too friendly? Too robotic? Did “totally fine” sound passive-aggressive? Did it scream “I hate this idea but I’m pretending not to”?

She added:

Where were you thinking of meeting?

Then deleted it.

Then retyped it.

Then deleted it again.

Finally, she settled on:

LYDIA: Saturday works! And yeah, your friend can join, no problem :) Where should we meet?

She hovered over the emoticon. Was the smiley face too much? Was it too soft? Too eager?

Then, without giving herself another second to spiral, she hit send.

This time, Kori replied much faster. Five minutes. Lydia counted.

KORI: Great. My house has a nice study room we can use. Is 11 ok?

My house.  

Kori was inviting her to her house.

Her house. As in, her space. Her territory. Her pink, perfumed, glitter-lined world where Lydia absolutely, unquestionably, did not belong.

But also… she was curious. She wanted to know more about the space Kori occupied when she wasn’t with her.

LYDIA: 11 is fine. What’s your address?

Kori sent it almost immediately. Lydia just liked the message—no words, no risk. She had already pushed her luck this far.

Then she did what any sane, rational person would do: She opened Google Maps and pasted the address in.

Street View loaded.

And there it was. The house from the photo she'd looked at with Sam. Kori’s sorority house .

In two days, Lydia would be walking into Kori’s sorority house.

It wasn’t a mansion like the ones on TikTok, but it wasn’t small either—especially not for city housing. The house was red brick, sturdy and symmetrical, with ivy curling up one of the white front columns like it had lived there longer than the sorority itself. Above the door, the Greek letters stood proudly in white, Lydia had no idea what they meant, and she probably would never know.

It looked like a place that hosted brunches and vision board nights. The kind of house where girls left notes for each other in pastel marker and fought over fridge space in matching slippers.

She wondered who else lived there.

Jewels , maybe.

God. She really hoped it wasn’t Jewels. She did not want to see Jewels again—especially not now, knowing the whole messy Sam backstory. The idea of walking into enemy territory, emotionally unarmed, made her stomach twist.

But she’d already agreed. She was doing it. She was going.

To Kori’s house.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Saturday

Lydia stood outside the sorority house, her heart pounding in her chest, but she forced herself to stand still. The morning air was crisp, and she could feel the weight of the moment settle around her shoulders like an invisible coat. She had put in more effort today than she had in weeks—maybe even months—and she hoped it wasn’t too obvious. 

Her hair, typically twisted into a messy bun or ponytail, fell in loose, natural curls around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that felt almost foreign. Her glasses, a necessary but often neglected accessory, rested comfortably on the bridge of her nose. She wore her usual eyeliner, and she’d carefully chosen a red sweater, the same shade as the red nails Kori had complimented on Tuesday. It felt subtle, maybe even subconscious, like a message she wasn’t quite ready to decode.

Her ripped jeans, worn in all the right places, clung loosely to her legs, the frayed edges of the fabric brushing the tops of her boots. She wasn’t trying to look “perfect,” not by any means, but she didn’t want to show up looking like she didn’t care, either.

Lydia inhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves, and forced herself to move, stepping toward the front porch. The Greek letters above the door loomed in her peripheral vision, a stark reminder of everything she wasn’t—and everything Kori was.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she typed her message, glancing around the unfamiliar space before hitting send.

LYDIA: I’m outside.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket, standing awkwardly by the door. She adjusted her sweater, pulling it down over her jeans, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles, as if that would make a difference. But it was a futile gesture—just something to do with her hands.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Lydia turned, her breath catching in her throat as the door swung open. Kori stood there, framed in the doorway, a vision of effortless beauty that made Lydia’s stomach twist. She was dressed casually, but there was something about her that made casual look effortless, like she was always at ease with herself—something Lydia couldn’t quite fathom.

Kori wore black leggings paired with a soft pink crewneck sweater that was emblazoned with the Greek letters across her chest in crisp white. The sweater fit her perfectly—not too tight nor too loose.

Kori’s blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, the strands smooth and flawless, held together with a pastel pink scrunchie. It was so perfect, it almost seemed like it had been placed there by a stylist. A lock of hair fell just above her eye, but she didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.

"Hey," Kori greeted, her soft smile lighting up her face. "Come on in."

Lydia stood frozen for a heartbeat, taking in Kori’s effortless beauty—flawless, like she always looked without even trying. She couldn’t help but feel out of place, standing there in her ripped jeans while Kori appeared as though she’d stepped out of a magazine, even in something as simple as leggings and a sweater. Lydia shifted awkwardly, trying to shake off the discomfort of comparison.

With a quick breath Lydia forced herself to move, stepping over the threshold into the house, away from the cold air outside and into Kori’s perfect world.

"Thanks," Lydia said, her voice sounding softer than she intended, a thin veil of uncertainty creeping in.

"No problem," Kori replied, stepping aside and letting her in. "I’ve got the study room set up. It’s just down the hall."

Lydia followed Kori down the hallway, the faint scent of vanilla trailing behind her, like an invisible tether. She focused on the rhythm of Kori’s steps on the hardwood floor, trying to ground herself in the present moment, to avoid feeling so out of place in Kori’s carefully curated world. As they passed, Lydia glanced at the composite photos on the wall—mementos of all the girls who had been part of the chapter before. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to have that kind of bond with people, to be rooted in a place like this. She couldn’t help but wonder if Kori noticed the weight of it all, or if it was just another part of her effortlessly polished life.

They reached a door at the end of the hall, and Kori opened it with ease, stepping aside to let Lydia in.

The study room was exactly what Lydia expected and yet nothing like it at all. It was larger than she imagined, spacious and inviting. The centerpiece was a long, rectangular table with six chairs neatly arranged around it, the kind of space that screamed collaboration—or perhaps just endless hours of focused studying. The tabletop was bare, save for a laptop, an iPad, a notebook, and a pencil case, all arranged with precise care. Kori’s stuff, Lydia guessed. Her friend wasn’t there yet.

On the far wall, a flat-screen TV hung, slightly out of place in a study room but not entirely impractical. A whiteboard stretched across one side of the room, filled with colorful notes and equations, evidence of a mind that worked in organized chaos.

"This is where we usually study," Kori said, her voice cutting through Lydia’s observations, casual yet inviting. "It’s quiet and not too bad for focus. I told the girls we’d be using it today." She gestured to the table. "Have a seat."

Lydia stepped further into the room, eyes darting around as she tried to take everything in. She felt a sudden, strange urge to sit far away from Kori, as if keeping distance might help her make sense of the situation. But the pull of curiosity about the space—and Kori’s apparent ease in it—kept her moving toward the table.

She took a seat next to where Kori had already set up her things. Kori followed, sitting next to her with an ease that made Lydia feel even more out of place.

“Crystal isn’t going to be here for another hour, but she’s picking up Dunkin’ on her way here. Do you want anything?” Kori asked casually.

Lydia hesitated, her mind spinning. She couldn’t remember the last time she went to Dunkin’. Since meeting Kori, she’d been subconsciously avoiding it. She had no idea what was on their menu beyond regular coffee and whatever that orange drink was that Kori always had. Was it rude to have a girl she barely knew pick up a drink for her? Was it rude to turn her down?

“Uhh, I’ll get that drink you always get,” Lydia replied, her voice uncertain. “The orange one?”

Kori let out a soft laugh, her smile warm and effortless. "The Mango Pineapple Refresher."

"Yeah, that one."

“Have you ever had it before?” Kori asked, her tone light, almost teasing.

“No, but you’re always drinking it. I want to see what the hype is about.”

Kori smiled again, this time softer, like her expression was genuinely meant to make Lydia feel at ease. The way her lips curved, the warmth in her eyes—it threw Lydia off completely. For a split second, her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t help but think, why is she smiling at me like that?

Lydia’s mind spun in circles. This was the same girl who’d been dismissive, condescending, who’d barely acknowledged Lydia in class. The girl who had made her feel like an outsider, like she wasn’t good enough. And yet, here she was, smiling at her with nothing but warmth in her eyes.

Lydia tried to make sense of it all, but the more she thought about it, the more the doubts crept in. Maybe she’d misread everything. Maybe Kori didn’t actually hate her. After all, this wasn’t some rehearsed smile. It felt real. Too real.

But then the familiar voice of insecurity whispered in the back of her mind, What if this is just what Kori does? What if this is all an act? She’s just being nice because they had to work together, because she doesn’t want things to be awkward. Maybe she’s just tolerating you. Maybe she’s trying to be the bigger person.

Lydia tried to push the thought aside, but it wouldn’t go away. She could not fathom that Kori could genuinely like her. It just didn’t make sense. But the more Lydia looked at her, the more she felt like there was something else there—something that didn’t fit with the story she’d told herself about Kori.

Lydia couldn't hold back the thought anymore. It had been nagging at her for so long, and the uncertainty was starting to eat at her from the inside out. Her voice came out quieter than she intended, almost as if she was afraid of the answer.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Kori blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. The smile on her face faltered for just a second, and Lydia immediately regretted asking. She watched Kori process the question, waiting for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

“What do you mean?” Kori asked, confusion flickering in her expression.

Lydia’s heart pounded. She hadn’t meant to ask it like that. She hadn’t meant to put Kori on the spot. “I’m just... confused,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, hoping Kori wouldn’t press her too much. But the question had slipped out, and Lydia couldn’t take it back.

Kori didn’t seem bothered. Instead, she just looked at Lydia, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. “I’m smiling because I’m happy that my friend wants to try the drink I like,” she said, her voice soft and steady, like she wasn’t trying to hide anything. “I didn’t think it was such a big deal.”

Lydia’s breath caught. The word friend echoed in her head, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t expected that. Friend? Her? Was this some kind of mistake?

“You said friend ,” Lydia repeated, her voice tighter than she’d meant. “Are we... are we friends?”

Kori blinked, clearly surprised by the question, and for the first time, Lydia saw her uncertainty. It wasn’t the confident, effortless Kori that Lydia was used to—it was the softer side, the one that seemed unsure, maybe even vulnerable. “I thought we were,” Kori said slowly, almost hesitantly. “Or at least, we could be.”

Lydia’s chest tightened, and for a second, she couldn’t find the words. “Oh,” she said, her voice small, like it was the only thing she could manage.

Kori’s expression softened, and she seemed to take a step back, as if giving Lydia space to process. “We don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to be,” Kori added, her voice quieter now, like she was treading carefully. “We can just stick to being project partners. I know you don’t really like me, but I thought... I thought you accepting my invitation to study meant maybe we were friends. I’m sorry if I misunderstood.”

Lydia’s heart skipped a beat. I know you don’t really like me. The words echoed in her mind, and suddenly it clicked. Kori had thought Lydia didn’t like her? What had she been thinking all this time?

Lydia took a moment to gather her thoughts. She couldn’t believe it, but now she saw it. All this time, she’d been avoiding Kori, assuming she hated her, thinking she was unapproachable. But Kori had been trying, hadn’t she? She thought I didn’t like her, Lydia realized, and the weight of that hit her harder than she expected.

“I don’t dislike you,” Lydia said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She avoided Kori’s gaze, her fingers tapping nervously on the table. “I’m happy to be friends.”

Kori’s face brightened instantly, the tension easing from her features. “Ok, good. That’s settled, then. We are friends now,” she said with a smile, as if everything had just fallen into place.

Lydia exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness of the conversation. She felt a small sense of relief—maybe even a weight lifting from her chest—now that the air between them was a little clearer. They were friends. Or at least claimed to be.

“Well,” Kori said, breaking the silence, “let’s get started. I’ll pull up the notes, and we can figure out where to start.”

Lydia nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of her notebook. She was still processing everything, trying to adjust to the reality that this wasn’t some fluke. She wasn’t just a project partner to Kori—this was actually a study session. As friends. Her heart gave a quick, unexpected flutter, but she forced herself to focus. No time for distractions. This was just studying. Nothing more. 

Kori tapped on her laptop, pulling up the study guide Professor Visage had posted. Her gaze shifted to Lydia, and she flashed that easy smile that had become so familiar, one that seemed to imply everything was okay between them. Maybe, just maybe, Lydia had been wrong about Kori’s intentions all along. Wrong about everything.

Lydia pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the notes Kori had opened. They were friends, right? Just friends. No more overthinking. She tried to settle into the rhythm of studying. Back-and-forth exchanges of notes, definitions, acronyms. It was... comfortable. Almost natural. Lydia was surprised by how easily she was falling into the flow of it all—laughing at a joke Kori made, contributing more to the conversation than she had expected.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the space between them didn’t feel loaded with tension. It felt... easy. Like the walls Lydia had built around herself were slowly crumbling. The sense of unease, the nagging feeling that she was out of place, started to fade, and she was almost enjoying herself.

She didn’t realize how much time had passed until the sound of the front door creaked open, followed by the soft jingle of keys and distant voices.

Kori glanced up. “That must be Crystal,” she said, standing up. “She’s probably got the drinks.”

Lydia stayed put, her hand still wrapped around her pen, still processing how casual everything felt now. She was sitting in Kori’s study space, surrounded by her things—her world. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was just new. A little surreal, even. The footsteps grew louder, and before Lydia had time to even think about it, Crystal appeared in the doorway.

“Hey!” Crystal greeted with a grin, holding up a tray of three Dunkin’ cups. She had that easygoing, effortlessly cool energy that matched Kori. Lydia recognized her from the group photo on Kori’s Instagram—the fourth girl. “Got the goods,” she said, her voice warm and welcoming as she walked into the room. She handed one of the cups to Kori, who accepted it with a smile.

“Thanks, Crystal,” Kori said, already taking a sip.

“This is Lydia,” Kori continued, nodding toward her. “My partner for the project.”

Crystal turned her attention to Lydia, flashing a friendly, easy smile. “Nice to meet you!” she said, plopping down in a chair across from Lydia. “I’m lowkey jealous you guys got good partners. I swear mine’s the most annoying dude ever. I can’t wait for this project to be over.”

Lydia blinked, still a little taken aback by the casual way Crystal spoke. Also, good partners —maybe Kori hadn’t been talking badly about her afterall. She glanced at the cup Crystal had placed on the table in front of her. “Thanks,” Lydia murmured, a little unsure of how to respond but feeling a small sense of warmth from the gesture.

“Anytime,” Crystal replied with a wink before turning back to Kori. “So, how’s it going? I’m so not ready for this midterm.”

Kori shrugged, a relaxed smile on her face. “It’s been alright. We were just about to start reviewing the case.”

“Ugh, the case is so stupid,” Crystal groaned, flopping back in her chair, across from Lydia and Kori. “Who cares about microbreweries? Why couldn’t they give us something more interesting? Like, I don’t know—MAC or something?”

Lydia couldn’t help but smile at Crystal’s candidness, the way she seemed so unbothered by everything. It made Lydia feel a little more at ease.

The three of them settled into a comfortable rhythm, their voices a quiet hum as they went through the study materials. Crystal was easily distracted, but Kori’s focus was unwavering. Lydia found herself falling into step with them, going over case study examples, sharing thoughts on the marketing strategies, and even tossing in a couple of jokes that made Crystal laugh. It was easy—more natural than Lydia had expected.

Kori was patient with Lydia, explaining concepts when she got stuck, and Crystal kept the atmosphere light with her commentary, throwing in her opinions on the case study and course concepts every now and then. Lydia felt herself relax further, the unease that had clung to her earlier slowly slipping away.

“So, we’re all set for this,” Crystal said, tossing her pen down after another round of review. “I swear, I might actually do okay on this midterm. I just wish I could stop procrastinating, but hey—this study session’s been a good distraction.”

“Yeah, it’s been helpful,” Lydia agreed, her voice feeling steadier now that the tension between her and Kori had dissolved. She glanced over at Kori, who was still flipping through the notes on her laptop, her expression focused but calm. For once, Lydia felt like she wasn’t just sitting on the outside of Kori’s world—she was a part of it.

“We’ve been at it for a while,” Kori said, glancing at the clock. “I think we’re good for now. If you feel ready for the midterm, that is.”

Lydia blinked, surprised by how quickly time had passed. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 4 p.m.

“Oh, wow,” Lydia said, gathering her things. “I should probably head out.”

Kori stood up with her, grabbing her bag. “I’ll walk you out,” she said, her voice warm. It felt like a simple gesture, but to Lydia, it was one more small thing that made everything feel… real.

As they walked toward the door, Lydia hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Thanks for today,” she said quietly, not quite meeting Kori’s eyes. “I really appreciate you helping me study.”

Kori smiled, her expression soft. “Of course. You’re welcome. I’m glad we could do this together.”

Lydia swallowed, the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, right? For the midterm?”

“Definitely,” Kori said with a nod. “We’ve got this. See you then.”

Lydia smiled, her chest feeling unexpectedly warm as she stepped out onto the porch. She watched as Kori closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment. Her mind was still buzzing, the usual anxious, self-doubting noise was still there but this time, it was different. She felt... unsettled, in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the door, wondering if it would all fall apart somehow. Why does Kori even want to be friends with me? The thought struck her out of nowhere. She had barely known Kori for two months, and in that short time, Lydia had been sure that Kori was just tolerating her because of the project. Sure, Kori had been nice today, but was that just a fluke? 

But Kori had walked her to the door. She’d smiled at her, like it was completely natural. She’d called her a friend. A friend. Lydia swallowed, the word hanging in her mind like a question she wasn’t ready to answer.

Kori was everything Lydia wasn’t—outgoing, confident, easy to talk to. Kori had a whole world around her, full of people who loved her, a social life that seemed effortless. What did someone like Kori see in someone like Lydia? The question kept echoing in her mind, gnawing at her.

Lydia had never been a part of a crowd, never been someone who could slip into a group and instantly feel like she belonged. She didn’t exactly think of herself as the kind of person others wanted to hang out with. And yet, Kori—who could have anyone she wanted—had made space for Lydia. Had made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she mattered.

Lydia shook her head slightly, as though trying to shake off the thoughts, but they kept coming back. Was Kori being nice because she meant it? Or was it just… generosity? Pity? Lydia didn’t know. But deep down, it was starting to feel like more than that.

Am I reading too much into this? She almost wanted to laugh at herself. She wasn’t used to people treating her like this—not without some kind of agenda. So why was Kori?

She picked up her pace, the cold air nipping at her cheeks. There were more important things to focus on—like the midterm. But still, her thoughts circled back to the same place.

Why would a perfect, beautiful Malibu Barbie want anything to do with a Monster High doll?

Why would a straight, sunny sorority girl want to be friends with a lesbian goth weirdo?

They didn’t make sense. They barely knew each other. And still, Kori had smiled and said it— friend —like it meant something.

It felt like a question Lydia wasn’t ready to answer.

But maybe it was one she couldn’t ignore anymore.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Tuesday

Lydia’s alarm went off at 7:30, but she’d already been awake for twenty minutes, lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling like it might cough up the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. Her stomach felt like it had collapsed in on itself overnight, twisted up into knots too tight to untangle. 

She groaned, rolled over, and smacked the snooze button—even though she knew she wasn’t going back to sleep. Today was the day. Midterm day. And not just any midterm—her marketing midterm. Her stupid midterm for her stupid marketing class.

Lydia didn’t do well with exams. She wasn’t built for time limits and answer sheets; she wanted room to breathe, to create, to think. Give her a paper, a film project, even a critique. Anything but this: a high-pressure sprint where the questions might not even match what you studied.

She sat up slowly, dragging herself out of bed like she was marching to the gallows. Her room was cold, the usual chill of early March clawing at her bare legs as she shuffled toward the bathroom. In the mirror, her reflection looked tired, skeptical, and vaguely betrayed—like she’d aged three years overnight. She splashed cold water on her face and tried to reason with herself: You studied. You have notes. You did the practice questions. You understand the difference between market penetration and product development now.

Kind of.

Still, the voice in her head wouldn’t let up.

You’re going to blank. You’re going to sit there and forget everything. Kori’s going to ace it, and you’re going to look like an idiot. Again.

She pulled on her favorite black hoodie—her unofficial armor for exams—and forced herself through a few bites of toast, though every chew made her feel queasy. Her fingers twitched as she poured coffee into her travel mug, already buzzing before the caffeine had even hit.

Keys. Glasses. Wallet. Student ID. Pens. Pencils. Eraser. Coffee. Phone.

She went through her mental checklist twice before finally grabbing her backpack and heading for the door. 

Just as she reached for the handle, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen, thumb hovering.

KORI: Good luck today!! You’ve got this :)

Lydia blinked. The message was short, simple, with that signature Kori optimism that made her both roll her eyes and—god help her—smile. She read it again, heart doing a weird little flutter as she typed back

LYDIA: you too :)  

Then immediately regretted not saying something cooler.

She slipped her phone into her pocket and exhaled into the frozen morning air, her breath clouding in front of her like a thought she couldn’t quite catch. Maybe she didn’t feel ready. Maybe she’d never feel ready. But at least she wasn’t alone.

The walk to the exam center felt longer than usual, like the sidewalk had decided to stretch itself just to mess with her. The wind slapped her cheeks raw, and even her emo playlist—currently screaming in her ears—couldn’t untangle the knot of dread in her chest. Every step closer made her stomach heavier. She felt like she was marching to her doom with nothing but a cheap mechanical pencil and a half-functioning brain cell.

When she finally arrived, the building was already buzzing. Students clustered in groups outside, flipping through flashcards, quizzing each other, overexplaining concepts like it would magically save them. Lydia hovered near the edge of the crowd, trying to look busy on her phone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She definitely didn’t want anyone to talk to her.

And then, of course, she spotted her.

Kori stood near the entrance, bright as ever in a pink-and-white cardigan and black leggings, chatting with Crystal like it was just another Tuesday. Before Lydia could look away, Kori’s eyes found hers—and lit up.

“Lydia!” she called out, waving like they were best friends. Like this wasn’t the most stressful morning of Lydia’s life.

Lydia trudged over, pretending her heart wasn’t suddenly pounding for entirely non-academic reasons.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

“Ready to die?” Crystal asked dryly, but she offered a sympathetic smile.

“Emotionally, physically, spiritually,” Lydia replied, managing a small smirk.

Kori laughed—an actual, full laugh. “You’re gonna be fine. We studied so much. You knew, like, all the product differentiation stuff better than I did.”

Lydia blinked. That wasn’t even remotely true, but the compliment caught her so off guard she just nodded, cheeks heating. She hated how much it mattered that Kori believed in her.

They followed the crowd inside, the exam room already half-filled with students staking out seats. Without thinking too hard, Lydia followed Kori and Crystal down a row, where Kori plopped into a seat and tossed her bag under the desk.

“Sit here,” Kori said, patting the seat to her right. 

Lydia obeyed before her brain could come up with a reason not to.

Crystal dropped into the seat on Kori’s other side and leaned over to whisper something that made Kori giggle.

Lydia kept her eyes on the desk. Everything felt too loud. Too bright. Her hands were clammy. Her heart wouldn’t shut up.

But then Kori nudged her elbow gently and said, “Good luck. You’ve got this.”

It was soft. Simple. Probably something Kori said to everyone.

But somehow, those four little words quieted the buzzing in Lydia’s head more than all the sad songs in the world.

✿

The second the exam ended, Lydia felt like she could breathe again—at least a little bit. Her mind was still a swirl of vague memories and half-formed thoughts, but the pressure was gone. The countdown on the clock had made the last few minutes feel like hours, but now it was over. The TAs swept through the aisles, collecting exam booklets, and then—freedom.

She stood up from her seat, the weight of her body suddenly too much, her legs shaky from being cooped up in one position for so long. Her brain was still spinning: Had she written enough? Had she accidentally circled the wrong answers on the multiple choice questions? God, please let it be at least a B.

Kori was already up, slinging her pink tote over one shoulder, looking infuriatingly relaxed for someone who’d just spent two hours locked in academic battle. Crystal groaned dramatically behind her, stretching like she’d just finished a marathon.

“I’m so done with that,” Crystal said, grinning. “That was brutal, but hey, we survived.”

Lydia nodded, her throat tight. She hadn’t felt in control for a single second of that test, but it was over now. Done. The only thing left to do was wait—and hope she hadn’t completely tanked it.

As they made their way out of the exam hall, Kori matched Lydia’s pace with Crystal following by her side.

“Hey, how do you think you did?” she asked.

Lydia shrugged, though she couldn’t quite mask the uncertainty in her expression. “I have no idea. I feel like I just guessed on half of it.”

Kori tilted her head, that warm, annoying smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll be fine. Seriously. You know way more than you give yourself credit for.”

Lydia’s heart did that thing again, a flutter she couldn’t explain but wasn’t ready to admit. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t sure she liked or hated.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Lydia said, trying to sound nonchalant as she fiddled with the strap of her bag.

They stepped outside, blinking against the bright midday light. The cold slapped her in the face, sharp and sudden after the stuffy exam room. Lydia pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders as they all stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next.

Crystal spoke first. “I need coffee. Like, now. You guys want to join?”

Kori perked up. “Yes. Dunkin’? I’m craving something that’s, like, 90% sugar.”

Lydia hesitated. Her instinct was to decline, to retreat into her room and spiral in peace. She wasn’t sure she was up for socializing right now—she was still processing the exam, her mind swirling with doubts. But then Kori’s smile flashed in her head, and for some reason, Lydia didn’t want to say no. Kori had been kind to her recently. And despite everything Lydia was feeling, she couldn’t shake the thought of wanting to spend more time with her.

“Sure,” Lydia found herself saying, her voice sounding almost too casual. She wasn’t entirely sure she could even hold a conversation at this point, but she couldn’t bring herself to back out.

Crystal clapped. “Hell yes. Let’s go.”

The three of them started walking towards the nearest Dunkin’, Crystal and Kori falling into a natural rhythm, their conversation flowing easily, chatting like two old friends. Lydia trailed beside them, listening but not speaking, still half-trapped in her own head. She felt like an outsider, watching them, still not quite sure where she fit into this dynamic. She shouldn’t have agreed to this. What was she thinking? She could never blend in with Kori and her friends. They were all so… normal. And Lydia? She was still the weird film student with too many thoughts and not enough confidence.

She was snapped out of her spiral by Crystal’s voice.

“Are you doing anything for spring break, Lydia?”

Lydia blinked, still a little lost in her thoughts. “Going home,” she said, forcing herself to focus.

Kori’s voice cut in, curious. “Where’s home?”

“Pittsburgh. I leave on Friday.” Lydia tried to sound casual, normal. “What about you guys?” she asked, pushing the anxiety back down.

“Girls trip,” Crystal answered. “Jewels’ family is in Tampa, so we’re all crashing there for the week.”

Lydia nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. “That sounds fun.”

It did sound fun. The kind of fun people like Kori had without even trying—sun-soaked and loud, full of matching swimsuits and Instagram stories, inside jokes and week-long sleepovers. Lydia’s version of spring break looked like her childhood bedroom, dim and dusty, her mom’s questions about her future hanging in the air like smoke. 

Suzie had offered to take her to Ft. Lauderdale—offered an escape, a real break—but Lydia had said no. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was just easier to default to what she knew, even if what she knew made her feel small.

She didn’t say any of that, of course. Just smiled and tucked her hands deeper into her pockets, letting the conversation drift as they crossed the parking lot. Their footsteps crunched over patches of salt and gravel, the cold air biting at her cheeks until, finally, they reached the doors of the coffee shop.

The smell of coffee hit her the second they stepped inside—warm, sugary, slightly burnt. Lydia hadn’t realized how tense her body was until the door closed behind them and the chill gave way to the hum of machines and quiet conversation. Dunkin’ wasn’t exactly relaxing, but it was familiar. Predictable. A little too pink and orange. Just like Kori.

Kori led the way to the counter like she knew exactly what she wanted—of course she did—and Crystal was already scanning the menu overhead, muttering something about getting two donuts and not judging herself for it.

Lydia hovered behind them, not sure where to stand, not sure what to order, not sure if she even wanted anything. Her stomach still felt knotted from the test.

“You getting anything?” Kori asked, glancing back at her.

Lydia blinked. “Uh. Maybe just a coffee.”

Kori gave a little nod, her ponytail swaying as she turned back toward the counter. “Classic.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Did you end up liking the mango pineapple refresher?”

Lydia froze. The question landed like a pebble in her gut—small, but with ripples. She had tried Kori’s favourite drink when they studied together on Saturday. She had wanted to see what the hype was about. But the refresher had been… bad. Like, painfully sweet, aggressively fake fruit, teeth-hurting bad. Lydia had chugged most of it when Kori wasn’t looking out of sheer politeness.

But now Kori was looking at her like her opinion actually mattered.

“Yeah,” Lydia said, forcing her voice to sound light. Lydia hesitated. Her mind scrambled for neutral words. Not bad, not amazing. Just... safe. She shrugged one shoulder, trying to seem casual. “It was... really fruity.”

Kori laughed, completely missing the dodge. “Right? It’s basically liquid sunshine. Jewels says it tastes like melted lip gloss, but I think that’s what makes it so good.”

“Melted lip gloss,” Lydia echoed weakly. She had, in fact, thought the exact same thing, but not in a good way.

Crystal was at the register now, ordering her two donuts with a confident “don’t judge me” that made the cashier smile.

Lydia shuffled forward next. “Uh, just a small black coffee, please.”

Kori turned toward her, mock-offended. “No sugar? No milk? Not even a little flavor shot?”

“I’m in mourning,” Lydia said dryly. “For my GPA.”

That earned her a soft laugh from Kori, and something in Lydia’s chest eased. It was such a small thing—a laugh, a flicker of shared amusement—but it landed with surprising weight. Warmer than the coffee shop. Brighter than the fluorescent orange sign above them.

They stepped aside to wait for their drinks, the three of them clustered near the pick-up counter while machines hissed and beeped behind them. The air smelled like syrup and scorched milk, the kind of smell that stuck to your clothes.

When their names were finally called, they found a table by the window—small, round, wobbly on one leg. Crystal slid into her seat like she owned the place, already tearing into a glazed donut, while Kori set her refresher down and unwrapped a blueberry muffin with delicate precision.

Lydia took the seat across from them, cradling her coffee like it might give her some kind of clarity. It didn’t.

“So,” Crystal said, turning to Kori, “have you found your dress for formal yet?”

Lydia’s gaze flickered to Kori, but she quickly dropped her eyes back to her coffee, trying to look casual. Formal. That word hung in the air for a moment longer than it should have. She hadn’t heard it used in this context since high school. The “formals” she’d attended back then were... well, they weren’t the glossy, Instagram-ready nights everyone seemed to talk about. More like awkward dances where she felt like an outsider, having been one of the only out queer women at her school.

She focused on the coffee in front of her, gripping the cup a little tighter. A sorority formal felt like another world, one she’d never quite fit into and one she would never be invited to. 

Kori’s voice broke through the haze of her thoughts. “Formal isn’t until the end of the month,” Kori replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Have you?”

Crystal snorted, her voice full of mock disbelief. “Of course. Are you crazy? It’s 23 days away. You need to be better prepared.”

Lydia’s fingers stayed tight around her coffee cup, the heat from the paper cup barely enough to distract her from the growing sense of discomfort. They were effortless together, Lydia noticed. Not in a performative way, but in a language she didn’t speak. Everything between them was easy, bright, fluid. Lydia felt like she was trying to swim in clothes that didn’t fit—heavy, clumsy, wrong.

“I’ll order one online, I already know what I want to wear,” Kori added, her tone light but sure.

Lydia barely registered the words, her mind already drifting. She couldn’t stop imagining Kori in a perfect dress, something effortlessly stylish, probably with the kind of confidence Lydia could never fake.

Crystal raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who you’re bringing yet?”

That got Lydia’s attention. She shifted in her seat, trying not to seem too eager to hear the answer, but she couldn’t help herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Kori’s face as she responded, trying to decipher the meaning behind her expression. Who would Kori bring to something like this? Probably some obnoxious frat boy who thought a backward hat was a suitable accessory for formalwear. Or maybe someone like... well, maybe someone like Kori. She could easily imagine Kori effortlessly charming some unsuspecting guy into being her date.

“No, not yet,” Kori replied, rolling her eyes slightly. “Haven’t even thought about it.”

Lydia could feel the silence stretch out between them, thick and unspoken, and she glanced up again. Kori and Crystal were looking at each other the way Kori had looked at Jewels in the bathroom last week. It was subtle, but there. The kind of look that made Lydia feel like she was missing something—a private joke, a shared moment, something she wasn’t meant to understand. And it bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Lydia quickly looked down again, pretending to focus on her coffee, even as she could feel her pulse quicken. She didn’t want to make assumptions—she knew better than that. But she had watched enough movies, and maybe it was just the way their expressions shifted, the way they shared that look, that made her think there was something more to it. Something Lydia wasn’t meant to know.

Kori seemed to sense the shift, and her gaze softened as she turned toward Lydia.

“You know,” Kori said, breaking the silence, “we’re probably boring you with all this formal talk.” She paused, then added with a slight smile, “Let’s talk about something else. Any exciting plans for when you’re home?”

Lydia’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her brain offered a carousel of responses— I’ll probably sit in my childhood bedroom and overanalyze every decision I’ve ever made , maybe I’ll take my mom’s car to Target just to feel like I’m doing something , I don’t know, Kori, what do normal people do when they go home?

Instead, she forced a smile. “Probably just hanging out with my parents and brother. Seeing some friends from high school. Nothing too crazy.”

Kori tilted her head slightly, studying Lydia for a moment before nodding, as if she understood. “Sounds like a nice break, though. Sometimes you just need those quiet moments, right?”

Lydia’s smile felt a little less forced now, though still a bit tight around the edges. “Yeah. I guess. It’s... familiar, you know? Not the worst thing.”

The conversation drifted on, with Crystal and Kori doing most of the talking, and Lydia offering occasional comments that felt more like placeholders than actual contributions. Lydia was thankful for the brief reprieve from the mountain of work she had to finish before Friday. But as the conversation continued, she began to feel it—a slow, insidious suffocation. Sitting at the table with Kori and Crystal, she felt like an outsider in a world she wasn’t sure she fit into.

Every time someone walked past them, Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what they thought. Did they notice how out of place she was? How different she was from them? It was like she was constantly looking over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone else saw what she saw when she looked at herself.

Kori had called them friends, but Lydia still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around it. It was an idea that slipped through her fingers, a puzzle that refused to fit. Part of her wanted to ask Kori outright—what exactly could a friendship with Lydia offer? What was the point of it, really? But she knew better than to ask. It felt like opening a can of worms she wasn’t ready to deal with. So instead, she sat there, playing along with the conversation, trying to convince herself everything was fine—even though inside, she was anything but sure.

Eventually, Crystal glanced at her watch, breaking the rhythm of the conversation. “I’ve got to head out, guys. Study session,” she said with a slight sigh, standing up and gathering her things.

Lydia felt an unexpected wave of relief. The weight of the conversation, the constant feeling of being on the outskirts, started to lift—if only for a moment. She watched as Crystal shrugged into her jacket, her movements easy, familiar. 

She stood up as well, grabbing her bag, and glanced at Kori. The moment felt oddly fragile, like she might shatter if she moved too quickly. Kori was still standing near the table, her movements easy, as if she’d been in this space a thousand times before. There was no rush, no pressure in the way she navigated the world. For a brief moment, Lydia envied that confidence.

“See you later?” Kori asked, her tone light, the question almost casual, as if they were just passing through another ordinary moment.

Lydia nodded, her voice quiet but genuine. “Yeah, see you.”

The three of them walked out into the cool air, the door jingling behind them as it swung closed. The chill hit Lydia like a sudden wave, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the coffee shop she’d just left. Her steps were slow, the weight of the moment pressing in as she navigated down the sidewalk. She kept her gaze straight ahead, not wanting to look back, not wanting to feel like she was the one who had to walk away.

But then, against her better judgment, she turned.

Kori was a few steps behind her, walking in the opposite direction, her blonde hair bouncing with each step, her pink puffer coat standing out against the gray of the sidewalk.

Lydia paused, taking it in, watching Kori from a distance as if she were a scene in a movie she didn’t quite belong in. Kori looked so... effortless, her presence blending seamlessly into the world around her. There was something so natural about the way she moved, about the way she belonged here, in this world of easy smiles and unspoken understanding.

She held her gaze on Kori for a moment longer before she tore herself away, turning forward and continuing down the sidewalk. The air felt colder now, but the silence that surrounded her was oddly comforting, like it was her own, a space she could breathe in, even if it was all she could hold onto at that moment.

Chapter Text

It was just past 3:00 p.m. when Lydia pushed open the apartment door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of Suzie’s lavender candle drifting faintly through the air. The soft clack of laptop keys echoed from the dining table, where Suzie sat hunched over her computer, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. She looked like she was deep in some paper about Chekhov or Brechtor or one of the other dramatic dead guys Lydia always pretended to know more about than she did.

Sunlight filtered in through the living room window, painting warm golden stripes across the hardwood floor. Lydia paused just past the doorway, letting the stillness settle around her. She didn’t want to disturb Suzie. More than that, she didn’t want to talk. Not about her day. Not about the coffee shop. And definitely not about Kori King and whatever the hell was happening between them.

She moved carefully, quietly, slipping off her boots and aiming for the sanctuary of her room. But she should’ve known better—Suzie had hearing like a bat and instincts like a hawk.

“Hey, did you just get back?” Suzie called out, spinning in her chair just as Lydia passed the couch.

Lydia froze mid-step. “Uh... yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a mumble.

Suzie’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “It’s 3:00 p.m. I thought your midterm ended at eleven?”

Lydia shifted her weight from one foot to the other, throat tightening. She hated lying—she wasn’t good at it—but she also really didn’t want to unpack the mess of emotions tangled up in her afternoon. How could she explain that Kori had gone from being the person who made her stomach twist with irritation to the person who made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t even name? That she had somehow spent three hours with someone who she was calling her ‘mortal enemy’ last week?

She crossed her arms, stalling. “I went for coffee after.”

Suzie blinked. “You?” she said, like Lydia had announced she’d joined a circus. “You always, like, sprint home after exams and spend the rest of the day spiraling about how you definitely failed a multiple-choice question on purpose.”

That was fair. Lydia’s post-exam spiral was a well-documented phenomenon in their apartment. She’d perfected the art of the dramatic meltdown: burst through the door, flop onto the couch, and relive every test question like it had personally wronged her.

But today had been different. And Lydia wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

She offered a weak shrug. “Maybe I just... wanted to try something new. You always say you hate when I catastrophize.”

Her voice betrayed her, cracking slightly at the edges. She tried to steady herself, but the nerves were winning.

Suzie tilted her head, studying her. Seventeen months of cohabitation had turned her into a human lie detector. She knew all of Lydia’s tells—every nervous tick, every avoidant glance.

“You’re being weird,” Suzie said flatly. “Tell me what’s going on, or I’m calling Sam and having her drag it out of you.”

That made Lydia bolt upright. “No,” she said quickly, her back hitting the bedroom door like a shield. “Do not call Sam.” 

Sam had been patient with her when she was spiraling about Kori two weeks ago. She had talked Lydia down from ledges—metaphorical ones, but still—and never once told her she was being ridiculous, even when Lydia knew she probably was. She couldn’t  go back now and be like, ‘Oh hey, remember that girl who emotionally wrecked me for like a month Yeah, she’s my friend now. We had lattes.”

Lydia let out a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine,” she muttered, exhaling like she was about to confess to a crime. “But you have to promise not to make it a whole thing.”

“I make no promises,” Suzie said cheerfully, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Now spill.”

Lydia stared at the floor for a long second, then leaned her head back against her bedroom door like she might melt into it. 

“Okay,” she exhaled. “So. After the exam... I didn’t come straight home because... I ended up getting coffee.”

“You already said that,” Suzie raised an eyebrow. “Did you go alone?”

Lydia hesitated, then muttered, “No. With Kori. And her friend.”

Suzie blinked, confused. “Kori—as in Kori King ?”

Lydia gave her a deadpan look. “No, Suzie. The other Kori I’ve been emotionally spiraling over for the last month.”

Suzie blinked again, slower this time, and the suspicion in her face deepened. “Wait, what? Does she not hate you anymore? What the hell happened this week that you haven’t told me about?”

Lydia rubbed the back of her neck, clearly wishing she could vanish into the floor. “I went to her place to study on Saturday.”

Suzie’s jaw dropped. “You went to her house ?” Her voice shot up to a full-blown yell, loud enough that Lydia glanced anxiously at the ceiling like their upstairs neighbor might come stomping down.

“Um. Yeah,” Lydia said, wincing. “And while I was there she said we were... friends.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“ WHAT?! ” Suzie practically exploded, slamming her laptop shut. “Hold on. No. Back up. We need to go back.”

Lydia opened her mouth, but Suzie steamrolled on.

“Two weeks ago, she was being a bitch to you in class and possibly talking shit with her Barbie Brigade. And now you’re telling me you hang out at her house and get coffee together? I need to sit down.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “You are sitting.”

Suzie ran both hands through her hair, looking genuinely baffled. “I am so confused. Lydia. What the fuck is going on?”

Lydia let out a low groan and sank down to the floor, folding her legs under her. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t get it either. It just... happened. And I think she actually likes talking to me? Or she’s really good at pretending.”

Suzie stared, still processing. “I don’t know if I trust it.”

Lydia didn’t argue. She just rested her head back against the door and closed her eyes.

Suzie didn’t speak right away. She just stared at Lydia like she was trying to read the fine print of a bad contract. Then she exhaled, her voice softer now, laced with worry.

“Look… I’m not saying you can’t be friends with her,” she said. “If you think something’s changed, okay. But I just—” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Lydia opened one eye. “I’m not getting hurt. We’re literally just… talking. Getting coffee. It’s not like we’re moving in together.”

“That’s not the point.” Suzie leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “She made you feel like shit for weeks, Lyds. You were up at two in the morning rereading texts and spiraling because you thought she was making fun of you with her friends. That wasn’t nothing.”

“I know,” Lydia said quickly, the words a little too sharp. “I haven’t forgotten.”

She sat with that for a moment, playing with a lock of her hair. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again.

“But it’s been… I don’t know. It felt different.”

Suzie tilted her head, still watching her carefully.

Lydia leaned her head back again, the door cool against her skull. “I know it’s stupid. I know it might be fake, or temporary, or whatever. But—” Her voice wavered. “She made me feel kind of… special. In this really stupid, specific way I can’t even explain.”

Suzie’s mouth parted slightly, her expression shifting.

Lydia laughed, but it came out crooked and tired. “She’s—God, she’s so charming. And beautiful. And like, effortlessly cool in a way that makes me feel like a dumb little gremlin by comparison. But she said she wanted to be friends with me. Like, actually wanted to.”

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “And that shouldn’t mean anything. But it did.”

There was a long pause.

Then Suzie said gently, “It’s not stupid. It’s not. I get why that would mean something. Especially after how you’ve felt these last few weeks.”

Lydia peeked at her between her fingers.

“But,” Suzie added, firmer now, “just because she made you feel special doesn’t mean she gets to treat you however she wants. You don’t owe her anything just because she finally figured out you’re cool.”

“I am cool,” Lydia muttered, her mouth twitching, “sometimes.”

Suzie grinned faintly. “You are. And I just don’t want you shrinking yourself to be whatever version of you she’s suddenly decided is acceptable.”

“I won’t,” Lydia said, though her voice wasn’t quite steady.

Suzie leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Okay. Then I’ll try to chill out. But I reserve the right to go full lesbian guard dog if she so much as blinks at you wrong.”

Lydia snorted. “Noted.”

Suzie tilted her head, still watching her. “You like her.”

Lydia made a face. “I don’t.”

Suzie raised both eyebrows.

“I don’t!” Lydia insisted. “She’s just… infuriating and confusing and pretty and nice to me sometimes and a nightmare the rest of the time.”

Suzie smirked. “So, basically your type.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “God, shut up.”

Suzie laughed and finally turned back to her laptop, muttering something under her breath about Brecht and lesbians with boundary issues. Lydia stayed by the door a moment longer, waiting for her pulse to settle and her heart to stop doing that weird flutter thing it had started doing every time Kori’s name came up.

She slipped into her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. The afternoon sunlight had shifted, casting long amber lines across her unmade bed and the mess of laundry she said she was going to do after the midterm. She collapsed onto the comforter face-first, arms spread like she’d just washed ashore.

The silence pressed in, finally giving her space to think — which, of course, was the worst possible thing.

You like her , Suzie had said. So casual. So sure. Like it was obvious. Like it was already a done deal.

Lydia flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

No. Absolutely not.

She didn’t like Kori. That wasn’t what this was. This was confusion. This was whiplash. This was the social equivalent of a magic trick, where one minute Kori was glaring at her across a classroom and the next she was smiling across a coffee table with that warm smile Lydia was definitely getting used to. 

And yeah, maybe Lydia couldn’t stop thinking about the way Kori’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. Or how she kept tucking her hair behind her ear like she didn’t know it was a goddamn weapon. Or how she smiled at Lydia when she said she wanted to get that god awful drink.

But that didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t a crush. It was a… fascination. A puzzle. An emotional science experiment that Lydia had become deeply, unfortunately invested in. Kori King was charismatic in the way that tornadoes were — loud, dramatic, a little terrifying, and impossible to ignore. Of course Lydia was drawn to that. That didn’t mean she liked her.

Besides, Kori was… Kori. Sorority girl. A Barbie doll that came to life. Straight. Straight in the way that mattered — the way that didn’t leave space for Lydia and her loud, inconvenient feelings. She wore pink friendship bracelets and smiled like sunlight and probably just wanted to be nice, not special. Not anything more than friends. 

Lydia groaned into her pillow.

She was being stupid. Delusional. Pathetic

They were barely even friends. One coffee didn’t mean anything. A compliment didn’t mean anything. A soft look, a shared laugh, the way Kori leaned in when Lydia talked like she actually wanted to hear every word — none of it meant anything. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t. But it had made something in Lydia’s chest flutter in a way that was hard to ignore.

Kori had made her feel… special. Like she was being seen. Really seen. Not as a project partner or a weird artsy lesbian or someone to tolerate until the semester ended, but as someone worth getting to know. Someone worth sitting across from and smiling at for no reason at all.

Lydia closed her eyes.

It wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be.

It was just… an emotional glitch. A temporary lapse in judgment. A one-time thing.

So whatever this was — the way her heart sped up around Kori, the way her mind kept drifting back to that crooked little grin — she’d just have to bury it. Right next to all the other things she didn’t let herself want.

Just friends. That’s what Kori said.

And Lydia was going to believe her.

Even if every part of her knew it wasn’t that simple.

Even if it made her heart ache.

Even if it killed her.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Friday.

Lydia hated airports.

Airports made her feel untethered. Too many people. Too many suitcases. Too many overpriced sandwiches and screaming toddlers and dead-eyed business people tapping on tablets. It was a liminal space where time didn’t feel real and no one made eye contact. Like purgatory, but with Starbucks.

She hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulder and checked the departure board again, even though she already knew her gate. She’d already checked three times. Maybe four. It wasn’t about the gate. It was about distraction.

Distraction from the fact that spring break had officially started three hours ago and she was already bored out of her mind.

Distraction from Suzie’s goodbye hug—lingering, loaded, like she knew Lydia would spiral the second she was alone.

And, of course, from the silence.

She hadn’t heard from Kori since Tuesday.

Not that she’d expected to. It wasn’t like they were texting friends. They were class friends— project friends. The kind who exchanged Google Docs and sat next to each other once a week, not the kind who sent each other TikToks or “hey, safe travels” texts before break. Kori probably had a dozen different group chats lighting up her phone at any given moment, filled with girls who used the sparkle emoji unironically. 

Lydia knew there was no reason for Kori to text her. She knew that.

But still—She checked her phone again.

No new notifications.

Lydia shoved it back into her jacket pocket with more force than necessary and made her way toward her gate, where clusters of families and college kids and snoring dads were already settled into uncomfortable chairs. She found an empty seat near a wall outlet and dropped into it.

Somewhere overhead, the speaker crackled with a threat about an unattended bag that was probably about to be incinerated. Lydia barely registered it. Her brain was too busy playing a highlight reel of every weird, confusing interaction she’d had this week.

Kori offering to study.

Coffee with Kori and Crystal.

Kori saying they were friends.

Friends.

Lydia rested her forehead against her fist. That word had been living in her skull rent-free since Saturday. She still wasn’t sure what it meant in Kori King–speak. Was it casual? A nicety? Something people like her just said to people like Lydia out of politeness?

She didn’t want it to matter. She didn’t want it to feel like anything. But it did.

Everything felt like something lately.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head thunk gently against the wall behind her. It was going to be a long week. A week of smiling through small talk, dodging internship questions, and pretending she wasn’t obsessively analyzing every word Kori King had ever said to her.

Fun.

The flight hadn’t even boarded yet, and Lydia already felt homesick for her own bed. Not for Pittsburgh, not for high school memories or familiar streets. Just for the version of herself that didn’t care. The one who would’ve rolled her eyes and made some snarky joke about sorority girls and emotionally repressed blondes and kept it moving.

It wasn’t until her phone lit up that her eyes snapped open.

KORI: Hey! Have a good flight :)

Lydia stared at the message. Blinked. Re-read it. Then just… stared.

It was simple. Casual. Nothing.

Except it wasn’t. Not to her.

It was exactly the kind of text she hadn’t let herself want. And now here it was, glowing on her screen like some cursed talisman.

She didn’t know what to do with it. With herself.

Her heart did a weird little stutter that she pretended not to notice. She had absolutely no clue what to say back. “Thanks” felt too flat. A smiley face felt too eager. A “you too” was ridiculous—she didn’t know when Kori’s flight to Tampa was.

She locked her phone and dropped it face-down in her lap like it had personally offended her.

She did not like Kori King.

She just… appreciated the chaos.

Even when it smiled politely at her through a screen and blew up her entire mental routine with a simple “Hey.”

✿

The plane touched down with a shudder, wheels screeching against the runway like they were also kind of over it.

Lydia blinked awake, stiff from the weird neck position she’d somehow folded herself into. Her mouth tasted like recycled air and the crumbs of whatever sad pretzel snack she'd eaten an hour ago. She sat up slowly, stretching her spine, and pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket before the seatbelt sign even turned off.

Airplane mode: off.

Her stomach did a tiny, traitorous flip.

She had texted Kori right before takeoff. A completely normal, definitely-not-overthought reply. Just:
"thanks :) hope your break starts off okay"
—casual, harmless, breezy. Not fifteen minutes of typing and deleting and typing again while the flight attendant pretended not to judge her.

The second her phone reconnected to the network, Lydia’s notifications popped up in a blur. Group chat nonsense from Suzie and Sam. A news alert about Taylor Swift. One random “Happy spring break!” text from her mom.

But no Kori.

Not yet.

Lydia tried not to feel disappointed. Reception was probably still catching up. Or maybe Kori hadn’t seen it yet. Or maybe she’d read it and didn’t know what to say back. Or maybe she was deliberately not replying, because Lydia had ruined the whole vibe with her weird little lowercase smiley face.

She refreshed iMessage.

Still nothing.

The line of passengers began filing off the plane, all of them inexplicably in a rush to reach the same baggage claim. Lydia stayed seated, waiting her turn. She wasn’t in any particular hurry to get home, but the recycled air and cramped seats were starting to feel suffocating. When the rows ahead of her finally started moving, she slipped her phone into her pocket and followed the slow shuffle of bodies toward the exit.

Through the jet bridge. Past the vaguely damp smell of midwestern airport air. Down into the terminal, which was aggressively Pittsburgh in the way that made her feel twelve again. Her dad would be somewhere in the pickup loop, listening to NPR and double parked.

Her phone buzzed.

She stopped walking.

It was like her body just knew—froze mid-step before her brain caught up.

She yanked her phone out so fast it almost hit the tile floor.

KORI: Thanks! You too :) I hope Pittsburgh is kind to you lol

Lydia stared. Reread it. Blinked at the little “lol” like it was a secret code.

It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t . The message was chill. Friendly. No emojis. No extra punctuation. Nothing suspicious.

But somehow it made Lydia feel like she’d just tripped and fallen directly into her own ribcage.

Lydia clutched her phone tighter and pressed her lips together like that might contain the weird, fluttery warmth trying to spread across her face.

She did not like Kori King.

She just liked getting texts from her new friend.

That was normal. Right?

A notification from her dad flashed across the screen—he was outside, waiting at arrivals. Lydia hadn’t checked a bag, so she started toward the exit, but not before firing off a quick reply to Kori.

LYDIA: lol fingers crossed

Then she put her phone away, walked out into the gray afternoon, and told herself—firmly, definitively—that it wasn’t a big deal.

That she was fine.

And maybe, for a moment, she almost was.

✿

The illusion of fine lasted exactly fifteen minutes.

Fifteen whole minutes of gray skies and NPR murmuring through the car speakers and her dad commenting on the construction near the Squirrel Hill tunnel like it was a personal affront. Lydia sank into the passenger seat and let herself pretend—for a little while—that she wasn’t already exhausted.

Then they pulled into the driveway, and she exhaled. She loved her family, she really did, but she hadn’t even stepped inside yet and already felt overwhelmed.

The moment she walked through the door, her mom swept her into a suffocating hug. Lydia tensed out of habit—overly physical affection always made her flinch—but after a second, she let herself sink into it. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed a hug from her mom until that moment.

“We’re happy to have you home, baby,” her mom said, finally releasing her.

“I’m happy to be home,” Lydia smiled, then hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go shower, though.”

“Okay. But we’re leaving for Nonna’s at 5:30.”

Lydia paused. In her distracted state, she’d completely forgotten about dinner at her grandparents’.

Dinner at Nonna’s was always a full production—loud, dramatic, chaotic. Her dad’s mother had a flair for theatrics and had passed it down like a dominant gene to each of his three siblings and all of their kids. They were a classic Pittsburgh Italian family: big personalities, big opinions, and a need to talk over one another at all times. Lydia hadn’t seen them since Christmas, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had to face them without her older brother there to act as a buffer—charming the aunts and uncles, deflecting awkward questions, keeping the spotlight off her.

“Okay,” Lydia said quietly, and made her way upstairs.

She shut the door to her childhood bedroom and immediately collapsed face-down onto the bed. She knew she shouldn’t be lying on it in her outside clothes—especially ones she’d worn on a plane—but she just needed a minute.

After a beat, she rolled over and reached for her phone.

One new notification.

From Kori.

KORI: Any fun plans for day 1? 

Lydia blinked at the screen, her heart giving the tiniest stutter. She typed back without even thinking.

LYDIA: dinner with my entire extended italian family,, should be a chill night 

A lie, obviously. Or sarcasm. Or both. She didn’t even know what her tone was anymore when it came to Kori.

Kori responded almost immediately.

KORI: Lol I can imagine, stay strong

Lydia giggled. Like, actually giggled. She immediately looked around her empty bedroom, embarrassed.

What was that? Why did that make her smile?

LYDIA: thanks i might need an extra glass of wine to get through it

She hovered for a second, then added:

LYDIA: when do you leave for tampa? 

There was a pause—long enough for Lydia to wonder if she was being weird by asking—before the bubble popped up.

KORI: Tomorrow, bright and early. I’m excited tho I need to be in the sun

Lydia couldn’t help but imagine it—Kori in sunglasses and a bikini, lounging by some pool in Tampa, drink in hand, her skin glowing in the sun.

God. She needed to stop doing that.

But the image lingered anyway.

LYDIA: that sounds amazing tbh. it’s like 40 degrees here and my mom has already commented on my “city skin” twice

Kori’s reply came before Lydia could even toss her phone on the bed.

KORI: City skin???

KORI: Tell her it’s just urban chic

Lydia let out another laugh, this time quieter. She couldn’t remember the last time someone texted her like this—so quickly, so easily.

She typed back, thumbs moving without hesitation.

LYDIA: i’ll let her know you’re on my side

LYDIA: solidarity among girls who own skin care fridges

She waited, expecting the conversation to taper off now that the small talk had run its course. But her phone buzzed again.

KORI: Wait do you think I’m the type of girl who owns a skin care fridge??

Lydia smiled down at her phone.

LYDIA: do you not?

LYDIA: you give off “dewy at all times” energy

KORI: I’m flattered but no fridge 🥲 just good genes and a Sephora problem

Before Lydia could reply, her mom called up from downstairs.

“Lydia! Are you showering or just decomposing up there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Showering!” she yelled back, standing up and finally peeling off her hoodie. She grabbed her towel and headed into the bathroom, texting as she walked.

LYDIA: ok now i’m picturing your sephora cart like it’s a museum exhibit. curated. dangerous.

Kori didn’t respond right away, which Lydia told herself was good. It meant she could focus on getting ready. She showered quickly, mostly because she was trying to avoid the spiral of thinking too hard about why Kori texting her like this mattered so much.

She towel-dried her hair, threw on a half-decent sweater, and checked her phone again.

KORI: Lmao dangerous is right. I once cried over a sold-out lip gloss

LYDIA: that sounds fake

 LYDIA: but also deeply real

“Lyds!” Her dad knocked on her door this time. “Five minutes!”

“Coming!”

She stuffed her phone in her back pocket but kept feeling it there the whole ride to Nonna’s. Like it was glowing. Vibrating. Calling her name. It buzzed once as they pulled into the driveway, and she snuck a glance.

KORI: Be honest do you actually want to go to this dinner or are you being held hostage by pasta and familial guilt

Lydia didn’t even try to hide her grin as they got out of the car.

LYDIA: held hostage. the food will be good but the conversation will be… chaotic evil

She texted again quickly before her phone had to disappear for a while.

LYDIA: if i go radio silent assume i’ve been cornered by an uncle asking if i’m still “into film stuff”

Dinner was predictably overwhelming. Her Nonna was already arguing with her dad’s oldest sister about cheese. The kids table was loud. There was one cousin in a backwards hat vaping on the porch. It was all so… familiar.

Her phone buzzed again while she was mid-bite of baked ziti. She discreetly checked under the table.

KORI: Thoughts and prayers. Stay strong film girl

Lydia snorted into her water and earned a look from her cousin Elena.

She texted back quickly.

LYDIA: film girl has not been seen at a kollins family event since 2021. her last words were “actually it’s more of an experimental short”

Kori replied with a crying emoji and a skull.

The table had erupted into overlapping stories about someone’s friend’s cousin’s boyfriend getting scammed on Facebook Marketplace. Lydia chewed quietly, letting the noise wash over her like white noise turned all the way up. She half-listened, half-texted under the table.

LYDIA: update: i am now the designated “why don’t you have a boyfriend” target. thoughts? prayers? a shovel?

Kori responded immediately.

KORI: Shovel’s in the mail. Or you could tell them you’re dating your experimental short film

Lydia bit back a smile and reached for her wine.

“Lydia,” her Aunt Lisa called from across the table. “What are you typing over there?”

She froze like a deer caught texting in headlights.

“Oh,” she said, slipping her phone into her lap, “just, um… a friend.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “A boyfriend?”

Lydia nearly choked on her ziti. “Nope. Just—definitely not a boyfriend.”

She heard her brother stifle a laugh beside her. She kicked him under the table.

Once dessert came out—three kinds of pie, a fruit tart no one asked for, and Nonna’s deeply aggressive espresso—Lydia excused herself to the bathroom and leaned against the counter for a moment of peace. Her phone buzzed again.

KORI: Did you survive? Blink twice if you’re in danger

LYDIA: one blink for yes two for also yes

KORI: You’re doing amazing sweetie

Lydia exhaled a laugh through her nose. The chaos of the house swelled behind the door—someone shouting about biscotti, her cousin Marco arguing with her dad about soccer—but it felt a little less suffocating with Kori’s texts tucked safely in her palm.

LYDIA: safe for now. if i disappear, tell my story

KORI: Only the dramatic parts

Lydia smiled, then locked her phone and pushed herself off the counter. The bathroom lights buzzed faintly overhead. She still felt a little wrung out—tired in that deep, soul kind of way—but also… lighter.

She returned to the dining room just in time to hear her Nonna demand to know why Lydia never posts on Facebook anymore. Her little brother fake-gagged at the pies. Her aunt started crying over nothing.

Same old.

And yet, in her pocket, her phone buzzed again.

Maybe she wasn’t dreading the rest of break as much as she thought.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Monday

A few days had passed since Lydia had said goodbye to campus and boarded the plane back to Pittsburgh, and everything already felt a little disjointed. 

Kori had flown to Tampa early Saturday morning. Even though they were hundreds of miles apart now, they’d been texting steadily—short, easy conversations that still somehow managed to twist Lydia’s stomach into knots in that stupid, familiar way. Kori had also been flooding her Instagram story with sunny beach shots, neon-lit club scenes, and messy, laughing group selfies with her sorority sisters. In every single one, she looked beautiful—glowing, golden, effortless—and Lydia watched each new post like she was moth to flame, pretending it was just curiosity, that it didn’t mean anything more.

Her family had kept her busy over the weekend, dragging her out for pizza, bad movies, and errands she hadn't missed. But today, for the first time, Lydia had plans of her own. She was supposed to meet up with Max, one of her oldest friends from high school. They still texted now and then, and the last time they’d seen each other had been over Christmas break, a catch-up over coffee that had felt both easy and a little bittersweet. 

Lydia hadn’t told Max about Kori. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything to tell. So she had a new friend, so what? 

She kept her phone tucked into her jacket pocket as she headed to her car, already wondering if she should check it one more time before meeting Max, just in case Kori had posted something new.

The drive across town was almost too familiar: the same cracked streets, the same stubbornly bright rowhouses sagging under a sky of muddy gray. Pittsburgh in early March looked like someone had wrung all the color out of it, but Lydia barely noticed. She was too busy arguing with herself over whether she had time to sneak a glance at her phone but she knew better than to look at her phone while driving.

Max’s house looked exactly the same: the faded green porch, the lopsided mailbox somehow still clinging to life. Lydia pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, stuffing her phone deeper into her pocket like it was a loaded weapon. 

Later, she promised herself. Worry about Kori later.

Right now, she was here. Right now, she was catching up with Max. Maybe grabbing coffee, maybe bitching about how miserable marketing class was. Normal stuff.

She hopped up the front steps and knocked twice, already smiling in anticipation.

The door swung open almost immediately. Max grinned, the same wide, easy grin that had gotten them out of trouble a thousand times in high school. “Lyds! Get in here.”

Lydia barely had time to step inside before she caught sight of someone else standing in the living room—someone she hadn’t thought about in years. Laura.

For a second, Lydia’s brain just stuttered, like a bad signal trying to reconnect.

Laura looked almost exactly the same: sharp dark eyes, short blonde hair, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She leaned against the couch like she belonged there—like she hadn’t once tangled up every confused feeling Lydia had ever had about girls and friendship and everything else.

“Hey, stranger,” Laura said, voice easy, like this wasn’t weird at all.

Lydia blinked, forcing a polite, practiced smile onto her face. “Hey. Wow—it’s been a while.”

Max didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension crackling under Lydia’s skin. They threw an arm around her shoulders and steered her inside. “Thought it’d be fun, y’know? Like old times.”

“Yeah,” Lydia managed, trying not to look too obviously stunned. “Totally.”

She dropped into the armchair across from the couch, sitting up a little too straight. Her mind was still whirring, half-rooted in the past and half-fumbling for the present.

She didn’t have bad blood with Laura—not at all—but seeing her was like opening a door she thought she had locked years ago. And somewhere underneath it all, under the small talk and the stale smell of the living room carpet, she felt it again: that sense of being seen a little too closely. 

She tugged at the sleeve of her jacket, her fingers itching for her phone, for an excuse, for an anchor to something safer—something like Kori.

Max plopped down onto the couch beside Laura, leaving Lydia feeling weirdly exposed in the lone armchair. Max leaned forward, elbows on their knees, grinning. “So. Tell us everything. What’s life like in Boston? Still making weird artsy films?”

Lydia laughed, a little too loudly. “Yeah. Still making weird artsy films. Nothing’s changed.” She tugged her sleeve over her hand, curling her fingers into the fabric. “And...uh, taking a marketing class this semester, which is about as fun as it sounds.”

Max groaned sympathetically. “God. Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Required credit,” Lydia muttered. “Capitalism wins again.”

Laura chuckled, low and amused, and Lydia felt her face heat up for some godforsaken reason. She was so aware of Laura now, the way Laura’s gaze drifted over her, easy and slow, like she was reading something Lydia didn’t know she’d left exposed.

“So,” Laura said lightly, “no girlfriend yet?”

The question hit harder than it should have.

For a split second, Lydia’s brain short-circuited: flashes of Kori—sunlit, laughing, texting her dumb little inside jokes—all colliding with the reality that she had no right to think about her like that.

Straight. Lydia reminded herself savagely. Kori’s straight. Get it together.

“No,” Lydia said, a little too fast. She coughed, tried to sound casual. “No girlfriend. Just...school. And, you know. Surviving.”

Max snorted. “Mood.”

Laura’s smile sharpened, the way it always had when she sensed blood in the water. “That’s a shame. You’re too cute to be wasting your time alone.”

The words landed somewhere between a joke and a dare, and Lydia didn’t know where to put her hands. She was suddenly sixteen again, pinned in place by a look she didn’t know how to return, all the while painfully aware that she wasn’t that girl anymore—or at least she was trying not to be. She wasn’t supposed to fall apart just because someone flirted with her. Especially not someone from the past she was supposed to have outgrown.

She forced a laugh, brushing it off, but the old reflexes prickled under her skin. Her mind scrambled for something steady, something safer—and without thinking, it reached for Kori.

Kori, with her sunny texts and easy smiles. Kori, who made Lydia feel jittery and alive, but not small or confused.

And it hit her—quick and dizzying—that she didn’t want to flirt back. Not with Laura. Not anymore.

Still, Lydia smiled and played along, because that’s what you did when old ghosts came knocking.

“So what about you guys?” she asked, voice too bright, too rehearsed. “Any drama I missed since Christmas?”

Max launched into a story about some disaster at their part-time job—something about a broken espresso machine and a customer throwing a tantrum—and Lydia tried to focus. She really did. She nodded and laughed at the right moments, sipped from the can of La Croix Max tossed her way, even chimed in with a sarcastic comment when Max reenacted the customer’s meltdown with dramatic flair.

But her brain felt like it was running two conversations at once: the one happening here, in Max’s living room, and the one she couldn’t shut up in her head.

Wondering if Kori had posted something new.

Wondering if Kori was thinking about her, even a little, across the warm stretch of Florida sun.

Or if Lydia was just another name in her inbox—a blip, a filler between better, shinier things.

Every so often, Lydia felt Laura’s gaze flicker toward her—curious, maybe a little too knowing—and that only made it worse. She shifted in her seat again, trying to find a way to sit still that didn’t make her feel like she was vibrating out of her skin.

“You’re weirdly quiet,” Max said after a while, raising an eyebrow at her. “What’s up? You okay?”

Lydia blinked, realizing she hadn’t heard a word of whatever Max had just said. She gave a lame shrug, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just tired. Long weekend.”

Max didn’t look convinced. “You sure? You’re not usually this...twitchy.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, a slow, amused look crossing her face, like she was putting pieces together that Lydia didn’t even realize were on the table.

Lydia froze. The truth rose up, reckless and hot, pressing against the back of her throat.

The last "straight" girl she’d had a crush on? Well... it was Laura.

Laura, who used to be the golden one in their little friend group—the loud, magnetic center of every inside joke.

Laura, who was supposed to be safe because she was straight. Safe to admire, safe to pine over without any of it meaning anything real.

Except then Laura had come out their junior year—slowly, messily—and before Lydia could even catch her breath, they were sneaking glances, brushing hands too long, crashing into each other at every party like it was inevitable.

It hadn’t been a relationship. Not really. Just late nights and half-drunk kisses and a thousand unsaid things pressing at the edges. Lydia had been too scared to name it. To want too much. And so Laura had stayed an almost. A maybe. A chapter Lydia never fully closed, even when she should have.

And now—now there was Kori.

Only Kori felt different.

Kori didn’t feel like a mistake waiting to happen.

She felt bright . She felt easy . She felt like possibility.

Not that Lydia was thinking about her like that.

Obviously not.

Kori was straight. And perfect. And totally, painfully out of her league.

And Lydia—Lydia was smarter now. She wasn’t sixteen with a crush she couldn’t control. She wasn’t about to get ahead of herself just because some gorgeous, confusing girl texted her too many smiley faces.

Still, the words stuck in her throat.

She hadn’t even told Suzie the full story yet. Hadn’t dared say it out loud—how Kori made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something huge, something that could either lift her up or break her open.

Did she really want to crack herself apart now? In front of Laura and Max, who knew enough already?

She forced a weak smile, heart hammering against her ribs. “Seriously. It’s nothing. Just... school stress.”

Max shrugged, seeming willing to let it go, but Laura didn’t. “You sure about that?” she asked, voice light but unmistakably pointed. “You look like you’ve got a secret.”

Lydia laughed awkwardly, ducking her head. “Don’t we all?”

Max laughed too, but Laura just kept smiling at her, sharp and a little too interested. Lydia suddenly felt like she was under a microscope, and she hated it.

She drummed her fingers against the La Croix can, heart rattling.

She could tell them.

She could say: I’ve been texting this girl. She’s funny and beautiful and complicated and makes me feel like my whole life is tilting sideways.

Or she could lie.

Or she could do what she always did when things got too messy: change the subject.

“So, uh,” Lydia said, forcing a grin, “who’s ready to absolutely destroy me at Mario Kart?”

Max whooped in victory before even picking up a controller, and just like that, the moment passed—but Lydia could still feel Laura’s eyes on her, curious and sharp, and deep down, she knew this wasn’t over.

✿

The sky was already dark by the time Lydia pulled back into her parents’ driveway, the streetlights casting long, wobbly shadows across the cracked sidewalk. The engine ticked as she killed it, but she stayed sitting there for a second, gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor her to something solid.

She felt weirdly rattled—too full of old memories and restless energy and everything she hadn’t said.

Laura’s voice still echoed in her head, that teasing you’ve got a secret, like Laura could see right through her, like nothing had really changed at all.

Except it had. Lydia wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t stuck in the past, pinning her heart to people who would only leave it dangling.

She had Kori now.

Or—well, not had Kori. Not even close.

But she had something.

Lydia yanked her phone from her jacket pocket before she could talk herself out of it. Her thumb hovered over the screen for half a second, then tapped Instagram out of muscle memory.

The first thing she saw was Kori’s Instagram story—bright, blurry footage of a beach bonfire, girls in sundresses and messy ponytails twirling barefoot in the sand, a giant neon heart drawn sloppily in the dark.

Her stomach flipped, stupid and immediate.

Kori wasn’t in the video, but she could feel her there, somehow—laughing just out of frame, beautiful and effortless as always.

Lydia sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, and finally hauled herself out of the car.

The house was quiet when she stepped inside. The smell of laundry detergent and something sweet from the kitchen hung in the air, soft and familiar. For once, no one was hovering—no Mom asking how her day was, no Dad demanding help finding the TV remote.

She kicked off her boots and trudged up the stairs, her body heavy but her mind still buzzing, still tangled up in thoughts she didn’t know what to do with.

When she got to her room, she collapsed onto her bed without even bothering to turn on the light. Just sprawled there, staring up at the ceiling, phone clutched against her chest like a lifeline.

For a long minute, she just lay there, heart thudding loud in the dark, the glow of the screen leaking between her fingers.

Then, almost without thinking, she opened their texts. She managed to send a few texts back and forth while at Max’s but she hadn’t checked their texts in almost two hours. 

Kori's last message blinked up at her. It was a link to a TikTok. I guess they were friends who sent each other TikToks now. 

Lydia opened the link and watched the video. 

It was a slideshow, with the first image showing My Melody and Kuromi, captioned: "friends who have opposite aesthetics >>>"

Lydia swiped through each picture, her thumb trembling.

Each frame was some variation of the same idea. 

Something pink next to something black.

Something soft and girly next to something sharp and grungy.

Something glittery next to something scuffed and ripped.

Each new image made her chest tighten a little more, like an invisible hand was squeezing her ribcage.

Kori saw this and thought about her.

Kori thought about them .

Lydia’s fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.

What was she even supposed to say? Cool slideshow, thanks for reminding me I look like a Hot Topic threw up on me? Or—worse—thanks for thinking about me at all?

She could hear her own heart pounding, heavy and loud in the darkness, like it was trying to climb out of her chest.

The glow of her phone blurred at the edges of her vision.

After way, way too long, she finally typed:

LYDIA: wait which one am i? 

She sent it before she could second-guess herself.

Before she could delete it and spend the next hour obsessing about what it would have meant if she had sent it.

Lydia flopped back against her pillows, locking her phone and unlocking it again compulsively, over and over.

She wasn’t expecting a reply anytime soon.Kori was out at the bonfire with her friends, probably laughing, probably forgetting all about her.

She was scrolling aimlessly through TikTok again when a notification slid across the top of her screen:

KORI: Girl, save it 🙄

Lydia let out a laugh—too loud in the silent room—before typing back:

LYDIA: idk i think i give my melody vibes lowkey

There was barely a beat before Kori answered:

KORI: Yeah definitely. When I see you again after Spring break I’m expecting you to be wearing pink. 

Lydia bit her lip, feeling something bubble up in her chest that was half panic, half something dangerously close to giddy.

LYDIA: oh absolutely, i’ve been home for four days and completely changed my personality and aesthetic just you wait

The typing dots appeared almost immediately. Then:

KORI: Wait no :( pls never change 

Lydia froze, rereading the message until the words blurred. It was probably just a joke. It had to be a joke.

But the idea—the barest, most reckless idea—that Kori liked her the way she was, without any edits or apologies, sent a fluttering, traitorous warmth flooding her chest.

Before she could think too hard about it, she set her phone down face-first on the bed, burying it under her pillow like it was something radioactive.

She stayed like that, staring at the ceiling in the dark, feeling stupid and messy and alive.

And smiling.

God help her, she was smiling .

Chapter Text

One week later, Tuesday

Lydia woke up before her alarm.

She stared at the ceiling, blanket pulled to her chin, heart already fluttering in that irritating, traitorous way it did whenever she thought about Kori. Which was often. Which was stupid. Which was completely under control, obviously.

She hadn’t seen Kori in ten days—not since their last class, not since before spring break—but they’d been texting the entire time. Little things. Dumb things.

Kori sending updates on her friends’ drunk antics in the Florida heat; Lydia replying with biting commentary about Pittsburgh’s gray skies, her mom’s obsession with off-brand reality shows, and the existential horror of being back in her childhood bedroom.

Nothing deep. Nothing serious. But somehow… steady. Easy. Warm. Like a thread tied around her wrist, tugging her gently back to something bright.

At some point during the break, they’d also gotten their grade back for the first part of the partner project—the brand audit and competitive analysis. 85%. Solid. Respectable.

There had even been a comment in the feedback about their “clear collaborative voice” and a suggestion to focus more on differentiating Dunkin’s brand personality in the strategy section.

Lydia had tried not to overanalyze the “collaborative voice” bit. She definitely hadn’t reread it three times. And she definitely hadn’t screenshotted it and almost texted it to Kori with something embarrassingly earnest like, “Look at us being a good team.”

She didn’t send it, obviously.

And now, she was going to see her again. In person. In class. For the first time since they'd become the kind of friends who sent each other TikToks with captions like “this is literally us.”

No big deal.

Lydia rolled onto her side, clutching her phone like it might steady her. Kori hadn’t texted yet this morning, and that felt vaguely apocalyptic, even though Lydia knew how insane that was. People didn’t have to text every day. 

Especially when they were just friends. 

Casual, nothing-to-read-into friends. Who maybe texted for over a week straight about sea turtles and romcoms and song recommendations but whatever. Lydia wasn’t spiraling. She was just... preparing.

It took her three tries to pick an outfit.

The final look was one of her go-to “I didn’t try” fits: slouchy blue sweater with perfectly cuffed sleeves, black jeans, and the layered necklaces that had taken twenty minutes and two near-tantrums to untangle. She didn’t think about what Kori would think. Not really. She just wanted to look cool. Like herself. Like someone worth texting. But it wouldn’t hurt if Kori happened to think she looked good. Just as a bonus.

She threw on her boots, grabbed her phone, and padded down the hall toward the kitchen, heart still annoyingly fluttery. The scent of coffee hit her before she turned the corner—strong and slightly burnt, the way Suzie liked it—and the moment she stepped inside, she spotted her roommate already at the counter, hoodie up, mug in hand, eyes locked on Lydia like she was waiting for the opening line of a joke.

“You’re suspiciously chipper this morning,” Suzie said, eyebrow arched.

“I’m not,” Lydia replied, too fast, jamming a pod into the Nespresso with a little more force than necessary.

Suzie sipped her coffee, unimpressed. “You’re excited to see Kori today aren't you.”

“No. Just happy to be back in Boston.” 

“Uh-huh. You’ve been weirdly perky since you got back. And not in a good way. In a giddy way. Like a girl who’s been texting someone cute non-stop for a week.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “We’re just friends.”

Suzie pointed at her with her mug. “There it is. The magic phrase.”

“We are,” Lydia insisted, grabbing her tumbler. “We didn’t even say anything real. Just memes and nonsense.”

“Oh yeah,” Suzie said, smirking. “Nothing screams platonic like a weeklong inside-joke text marathon and a casual emotional bond.”

Lydia’s phone buzzed. She reached for it without thinking. Way too fast.

Suzie snorted. “She definitely just texted you.”

Lydia ignored her, eyes flicking to the screen.

KORI: Going to Dunkin before class, do u want anything? 🧡🩷

A perfectly innocent text. A friendly gesture. Lydia typed back no thanks before she could overanalyze it and shoved her phone into her pocket like it had betrayed her.

Suzie leaned forward, grinning. “Soooo?”

“She just asked if I wanted anything from Dunkin’. That’s it.”

“Totally normal,” Suzie said. “I offer coffee runs to all my classmates. Especially the ones I text nonstop and send heart emojis to.”

Lydia groaned. “I have to leave.”

“Don’t think this conversation’s over just because you’re running away.”

Lydia grabbed her bag and backed toward the door. “I’m not running. I’m just… arriving early. Like a responsible student.”

“Sure, Jan,” Suzie called after her.

The bus ride passed in a blur of static and nerves. Lydia leaned against the window, earbuds in but not listening, her usual playlist looping like background noise to her spiraling thoughts.

Kori would be there. Sitting in her usual seat. Maybe smiling. Maybe flipping her hair. Maybe saying something casual and dumb and warm and completely world-ending.

Would she say anything about the Dunkin’ text?

Should Lydia have said yes?

Should she have added a heart emoji back?

Should she have googled what each heart color meant before texting her? She had just assumed pink and orange for Dunkin’ right? 

Too late now.

✿

When Lydia finally arrived to class, Kori was already in her usual spot, sipping her radioactive orange drink and scrolling through her phone. 

Her blonde hair was straight and glossy, half up in one of those high ponytails that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t. She wore a fitted pink tank top and a matching fuzzy bolero sweater that looked like it belonged in a music video, not an 8:56 a.m. college classroom. She looked completely unbothered, completely put together.

She had to hold back the grin creeping onto her face as she made her way to her seat. The last thing she needed was to scare Kori off by being the over-eager gay girl from her marketing class. That girl. The one who reads too much into everything and writes mental poetry about a text that literally just said “do u want coffee.” She was cooler than that. Detached. Maybe even mysterious. Or at least she was trying to be.

Kori looked up as Lydia slid into her seat. “Hey,” she said, smiling—wide, bright, effortlessly genuine.

There was something about the way Kori smiled at her that knocked the air out of Lydia’s lungs. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. More like she’d suddenly forgotten how to function as a human person with a face and a voice.

“Hey,” Lydia managed, too softly, her mouth suddenly dry.

Kori’s eyes flicked briefly to Lydia’s sweater. “Cute outfit,” she said, casual but deliberate, like it was something she’d been waiting to say.

Lydia blinked. Her brain stalled—hard—and then lurched into gear, desperate to say something. Anything.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks,” she muttered, heart stuttering. “It’s... vintage?” She wasn’t even sure if that was true, but it sounded better than ‘I changed three times and this is my best approximation of a functional person.’

Kori smiled again, and Lydia’s heart did a full somersault.

“Well, I like that blue on you,” Kori said, spinning her straw lazily in her drink. “It matches your eyes.”

Lydia’s stomach dropped like she’d missed a step. Her ears went hot. That wasn’t a casual compliment. That was dangerously specific. Too observant. It landed with the force of a much bigger statement, and Lydia’s brain promptly exited the chat.

She let out a laugh—sharp, squeaky, awful. “Cool. Yeah. I—um. I like your sweater too. It’s very… fuzzy?”

God. What even was that? What did that mean?

But Kori just laughed, light and genuine. “Thanks. It’s new. I wasn’t sure it was too much for class, but—”

“It’s not,” Lydia said, quickly. “It’s... great.”

Their eyes met for half a second too long, and Lydia had to look away, down at her notebook, where she doodled an angry spiral in the corner just to have something to do.

Before either of them could say anything else, Professor Visage began speaking, calling the class to order with her usual clipped efficiency.

“All right, everyone. Now that spring break is over, let’s get serious.” She clicked to a new slide, and the words Strategy Proposal: Due April 8 filled the screen. “This is the next major component of your partner project. You’ve all received your grades for the first part—overall, well done. But be warned, students often struggle more with this section.”

Lydia risked a glance at Kori, who was already straightening up and flipping to a fresh note on her iPad. Full academic mode: activated. Lydia tried to mirror her posture, but her body was still buzzing—too warm, too aware of the girl sitting inches away in a fuzzy pink sweater and lip gloss and some impossibly sweet perfume that hijacked Lydia’s brain every time she inhaled.

Professor Visage’s voice cut through the fog. “This section requires you to assess your brand’s current positioning and propose a comprehensive marketing strategy. I want specific, creative, and feasible tactics. Not vague goals. Not wishful thinking—strategy . ”

Lydia underlined April 8 in her notebook. Then wrote: Strategy Proposal. Be specific. But the letters came out uneven. Her hand felt clumsy. Her thoughts were still ten feet to her right, draped in pink and smiling like it didn’t mean anything.

She needed to pull it together. Now. 

She willed herself to focus through the lecture. Trying to take as many notes as possible so her mind wouldn’t drift to the girl beside her. 

By the time class wrapped up, Lydia had filled a page and a half with notes—and maybe five full lines of actual useful content. The rest was half-formed phrases, accidental song lyrics, and one very dramatic attempt at shading in her spiral.

She blinked at the clock. Somehow, the entire lecture had passed.

Around her, students began packing up—zipping bags, scraping chairs, shuffling toward the door. Beside her, Kori closed her iPad with a soft click and turned, that easy smile already forming.

“We should probably schedule another meeting to work on the project,” she said.

“Mm-hm. Sure. Friday?” Lydia replied, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, Friday works. Eleven?”

Lydia nodded. “That’s good for me. Did you want to meet at the library again?”

Kori tilted her head. “Sure, or you could come to mine again. Or I can go to yours. Whatever’s easiest.”

Lydia blinked. The idea of Kori in her apartment sent a flicker of panic through her chest. Her space was... personal. Messy. Full of things Kori might not get, might not like. And Suzie would absolutely make a comment and then die laughing the moment Kori left.

But the library was cursed. Too cold. Too quiet. Too many ghosts of awkward silences and barely contained spirals.

Going to Kori’s was objectively the best option. She had that study room, the one with the big windows and the surprisingly good lighting. It was efficient. Safe. Logistical. Totally not about anything else.

“I’m good to go to your place,” Lydia said, aiming for neutral.

Kori smiled. “Perfect.”

They stood, slinging bags over shoulders, and walked out together into the bright hallway buzz of students between classes. Lydia didn’t look at Kori. Not yet. Her heart was already doing too much.

Outside, the air was warmer than it had any right to be for March, the sun catching on the glass doors as they pushed through them.

“So,” Kori said, glancing sideways, “how was Pittsburgh?”

Lydia shrugged, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. “Gray. Cold. Emotionally suffocating. The usual.”

Kori laughed. “That good, huh?”

“I mean, I love my family,” Lydia said, then added under her breath, “from a distance.”

“Well, I’m glad you survived,” Kori said. “I feel like I just barely made it out of Florida alive. One more night of sharing a guest room with Crystal and Lana and I might’ve walked into the ocean.”

Lydia grinned. “That sounds... terrifying.”

“It was,” Kori said with mock gravity. “But I got some cute new clothes and three friendship bracelets out of it, so I guess it evens out.”

They reached the edge of the quad, where the sidewalk split—one path toward the library, the other toward Lydia’s neighbourhood.

Kori slowed, turning to face her. “Okay, so—Friday. My place. Eleven.”

“Yep,” Lydia said, too quickly. “I’ll bring snacks.”

Kori’s smile widened. “Looking forward to it.”

And then, just like that, she turned toward the library, the fuzzy pink of her bolero sweater catching the sunlight as she walked away.

Lydia watched her go for a second too long, then exhaled and headed in the opposite direction, heart hammering, trying not to smile.

This was bad. This was so bad.

She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She wasn’t supposed to hope like this. It was just a project. Just a Friday. Just snacks and strategy proposals and maybe the way Kori’s hair caught the light like something out of a painting.

Lydia tugged her jacket tighter around herself and tried not to analyze it—Kori’s laugh, Kori’s compliments, the way her whole face lit up when she talked. But the thoughts kept circling like vultures, hungry and persistent.

She was in trouble. Serious, heart-clenching, gay-panic-level trouble.

And Friday suddenly felt very far away.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Friday

The sunlight spilling through Lydia’s bedroom window was offensively cheerful. It angled in golden and soft, dusting everything in that fake kind of warmth that felt more like mockery than comfort. It didn’t care about the slow-building panic unfurling in her stomach, or the silent war currently raging across her bedroom floor—two sweaters in a tangled heap, a pair of jeans in time-out on the desk chair, and a half-packed tote bag gaping open like it had something to say.

Outside, birds were chirping with aggressive optimism. Lydia wanted to yell at them.

She stood in front of her mirror in an oversized Olivia Rodrigo T-shirt and mismatched socks, brushing through her hair like it was the only thing tethering her to earth. Her reflection stared back, unimpressed.

What did one wear to a not-date that was also a real project meeting at the house of a girl who made her feel completely, stupidly unhinged?

A girl who texted her at night and laughed at her bad jokes.

A girl who had smiled at her—really smiled, like Lydia was something warm, something worth it.

A girl who Lydia knew she could never have. 

It was just the project. Just a Friday. Just the girl who wore friendship bracelets and commented on Lydia’s eyes and existed in a way that was deeply unhelpful to Lydia’s mental health.

She changed outfits twice, landing on a third that felt barely different from the first—her black Ghostface hoodie with sleeves long enough to hide inside, and her most faithful jeans: slightly faded, definitely over-worn, but perfectly broken in. Chill. Effortless. Strategic.

Lip balm, not lip gloss. Subtle, survivable.

Then, without fully thinking, her hand reached for the name necklace she almost never wore—delicate white gold, small enough to feel like a secret. Her grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, the same way she had for all the women in the family. Lydia usually kept it tucked in the velvet pouch it came in. It never felt like her.

But this morning, it did. It felt like... something Kori might notice. Or maybe something Lydia hoped she would notice. And wasn’t that terrifying?

She clasped it around her neck with fingers that felt too warm and tried not to think too hard about what it meant.

Out in the kitchen, Suzie was leaning against the counter, microwaving oatmeal and watching her like a scientist observing a very dramatic lab rat.

“What?” Lydia asked, trying for casual as she stuffed the pretzels, dark chocolate almonds, and sour gummy worms she bought yesterday into her tote.

Suzie raised an eyebrow. “I can practically feel your nerves radiating off you.”

Lydia scoffed, a little too sharply. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

Lydia froze, zipper halfway closed. “…So?”

“You only wear that when you want to feel pretty and pretend it’s effortless.”

“It is effortless,” Lydia muttered, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

Suzie gave her a knowing smile and stirred her oatmeal. “You packed three kinds of snacks, babe.”

“It’s called being considerate.”

“For your academic nemesis turned emotional crisis in pink cashmere?”

Lydia paused in the doorway. “It’s not a crisis.”

“It’s definitely not not a crisis.”

There was no point in arguing. Suzie was grinning like she already knew how this day was going to end.

“I’m leaving,” Lydia said, backing out of the kitchen. “Please don’t text me anything embarrassing while I’m there.”

Suzie gave a mock salute. “No promises. Be safe. Don’t fall in love.”

Lydia flipped her off over her shoulder, but her smile gave her away.

The morning air met Lydia with a soft, biting chill—sharp enough to make her wish she’d worn a real coat, but not quite sharp enough to turn her back. It smelled like thawing earth and new beginnings and something just on the edge of spring. The sky was that crisp, cloudless blue that made everything look a little too vivid. A little too real.

She tugged the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands, fingers already cold, and started walking. Her tote swung against her hip with every step, the contents shifting in rhythm. The soles of her Doc Martens thudded against the sidewalk—soft, steady, grounding. Almost enough to calm her.

Almost.

Kori’s house wasn’t far. Twenty-five minutes, if she walked slow. But time warped around her nerves, stretching those minutes into something too wide and too loud. Her thoughts filled every inch of it, looping, spiraling, layering over each other until they buzzed like static.

This would be the first time they were alone— really alone—since everything shifted. Since they became... whatever this was now. Friends, Kori had said. Friends.

She kept cycling through imaginary greetings. Should she wave? Say hi casually? Should she hug her? God, Kori seemed like the type of person who hugged her friends—warm, perfumed, effortless—and Lydia couldn’t stop catastrophizing what would happen if she did. What if she froze? What if she hugged back too fast, too long, too obviously? What if Kori didn’t go for a hug, and Lydia looked like a complete idiot?

Her heart was a metronome now, ticking faster the closer she got.

She hated how conscious she was of everything: the faint tug of her necklace against her collarbone, the awkward bulk of her snack-packed tote, the clammy press of her palms even though the air was cold. She felt like she was vibrating under her skin.

It was ridiculous. She was twenty years old, not thirteen. This wasn’t a middle school dance. It was just a project meeting.

An extension of what they’d been doing for weeks—comparing campaign slogans, debating color palettes, editing their work into the ground. Kori probably hadn’t thought twice about it. She might not even remember the offhand compliment she gave Lydia last class, or the way her knee had brushed Lydia’s under the desk. Or the way she smiled when Lydia said something weird. Or—

No. Lydia shook the thought loose. Tried to.

But there was something about being invited into someone’s space. It shifted things. Recalibrated the air. And Kori’s world was like nothing Lydia had ever known—bright and soft and scented like vanilla lotion and lemon cleaning spray. Lydia had only been to her house once, briefly, and still it had imprinted on her. Not just the throw pillows and curated lighting and carefully arranged color-coded bins by the front door—but the feeling of it. Alive. Buzzing.

Sure, Kori had mentioned there were twenty girls living there, with even more constantly passing through. It wasn’t exactly hers. But somehow, the place still felt like it belonged to her. Like everything inside it moved slightly in Kori’s orbit.

The house came into view before Lydia was ready. The towering facade, the wide front porch, the enormous Greek letters bolted to the exterior like a warning sign: You Don’t Belong Here.

Her breath caught. She paused at the bottom of the steps, heart surging up into her throat like it wanted out. She fished out her phone with shaky fingers.

LYDIA: hi i’m here

The reply was immediate.

KORI: Coming :)

The smiley face made something flip upside down in her chest.

Lydia climbed the front steps one by one, each one louder than the last in her ears. At the top, she paused again, standing before the glossy white door like it might swallow her whole.

She took a breath.

Be normal. Be cool. Just a meeting. Just the project. Just—

The door opened with a soft creak, and there she was.

Kori.

She stood in the warm light of the hallway, wearing a half-zipped pink sweatshirt over a white ribbed tank top and matching pink cotton shorts that looked dangerously comfortable and entirely weather-inappropriate. Lydia didn’t understand how she wasn’t freezing. Her hair was up in a messy bun, like she'd just thrown it together without trying, and Lydia hated how good it looked. Her face lit up with that same disarming smile she always wore when she saw Lydia—like Lydia’s presence actually made her happy.

“Hey!” Kori said brightly, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hey,” Lydia mumbled, barely audible, her voice swallowed by the thud of her heart.

She stepped inside, and the house enveloped her all at once—warm air, the flicker of lavender candles, and the faint trace of pop music drifting from somewhere upstairs. The door shut behind her with a soft click, the sound final in a way that made Lydia’s stomach flutter.

“There’s girls in the study room,” Kori said, gesturing toward the staircase. “So we can go up to my room, if that’s okay?”

Her room.

Lydia nodded, keeping her expression neutral while her brain screamed. She wasn’t ready for this—whatever this was. She’d imagined them spread out at a table in a shared space, working side-by-side in neutral, fluorescent-lit safety. Not this . Not alone in Kori’s room. Not in the quiet gravity of a space that belonged entirely to her.

She followed Kori up the stairs, each one groaning under their weight. They passed open doors, a girl curling her hair in front of a mirror, another cross-legged on the floor painting her toenails. No one looked twice at Lydia, but she still felt like a trespasser. Like she’d slipped into someone else’s life and couldn’t remember the script.

Kori’s room was at the very end of the hall.

She nudged the door open with her foot, then turned back with a breezy, “Make yourself at home. Lana won’t be back for a bit, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Lydia stepped in and immediately forgot how to breathe.

The space was small—cozy, really—but it felt like stepping into another world. Vanilla hung in the air, soft and sweet and strangely personal, like the scent had sunk into the walls over time. The beds, twin-sized and lofted to make room for plastic drawers underneath, were identical in structure but easy to tell apart. Both had the same plush pink bedding, wrinkle-free and impossibly soft-looking, but only one had a white bunny squishmallow nestled against the pillows and an orange throw blanket that looked worn in the way favorite things were.

The other bed had a hyper-realistic cat pillow with glassy yellow eyes. Lydia blinked at it, uncomfortable with the way it stared at her. 

Kori caught her glance. “That’s Lana’s cat, Gouda,” she said, smiling. “The pillow, I mean. It’s creepy at first, but you get used to it.”

Desks flanked either side of the room, both cluttered with gel pens, makeup products, and jewelery. Kori’s was the messier of the two—lip gloss tubes rolling beside highlighters, a sticky note stuck to the base of her mirror with a little smiley face drawn in pink ink. Lana’s was tidier, her makeup brushes organized in a mason jar, her laptop closed and centered like it had been deliberately positioned.

It was a lot. A collision of chaos and care. Soft colors, girlish details, perfume and personality pressed into every corner. And somehow, beneath all of it, the room still felt unmistakably like Kori. Bright, sweet, a little messy. Full of things Lydia wanted to understand.

Lydia stood frozen in the middle of the room, hands twitching at her sides, feeling more like an intruder than a guest. Every inch of her felt too loud, too clumsy, like she was taking up more space than her body should allow. Where was she supposed to go? The desk felt too formal. The bed was…no. Absolutely not. The floor? Pathetic. But maybe—

She’d imagined them in the common study room again, separated by a respectable distance, maybe even with a table between them to act as a buffer. Somewhere neutral. Safe. But this? This was Kori’s room. Small and soft and suffused with her presence. There was nowhere to escape it. Nowhere to pretend this was just about the project.

She swallowed, pulse thudding too loudly in her ears. There was nowhere to hide here. No way to pretend this didn’t matter. No way to pretend Kori didn’t matter.

Kori sat on the fluffy pink rug like it was second nature, folding her legs beneath her and opening her laptop on the floor in front of her. “I sometimes work down here,” she said, flashing Lydia a half-smile, “since my desk’s always buried under makeup. But you can sit wherever. Bed, chair—whatever’s comfiest.”

Lydia blinked, still rooted in place. “No, uh—floor’s good.” She lowered herself onto the rug, the safest option. The rug was soft beneath her, but all she could register was how close they were. Inches. Maybe less. She could smell Kori’s perfume again—sugary, subtle, and stronger here, like it had seeped into the very air. Like Lydia had stepped inside it.

Kori’s voice remained steady as she opened a shared doc. “Okay, so I was thinking we do some brainstorming today for what we want our strategy to be, and then we outline a plan for our report and presentation.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Lydia managed, tugging her sleeves over her hands and reaching into her bag for her own laptop. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on deliverables instead of the way Kori’s knee was a few inches from hers, or how the vanilla-sweet air in the room seemed to cling to her lungs.

She opened her laptop. The screen glowed to life.

And just like that, the project anchored them.

They fell into rhythm, the kind Lydia had come to depend on more than she wanted to admit. For the next two hours, they bounced ideas back and forth with surprising ease, sketching concepts into a shared doc and building on each other’s thoughts like they’d been doing this for years. Kori brought the big-picture energy—confident, expressive, unapologetically enthusiastic—while Lydia handled the fine-tuning, pushing for clarity, nuance, and tone.

They scribbled over discarded ideas, laughed at a few that were too cringe to make the cut, and slowly shaped something that felt cohesive.

By the time the sunlight had shifted in the window and the snacks Lydia brought were half gone, they’d landed on a campaign they both actually felt good about. A pitch centered on Gen Z and college students—on long nights, early mornings, library meetups, chaotic group chats, and inside jokes that lived in meme culture. 

Lydia tapped out the final line of their campaign summary as Kori scrolled through Pinterest on her laptop, looking for visual references. The words came easily, crisp and clean on the screen, like they actually belonged there. For once, Lydia didn’t feel like she was bullshitting. The vision felt cohesive—real. It was their most productive session yet.

Somehow, they just worked. Their strengths meshed in a way Lydia hadn’t expected but had grown to rely on. Kori brought the bold ideas and sweeping statements; Lydia sharpened the edges and grounded them in tone. Together, they’d built something Lydia could actually be proud of.

They were halfway into outlining the project plan when the door swung open with a sharp, abrupt click.

Lydia jumped, her shoulders stiffening like she’d been caught doing something wrong. Kori, on the other hand, didn’t even blink.

“Kori, why the fuck have you not filled out the date form yet?” a familiar voice demanded—half-exasperated, half-sung like a joke she’d already told twice.

Lydia looked up, heart still thudding, as Lana strode into the room. Her ponytail bounced behind her, a tote bag threatening to slide off her shoulder. Something clinked in it—kombucha, maybe—as she dropped it onto her bed. Behind her trailed Jewels, head-to-toe in coordinated pink: leggings, hoodie, even her claw clip. Was monochrome pink a requirement to live here? Did the walls blush when you turned off the lights?

Lana’s eyes landed on Lydia—and widened. 

“Oh! Sorry, Lydia. I didn’t know you were here,” Lana said, her eyes flicking to Kori and then back to Lydia like she’d stumbled into something private.

Lydia opened her mouth, unsure if she should apologize for existing or say it was fine. Thankfully, Kori beat her to it, her voice smooth and effortless.

“Yeah, we’re working on our marketing project,” she said, barely glancing up from her laptop. “I literally told you yesterday.”

Lana frowned. “You didn’t say when . And I thought you’d be in the common room or something.”

“She definitely did tell us when,” Jewels chimed in, already tossing herself onto Kori’s bed like it was second nature. She snatched up the squishmallow bunny and hugged it to her chest. “You just don’t listen.”

Lana rolled her eyes. “Whatever. We can leave you guys alone if you want?”

Lydia looked at Kori, unsure if she should pretend she had somewhere urgent to be. But Kori just shrugged and offered a smile, soft and unconcerned.

“It’s fine. We’re almost done anyway.”

Jewels turned, still clutching the squishmallow. “Kori, did you hear what Lana asked you?”

“I don’t think now’s the best time to talk about it,” Kori said, still typing.

Lydia’s eyes ping-ponged between the three of them. 

“I mean formal is literally in six days and we need to send the guest list to the venue by three,” Lana said, flopping onto her bed and pulling out her phone, “so actually now is kind of the only time to talk about it.”

Lydia’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t apart of whatever this was but she couldn’t help her curiousity. Date form. Guest list. A deadline. Formal. Her brain tried to do the math, but the pieces refused to fit together neatly. She tried not to look like she was eavesdropping, even though she very much was.

And then, for some reason, maybe out of nerves or sheer boldness, she found herself blurting, “What’s a date form?”

All three girls turned to look at her.

“For our formal,” Jewels said brightly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone brings a date, and they need the names for insurance or something.”

Lydia nodded like it made sense, even though her brain still felt like a loading screen. Of course sorority formals had insurance. Of course there were forms.

“She’s on the committee,” Jewels added, gesturing lazily toward Lana.

“And someone hasn’t submitted hers,” Lana said, side-eyeing Kori.

Kori rolled her eyes, just barely.

Lydia tried to focus on her project plan. This has nothing to do with me. She repeated it like a mantra. And yet, her ears stayed tuned in like the conversation was suddenly the most relevant thing in her entire life.

Kori leaned back against the bed, finally pulling her eyes from the laptop. “It’s not that deep,” she said, shrugging. “I just didn’t have anyone I wanted to ask this year.”

Lydia blinked.

Oh.

Something about the way Kori said it—so light, so offhanded—made Lydia’s chest tighten, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just the idea of Kori going to a formal, dressed up, smiling in photos with someone. A boy.

Lana sat up straighter. “What do you mean you don’t have anyone? That’s literally never stopped you before.”

“Yeah,” Jewels agreed, shooting Kori a look. “You always have a date. You had options last semester. Like, at least three.”

Kori waved a hand. “Yeah, and I didn’t really like any of them. I don’t know. It just feels like... whatever this semester.”

Lydia stared at the screen in front of her, the cursor blinking patiently in the middle of a half-finished sentence. She tried to focus on it. She really did.

Why do I care who Kori takes to a sorority formal? It has absolutely nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.

But the words blurred. Kori’s voice kept tugging at her attention.

“Well, that’s boring,” Lana said, throwing an arm across her face. “If you don’t bring a date, our group photo is going to be uneven.”

Kori laughed softly. “Sorry to ruin the aesthetic.” She shot Lana a look—teasing, but there was something else behind it. Something unreadable. Or maybe Lydia just wanted there to be.

Lydia glanced between them, trying to smile like she was in on the joke, but something felt off. Her stomach churned, a weird tension coiling in her chest as she realized—Kori didn’t have a date. She didn’t want one.

But that didn’t stop the image from flashing across Lydia’s mind—Kori in some sparkly dress, holding someone’s hand, posing for photos with a frat boy wrapping his arms around her.

It made Lydia feel… something. She couldn’t name it, which made it worse.

Lana pulled her attention back, sitting up. “Then just bring a friend,” she said, dismissively. “You don’t have to make it a whole romantic thing.”

“Yeah,” Jewels chimed in, her voice light and teasing, “you should bring Lydia.”

Lydia froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her words scrambling in her head. “What?” she blurted, her voice too loud, too startled.

Kori froze for a beat, her eyes flicking to Lydia’s, searching her face. “What?” she echoed, but with a soft laugh that wavered slightly, like she was caught between amusement and... something else.

Jewels, unbothered as always, waved a hand. “Come on. You two are always like texting each other. It’d be cute.”

Lydia forced a neutral smile, but it felt tight, unnatural. She couldn’t seem to stop the swirl of thoughts in her mind. What would it even be like to go with Kori? To show up at the formal with her, in front of her entire sorority and their dates? People would know they’re just friends, right? The idea felt like it should have been ridiculous, but instead, it made her heart skip.

Kori stretched, her movements languid, like the comment hadn’t unsettled her at all. “I mean,” she said lightly, her eyes on Lydia but her tone maddeningly neutral, “Lydia probably has better things to do than come to a sorority formal with me.”

Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it. “I—um…” Her thoughts scattered completely. Six days. The words clanged in her head like a fire alarm. She didn’t even own a dress. Or heels. Or confidence.

“If you do want to come,” Kori added, more gently this time, “it wouldn’t be a big deal. People bring friends as dates all the time. It’s just dinner, music, photos, whatever. No pressure.”

“Can I… think about it?” Lydia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We have to send the list to the venue in like…” Lana checked her watch. “Twenty-seven minutes. But I can put you down, and if you end up not going, it’s whatever. We just can’t add anyone later.”

Lydia nodded, still unsure what to say. 

Kori stood suddenly. “Lana, can I talk to you outside?”

Lana raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Sure.”

They stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind them, leaving Lydia and Jewels alone in a silence that immediately became unbearable.

Lydia sat frozen. Alone with Jewels. Of all people.

She didn’t know Jewels, not really. Just that Sam had once called her “a walking headache in platform UGGs,” and Sam didn’t hate people lightly. That had been enough for Lydia to quietly file Jewels under avoid if possible .

Now here they were—trapped in a shared moment neither of them had asked for. Lydia kept her eyes on her laptop, praying they could coexist in mutual silence until Kori came back.

But of course, that would’ve been too easy.

“You don’t have to be scared you know,” Jewels voice cut through the air like a knife.

Lydia blinked, looking up. “Scared of what?”

“Of us,” Jewels replied simply, like it was obvious. “I know we’re probably the first sorority girls you’ve ever actually talked to, but I promise—we’re normal people.”

“I’m not scared of you guys,” Lydia lied, poorly.

Jewels smiled, “Okay. But then come to the formal. I know she’s playing it cool, but trust me—it would mean a lot to her if you came.”

The words hit Lydia like a brick to the chest.

Kori. Kori King. Kori lip gloss and matching highlighters King. The girl Lydia had spent weeks convincing herself hated her. The girl whose smile lived in her head like a pop song she couldn’t stop humming. The girl she couldn’t look at for too long without losing her train of thought.

It would mean a lot to her.

No. No, that couldn’t be right. That had to be Jewels stirring the pot. Or misinterpreting things. Or maybe she was just trying to mess with her—like some weird hazing ritual for unsuspecting lesbians.

Because why would Kori care? Why would it mean a lot to someone like Kori if someone like her showed up to some glitter-drenched formal surrounded by monograms and cocktails with fruit in them?

Lydia swallowed, trying to play it cool, but her stomach was already staging a rebellion.

She tried to summon her usual defenses—sarcasm, skepticism, emotional detachment—but all of them were quiet. Useless.

Because deep down, a part of her—the part she tried very, very hard not to listen to— wanted to believe it. Wanted it so badly it made her chest ache.

If Jewels was right—if Kori wanted her there, even as a friend—it meant something. It meant something. And Lydia wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

But she was also tired.

Tired of pretending she didn’t care.

Tired of acting like every glance from Kori didn’t light her nerves on fire.

Tired of rewriting every moment between them into something neutral just so she didn’t have to hope.

Hope was dangerous. But ignoring it? That hadn’t been much safer.

Jewels was still watching her, one eyebrow slightly raised, like she knew exactly what was happening inside Lydia’s head.

Lydia exhaled through her nose and crossed her arms, more to keep herself from unraveling than anything else.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Jewels tilted her head. “Fine?”

“I’ll go,” Lydia said, louder this time, her heart thrumming against her ribs. “To the formal.”

Jewels grinned, all teeth and triumph. “Good. I have no idea what they’re talking about out there, but when she comes back you have to tell her. She’s going to freak out—in a good way.” Jewels’ energy was practically spilling out of her pores, buzzing with excitement that Lydia couldn’t quite absorb.

Before Lydia could respond, the door creaked open. Like a cue from some invisible stage manager, Kori and Lana stepped back into the room.

Kori squinted at Jewels, immediately suspicious. “Why the fuck are you smiling like that?”

Jewels said nothing. Just beamed.

It was Lydia’s turn now. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs felt like they’d been replaced with borrowed parts. But the words were there—hovering, waiting.

“I’ll go to the formal,” she said, her voice quieter now, as if admitting something too fragile to say out loud. She sank a little further into the rug beneath her, like the floor might hold her together if she let it.

Kori’s face lit up with that smile—that stupid, heart-wrenching, perfect smile—and Lydia felt it hit her like a freight train all over again. That was why she was doing this. That smile. That moment. That fleeting flicker of something warm and impossible and dangerous.

Sure, Kori would never want her the way Lydia wanted her. That was just reality. Kori existed in a world of glittering confidence and perfect hair and laughter that filled every room. Lydia lived on the edges of things. Watching. Longing.

But if going to this formal—if squeezing into a dress she hated, forcing her feet into unfamiliar heels, standing under a chandelier she’d rather be beneath ironically—meant seeing that smile again?

She’d do it.

She’d do it a hundred times.

“Perfect,” Lana said, businesslike as always. “Kori, go fill out the form,” she added, pointing to her laptop before settling back onto her bed with a sigh.

Kori crossed the room and sat across from Lydia, close enough for Lydia to notice the subtle shimmer on her cheekbone, the soft scent of vanilla and citrus. She leaned over slightly, eyes warm. “Thank you,” she said. “Sorry they ambushed you with this, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

Lydia managed a small smile. “No problem,” she said, though it felt like a lie. “But I should probably head home.”

“Let me fill this out first,” Kori replied, opening her laptop. “I’ll walk you out.”

As Kori began typing, Lydia packed her bag with shaking fingers. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jewels and Lana on their beds, furiously tapping on their phones. Maybe they were texting each other. Maybe they were talking about her. About how ridiculous she looked. About how obvious this whole thing was.

In any other moment, she might’ve spiraled. Might’ve let it chew her up from the inside. But right now? She just wanted to leave. To be alone. To sit in the quiet and process the fact that she had just agreed to willingly enter a fluorescent, formalized hellscape all because a girl with lip gloss and good lighting had smiled at her.

She needed time. Space. A really long nap.

Kori closed her laptop and looked up. “Ready?”

Lydia nodded and stood, her bag slung over her shoulder like a shield she didn’t quite know how to use. “Yeah,” she said.

They stepped into the hallway together, the sorority house suddenly quieter with the door shut behind them. The hum of voices and music faded, replaced by the soft creak of floorboards and the distant drone of a dryer somewhere in the house.

Kori walked beside Lydia, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her shoulder brushing Lydia’s every now and then in the narrow hallway. Neither of them said anything right away. Lydia could feel the pulse in her throat like it was trying to get her attention.

At the front door, Kori reached out and pulled it open. A gust of cool air rushed in, the kind that smelled like damp pavement and late winter—almost spring. Lydia stepped out onto the porch and turned back toward her.

Kori leaned against the doorway, arms still crossed, the porch light painting her hair in soft gold.

“So,” Kori said, lips quirking up. “You really meant it? You’ll come?”

Lydia nodded, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. “Yeah,” she said, quieter than she meant to. “I meant it.”

Something flickered across Kori’s face—relief, maybe. Gratitude. Something warm and honest that made Lydia’s stomach twist.

“I’m glad,” Kori said. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”

Lydia gave her a look, skeptical but not unfriendly. “That seems… optimistic.”

Kori laughed, soft and breathy. “Okay, maybe not fun fun. But it’ll be memorable. And I’ll be there.”

And just like that, Lydia’s heart did something traitorous in her chest.

Kori stood there a second longer, as if she might say something else, but then she just smiled—gentler this time. “Text me when you get home?”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t demanding. But it landed somewhere deep in Lydia’s ribs.

“Yeah,” Lydia said. “I will.”

And then she turned and walked down the porch steps, her boots echoing faintly against the concrete. She didn’t look back—not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t trust herself if she did.

The walk home felt longer than usual. The cold bit at her cheeks and the wind tugged at the hem of her coat, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were too loud. Too fast. Spinning with what had just happened. With the way Kori had looked at her. With the fact that she had actually said yes.

To a formal.

To Kori .

When she finally got back to her apartment, she slipped inside and leaned against the door, heart still racing.

She had no idea what she had just agreed to walk into.

But she also knew she wouldn’t take it back.

Chapter Text

The next day, Saturday

Lydia woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window.

For a second, she didn’t move. She just lay there, tangled in her comforter, staring at the soft patch of light stretching across her ceiling. The city didn’t usually sound like this—quiet, gentle, almost absurdly peaceful for a Saturday morning. It felt like the world had hit some kind of reset button, like it hadn’t been spinning at full speed inside her chest just the night before.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. 10:04 a.m. No texts from Kori aside from a thumbs-up reaction. But she'd said she would text her, not the other way around, and she had— Got home, thanks again. Just that. Just enough.

Still, her heart tugged at the thought of it. Of her.

Of what she’d agreed to.

Lydia rolled onto her back with a groan, dragging the comforter over her face. “What the fuck did I do,” she muttered, muffled and dramatic and entirely too awake for someone who’d barely slept.

Kori’s face wouldn’t leave her head. That smile—the second one, the soft one, like it was just for her. And the way she’d said Text me when you get home like it meant something more than it should have. Like maybe Lydia wasn’t the only one feeling… whatever this was.

And then there was the formal. The actual, real-life sorority formal she’d somehow agreed to go to. With Kori. In a dress. In heels. Surrounded by strangers who probably thought she didn’t belong anywhere near a girl like that.

She hadn’t told Suzie yet.

Suzie had come home late—really late. Lydia had heard the front door creak open around 2 a.m., followed by a thud and some theatrical humming from the kitchen. Classic Suzie, high on performance adrenaline and probably half a bottle of boxed wine.

They had plans today. Suzie, Sam, and her. Some hangout-slash-decompression-slash-Sam-insists-we-need-sunlight thing. But Suzie didn’t know about Lydia’s Thursday night plans yet. And she had to tell her before Sam got there. 

Lydia dragged herself upright, her head still foggy. Her room was a mess—jeans and socks and tote bags all tossed across the floor like evidence of someone who had been Too Emotionally Compromised to Clean. She reached for the hoodie hanging on the back of her desk chair and pulled it over her head before stumbling barefoot into the kitchen.

The apartment was quiet. No signs of Suzie yet.

Lydia filled the kettle and stood there staring out the window while it heated. The sun was brighter than it had any right to be, and the sky was aggressively blue. It felt like the kind of day meant for clarity, for bold choices and new beginnings.

It made her kind of want to throw up.

She was halfway through pouring cereal into a bowl when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her. Suzie stepped into the kitchen, still in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair a chaotic mess of curls piled on top of her head.

“Morning,” she mumbled, heading straight for the coffee machine.

Lydia smirked. “Have fun last night?”

Suzie let out a gravelly chuckle. “Yeah. Rehearsal ran late, and then everyone wanted to go out, so... I didn’t say no.” Her voice was scratchy, clearly paying the price for a night of singing and yelling over bar music. “I need, like, five gallons of throat coat and a nap.”

She pressed the brew button and turned to face Lydia, leaning against the counter with a raised brow. “Anyway. Enough about me. How’d it go yesterday?”

Lydia froze, her hand still wrapped around her half-full mug. The weight of it suddenly registered, like it was filled with cement.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at her cereal, which was rapidly getting soggy.

Suzie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh no. What happened? Did they say something? Was Jewels a bitch again? Do I need to fight someone?”

“No, no,” Lydia said quickly. “It wasn’t like that. It actually… it wasn’t bad.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

Lydia took a deep breath. “Kori invited me to their formal.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“ What? ” Suzie practically yelled.

Lydia winced. “I know. I know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Lydia.” Suzie’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

Lydia nodded, sinking onto one of the kitchen stools like the weight of her own decision was finally catching up to her. “Jewels asked me to go, said it would mean a lot to Kori. And then Kori looked at me and—God, I don’t know, Suze. I just said yes.”

Suzie stared at her for a moment. Then a grin crept across her face, slow and sly. “Oh my God. You really like her.”

“No, I don’t,” Lydia said too fast. “Shut up.”

“You do. You totally do.”

“I don’t!” Lydia insisted, even as her face betrayed her completely. “Okay, maybe I like her. A little. As a friend. It’s not like anything is going to happen. She’s Kori. I’m just… going. For the experience. For the story.”

Suzie cackled. “For the plot.”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause, both of them sipping their tea.

“What time is Sam coming over?” Lydia asked. Suzie was usually in charge of scheduling their plans. Lydia just showed up.

“Noon,” Suzie replied. “You have to tell her, by the way.”

Lydia froze. She hadn’t told Sam anything about the progress she and Kori had been making in their relationship. Every time they hung out, Lydia shrugged and changed the subject whenever Sam asked how Lydia’s “project partner from hell” was. Lydia knew she had to tell Sam eventually, but she was terrified. How was she supposed to explain to Sam that her former evil roommate was actually the one who suggested Lydia even go to the formal in the first place? 

“Do I really have to tell her?” Lydia finally replied. 

“Yes, you really have to tell her. Do you even have a dress?” Suzie sat down next to Lydia at the counter, pouring her own bowl of cereal. 

“No. I was hoping I could borrow one of yours.” Lydia smiled, her eyes pleading. 

“I mean, I don’t know if I have anything ‘sorority formal’ appropriate, but you can check.” 

Lydia followed Suzie into her room, still clutching her tea like a lifeline. The sunlight streaming through the window only made everything in Suzie’s space look more aggressively aesthetic—warm tones, vintage furniture, hanging ivy, and stacks of old playbills mixed with color-coded books. It was beautiful. It was so Suzie.

And so not Lydia.

“Closet’s yours,” Suzie said, gesturing dramatically as she pulled open the doors.

Lydia stepped forward and started flipping through hangers. Velvet. Lace. Polka dots. A pink flapper dress that looked like it belonged in a 1920s speakeasy. She pulled it out and held it up.

Suzie made a face. “Unless you’re going as a Great Gatsby -esque ghost, that’s a no.”

Lydia sighed and moved on. Everything was either tea-length or covered in some kind of novelty pattern. There was one black dress she considered for a moment before realizing it had a white pilgrim collar and puffed sleeves.

“Why do you own so many dresses that look like they were stolen from a time traveler?” Lydia muttered, trying not to sound defeated.

“They’re vintage,” Suzie said, mock offended. “And some are for theatre. I don’t go out dressed as a flapper. Most of the time.”

“Still not helping me survive a formal surrounded by beautiful blondes in bodycon dresses and champagne flutes.”

“Okay, rude,” Suzie laughed, sitting down on her bed and sipping her tea. “But fair.”

Lydia sighed, leaning against the closet door. “I knew this was a long shot.”

Suzie tapped her fingers against the mug in her lap, then perked up. “You should ask Sam.”

Lydia blinked. “Sam?”

“Sam!” Suzie repeated, like it should’ve been obvious. “You’re about the same size, and she used to do pageants, remember? She’s got a whole garment bag full of dresses in her closet at home, and she brought some back with her after winter break for that dumb networking gala thing.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. She totally does.”

“She’s like, low-key a dress hoarder. I’m sure she has something sparkly and terrifying that would make you look like a disco lesbian dream.”

Lydia groaned, flopping dramatically onto the bed. “This is becoming too real.”

Suzie grinned, flinging a pillow at her. “It is real. You’re going to a formal. With Kori. In five days.”

“Please stop saying it out loud.”

“Nope.”

Lydia stared up at the ceiling, heart thudding again in that awful, fluttery way. Sam would be there in a few hours. And she was going to have to tell her everything.

She closed her eyes.

“I’m not ready.”

“Too bad,” Suzie said cheerfully. “The plot demands it.”

✿

There was a knock at the door just before noon, right on schedule.

Lydia had barely finished throwing on a sweatshirt and brushing her hair into a low, messy bun. She’d spent the last thirty minutes pacing in her room, trying to figure out how she was going to casually slip “I’m going to Kori King’s sorority formal” into conversation without sounding like she’d completely lost her mind.

From the kitchen, Suzie called, “I got it!”

Lydia peeked out just in time to see Sam step inside, unzipping her jacket and immediately squinting like she was walking into a crime scene.

“Why do you both look guilty?” Sam asked flatly, not even offering a “hi” first. “Did one of you adopt a pet without telling me? Are we hiding a raccoon?”

Suzie grinned as she closed the door. “Wow, nice to see you too.”

Sam pointed between them. “You. You’re smiling like you know something. And you—” she turned to Lydia, “—you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I do not,” Lydia said, defensively.

“You absolutely do. You look… flustered. And suspicious. Like you’re sitting on a secret you don’t know how to tell me.”

Lydia opened her mouth to respond, then promptly closed it again.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh my God. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Suzie chimed in way too fast.

Sam folded her arms. “Okay, now I’m positive something happened.”

Lydia sank onto the couch, already wilting. Sam’s ability to detect drama was terrifying. Like a bloodhound, if bloodhounds wore cowboy boots and threatened to key people’s cars for hurting their friends.

Suzie leaned back against the counter, arms folded, wearing that maddeningly smug expression she always did when she knew a storm was about to hit and she wasn’t the one holding the umbrella. She nodded once, slowly— Go on then. Rip the band-aid.

Lydia took a shaky breath, held it for a second, and let it out through her nose.

“So… Kori and I kind of became friends,” she said, fast, like she could outrun the impact if she said it quickly enough. “Before spring break.”

Sam blinked. 

“What?”

Lydia cringed. “I know. I should’ve told you. I just—” She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Silence fell—thick and awkward.

Sam stared, arms still crossed. “Wait. Wait. You mean Kori , as in marketing class Kori ? Pink bracelets, sorority girl, ‘she probably wants me dead’ Kori? That Kori?”

Lydia nodded slowly. “Yeah. That Kori.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. She looked between Lydia and Suzie, her brows furrowed in disbelief—maybe even hurt. “You became friends with her and didn’t tell me?”

Lydia felt like she was shrinking by the second. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret. I just…” She sighed, slumping into the nearest dining chair. “You were so there for me back when I thought she hated me, when I was spiraling. And you were right there with the snacks and the jokes and the whole, like, vengeance pact.”

Suzie snorted softly.

“I didn’t want to sound like a hypocrite,” Lydia added. “Or disappoint you. Or admit I was wrong.”

Sam’s expression faltered—still stern, but the edges softened. She sat down hard on the recliner, legs folding beneath her like she’d just lost altitude.

“Okay. You’re friends now. Weird, but fine.” Her voice was flatter now. “But what else aren’t you telling me?”

Lydia’s throat went dry.

And then she said it:

“She invited me to her sorority formal,” Lydia said, heart thudding. “And I… I said yes.”

Sam stared.

Suzie, ever the chaos enthusiast, took a dramatic sip from her mug, eyes wide over the rim.

“You what ? ” Sam barked.

“I’m going,” Lydia said, her voice small but steadier than she felt. “Thursday night. With her. As her—well, not like a date date. Just like… a friend. I think. Maybe. Probably.”

Sam dragged a hand down her face like this entire conversation physically pained her. “Oh my God, Lydia.”

“I know.”

“No, like, oh my God.”

“I know.”

Lydia buried her face in her hands. Her cheeks were burning. Her whole body felt electric with nerves, embarrassment, and some awful hybrid emotion she couldn’t even begin to name.

She could feel Sam staring at her—hard. But not cruelly. Just… trying to figure her out.

Then Sam leaned back, her arms crossed again, but looser now. Her expression was still guarded, but her voice came out a little gentler.

“You really like her.”

Lydia groaned. “Not this again.”

Suzie laughed from across the room. “You’re glowing. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not glowing,” Lydia mumbled.

“You’re radiating,” Suzie said.

Sam huffed, but there was a smile tucked somewhere beneath the exasperation. “Look, I’m not thrilled you kept it from me. But… I’m glad you finally said something. And Lydia?”

Lydia peeked up.

“If she breaks your heart, I’m submitting a complaint to her sorority standards board.”

Lydia let out a breathy laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime,” Sam smirked, settling back against the arm of the chair. “Now the real question is—what the hell are you going to wear? And I swear to God, Lydia, if you show up in boots…”

Lydia sighed. “Yeah, about that…” She hesitated, then looked up at Sam. “I was hoping you might have something I could borrow. A dress. Maybe some heels. Something that says ‘I’m cool but also totally belong at a glitter-soaked Greek life event.’”

Sam snorted. “Nothing formal hiding in that goth lesbian wardrobe of yours?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Lydia said dryly. “Unless the theme is ‘haunted Stevie Nicks,’ I’m out of options.”

“I’ve got dresses,” Sam said, dragging the word out like it was a warning. “But fair warning—you might hate every single one of them. Think rhinestones. Think sequins. Think pageant.”

“It’s one night,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I can cosplay as a pageant queen for a few hours. For the plot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’ll owe me. Heavily.”

“I’ll buy you a matcha on the way,” Lydia offered.

“And dinner.”

Lydia smiled. “Deal. I’ll even throw in dessert. You’re kind of saving my life.”

Sam gave her a lopsided grin. “Damn right I am.”

Lydia glanced between her two friends. “Really, though. Thank you. Both of you.”

Suzie gave her a wink. “We ride at dawn, babe.”

Sam stood up and grabbed her keys. “Let’s go play dress-up, then. I have a size four sparkly monstrosity with your name on it.”

Lydia groaned. “Why am I doing this?”

“Because,” Suzie said as they headed for the door, “you like a girl. And she asked you to a party.”

“And you’d rather wear a glitter coffin than admit that’s adorable,” Sam added.

Lydia didn’t answer—just smiled, quietly, to herself. There was no point denying it again. It’s not like her friends would believe her anyway. 

They stepped out into the cool afternoon air, the city humming around them, and for the first time in a while, Lydia didn’t feel like she was bracing for impact. She was just… moving forward. Toward something.

Whatever it was.

✿

Sam’s apartment looked exactly the same as the last time Lydia was here: clean, minimal, and aggressively color-coordinated. The kind of place that looked like it could be featured in a catalog if the catalog had an entire section dedicated to crystal awards, perfectly arranged country vinyls, and a bookshelf organized by color and spine height.

“Okay,” Sam said, tossing her keys into a little ceramic bowl by the door. “Let the games begin.”

Lydia dropped her bag by the couch while Suzie made herself at home, already flopped onto the cushions with her shoes kicked off.

Sam disappeared into her bedroom and returned moments later with a massive garment bag—hot pink, of course—and dropped it on the armchair like it was nothing.

“I’m scared,” Lydia muttered, eyeing it like it might bite.

“You should be,” Sam said with a grin. “Some of these dresses have names . ”

“What do you mean names?”

“I mean, ‘Miss Stars & Stripes 2019’ kind of names.”

Suzie cackled from the couch. “Oh my god, I’m so glad I came.”

Sam unzipped the garment bag with a dramatic flourish, revealing a cascade of glittering satin, sequins, chiffon, and tulle. It was blinding—like opening the door to another universe entirely.

Lydia immediately regretted everything. “You don’t have anything black?” she asked, already bracing for the answer.

Sam just gave her a look.

Lydia sighed and reached out, pulling one of the gowns forward. It was strapless, a rich violet, covered in subtle beading with a soft A-line skirt. It was objectively beautiful. And utterly terrifying.

“Try it,” Sam said, already pushing her toward the bathroom. “No excuses.”

Lydia hesitated in the doorway, clutching the dress like it might explode. “What if I look ridiculous?”

“You won’t,” Sam said simply. “You’ll look like someone who says yes to things.”

That landed harder than Lydia expected. She stood there for a second, stunned by how much she wanted that to be true. Then she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The dress felt heavier than expected. Lydia slipped out of her jeans and hoodie and carefully stepped into it, adjusting the bodice awkwardly. The satin was cool against her skin, the skirt brushing her legs like a whisper. She looked up at her reflection and froze.

She barely recognized herself.

It wasn’t just the dress—it was the tentative softness in her eyes, the unfamiliar flutter of anticipation in her chest. She looked like someone who might actually go to a sorority formal. Someone who could maybe—just maybe—belong beside Kori King.

As a friend. Obviously.

“Lydia?” Suzie called through the door. “You dead in there?”

“No,” Lydia called back. “Just... having a small identity crisis. Be out in a sec.”

She opened the bathroom door slowly, the dress swishing around her ankles as she stepped out.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. Wow.”

Suzie sat up straight. “Holy shit, Lyds.”

Lydia shifted awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is it too much?”

“No,” Sam said, circling her like she was on America’s Next Top Model. “You look incredible.”

But Lydia couldn’t believe it. Not really. The purple felt too loud, too royal, like a costume she hadn’t earned. She kept catching glimpses of herself in the mirror and flinching, like her reflection might out her as a fraud.

“I don’t think this is my color,” she said quietly.

And with that, she turned back to the garment bag, flipping through layers of bright taffeta and candy-colored chiffon. Everything screamed in highlighter tones—hot pinks, yellows, aggressive coral. None of them felt like her.

Then, at the very bottom, she saw it.

A slip of soft periwinkle blue, barely peeking out beneath a puff-sleeved monstrosity. She tugged it free, breath catching in her throat.

It was simple. Spaghetti straps, a fitted bodice with delicate embroidery, and a gauzy overlay that caught the light just so. No sequins, no glitter. Just elegance. Understated. Kind.

Something about it made her heart skip.

She remembered it instantly—Kori’s voice, weeks ago, casual but sincere. “I like that blue on you. It matches your eyes.”

Lydia didn’t even wait for permission. She just took the dress and disappeared back into the bathroom.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, something felt different. The dress skimmed her frame like it was made for her. Soft. Light. Familiar, somehow. She didn’t feel like she was wearing someone else’s life anymore.

She felt—God, she hated herself for thinking it—kind of beautiful.

Suzie gasped audibly. “Oh my God , Lydia.”

Sam sat up straighter on the edge of the bed. “That’s it. That’s so it. That’s your dress.”

Lydia turned to the mirror, hands smoothing the sides of the dress. It fit perfectly, like it had been waiting for her. And for the first time, she didn’t feel out of place in something formal. She didn’t feel like a joke.

Suzie’s grin spread slowly across her face. “Kori is not going to be able to handle herself when she sees you in that.”

Lydia blinked and scoffed. “Kori’s straight, remember?”

Sam's head snapped toward her. “Wait, what ? You’re going through all this emotional turmoil for a straight girl?”

“She’s allegedly straight,” Suzie said, already rolling her eyes. “This is the same girl who compliments your nails and sends you Sanrio TikToks at 1 a.m.”

“Straight girls can like Sanrio,” Lydia muttered, crossing her arms.

“Sure,” Sam said, arching an eyebrow. “But straight girls don’t usually invite their alternative lesbian project partner to their sorority formal. That’s not subtle, Lydia. That’s a move . ”

Lydia hesitated, the knot in her stomach pulling tighter. “It wasn’t even her idea. It was… Jewels.”

Sam froze like Lydia had dropped a glass on the floor. “ Jewels? You’re talking to Jewels? ”

The tone hit Lydia in the chest. That flash of betrayal in Sam’s face made her want to sink into the carpet.

“I’m not talking to her,” Lydia said quickly. “I was at Kori’s. Lana and Jewels came in. They were talking about the formal, and Jewels said Kori should bring me. Kori looked just as shocked as I was, I swear.”

“I know how weird this must be for you,” Lydia added, voice softer now, “helping me get ready to hang out with someone you hate. But I’m not, like, friends with Jewels or anything.”

Sam’s jaw worked as she sat back, quiet for a beat. Then she exhaled, tension easing just slightly. “It’s fine. My petty freshman roommate drama shouldn’t get in the way of you living your rom-com with your new friends and the—what is it?—love of your life?”

Lydia groaned. “First of all, friend, singular. Second of all, a straight girl cannot be the love of my life.”

“Has she ever actually told you she’s straight?” Suzie asked, way too casually.

“No, but like—have you seen her?” Lydia said, gesturing vaguely to the air, as if the sheer concept of Kori King proved her point.

Sam squinted at her. “Girl. Have you seen me? Do you look at me and automatically assume lesbianism?”

Lydia opened her mouth, paused. “…No?”

“Exactly,” Sam said, lifting a brow.

“But Kori’s different,” Lydia argued. “She just doesn’t give… that vibe.”

“Maybe you don’t want her to be gay,” Suzie said carefully, “because if she is, you’re going to have to finally address this massive crush you have on her.” 

Sam nodded in solemn agreement. “Massive. You’re one eye contact away from writing poetry.”

Lydia fell quiet. The thought hit harder than she expected.

She’d never actually asked Kori about her sexuality. Kori never brought up any guys. But she never said she was queer either. Surely if she were, she would’ve mentioned it by now… right? People told Lydia things. People always told Lydia they were gay. Like she had a rainbow-shaped welcome sign hanging above her head.

“If Kori were gay,” Lydia finally said, “I think she would’ve said something.”

She turned, slipping back into the bathroom to change out of the dress before either of them could respond.

The door clicked shut behind her—just in time for Suzie to shout, “This conversation is not over!”

“It absolutely is!” Lydia called back, her voice muffled through the door.

Inside the bathroom, Lydia peeled off the dress slowly, carefully, as if taking it off too quickly might undo everything—might shatter the fragile confidence that had bloomed the second she saw herself in it.

She hung it back up on the hook, watching the soft blue fabric sway slightly, catching the light.

Kori’s voice echoed in her head. I like that blue on you.

Lydia pressed her palms to the bathroom counter and stared at her reflection. Her makeup was smudged from changing, her hair a little wild. But she still looked like someone brave. Someone different from the version of herself who would’ve laughed off the invitation and run the other way.

She didn’t know what Thursday would bring—if it would be awkward, if Kori would change her mind, if Lydia would regret all of this.

But for now, at least, she knew one thing:

She wanted to go.

And that was terrifying.

And kind of amazing.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Tuesday

Lydia told herself she wasn’t looking for Kori when she walked into class. She was simply scanning the room. Like anyone would. Purely observational. Nothing suspicious about that.

And if her heart skipped a little when she spotted the familiar blonde ponytail bent over her iPad—well, that was just caffeine and lack of sleep.

Kori was already in her seat, highlighting something in her notes with unnecessary precision. The bow of her pink tie-front cardigan hung delicately over her chest, effortlessly styled, like everything she wore just happened to look perfect. Her lip gloss shimmered faintly under the overhead lights—and Lydia hated how easily she recognized the shade as pink ginger, the same one Kori had worn last Friday.

Lydia swallowed and walked toward her seat like she wasn’t thinking about it. Like she hadn’t spent most of Saturday trying on dresses and heels and fighting for her life in front of a mirror while Suzie and Sam heckled her like chaotic fairy godmothers.

“Hey,” Kori said as Lydia slid into the seat beside her. Her voice was soft, almost careful.

Lydia forced herself to look relaxed. She leaned back in her chair and managed a casual, “Hey,” like she wasn’t stupidly happy to see her.

There was a small silence between them, the kind that had started to feel less awkward and more like something shared. Comfortable. Familiar.

“How was your weekend?” Kori asked, twirling her Apple Pencil between her fingers.

“Uneventful,” Lydia lied, shifting in her seat like it was no big deal. “Yours?”

“Busy,” Kori sighed. “We had our initiation ceremony. It took forever.”

Lydia nodded slowly, already imagining the most cult-like version possible. “Were there robes involved? A sacred chant? Blood oath to the sisterhood.”

Kori snorted. “No robes or blood oaths. Sadly. Just matching dresses and a lot of candles.”

“So… a sorority séance. Got it. Sounds like a fire hazard.”

Kori laughed, quiet but real. “They’re fake candles. A girl set her sleeve on fire once, and now it’s like, battery-powered everything. It’s kind of a silly ceremony but it’s tradition. I think we’ve been doing the same ceremony for like 200 years and no one's ever leaked it.” 

“That’s wild. Never tell me any of it. I’ll be tempted to write a BuzzFeed exposé.” Lydia joked. 

Kori grinned. “I was going to say Reddit, but yeah, you have very whistleblower energy.”

“Thank you,” Lydia deadpanned. “I take that as a compliment.”

Another soft pause settled between them. Not awkward. Not strained. Just… still. Kori clicked her Apple Pencil, once, then again, her eyes still on her notes.

Then, in that same casual voice, like she wasn’t about to completely upend Lydia’s internal world, she said, “So… are you excited for Thursday?”

Lydia blinked.

It took her a full second to process the question. And another to form a response.

Excited?

Was she excited?

That wasn’t the word she’d been using in her head. Anxious? Yes. Nervous? Constantly. Freaking out just a little? Every five minutes. But excited?

She hadn’t let herself go there.

Her brain scrambled to remember how to breathe as her eyes flicked to Kori, who, of course, wasn’t even looking at her now, just tapping her pencil and waiting like she hadn’t just asked the most loaded question of Lydia’s week.

Was she excited to see Kori dressed to the nines in some glowing, Pinterest-board dress? To be in a room full of strangers who all knew each other? To spend the night pretending she wasn’t in over her head?

Was she excited to stand beside Kori like she belonged there?

God. Maybe she was.

And that scared the hell out of her.

“I mean… yeah,” Lydia said finally, trying to keep her voice even. “I think so.”

Kori smiled without looking up. “Good.”

Lydia felt something flicker in her chest—warm and stupid and alive.

Before she could say anything else, Professor Visage cleared her throat at the front of the room, and the class began to settle.

Lydia opened her laptop, trying to focus, to pretend like she was present, like her mind hadn’t just launched itself into orbit.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Thursday.

Not the logistics. Not the time or place or dress or shoes. But being there. With Kori. Around her friends. At their event. The shiny crowd who all smiled the same way and wore jewelry that probably cost more than Lydia’s rent.

She could already picture it: Kori gliding through the room, stopping to greet everyone by name, Lydia trailing behind her like a sad puppy. Everyone else would be in glitter and heels and soft curls. Lydia would be the outsider in borrowed shoes, clutching a mocktail like a lifeline and praying no one asked her what house she was in.

It wasn’t just nerves. It was dread.

Kori’s world was bright and curated and polished. Lydia’s was… not. And she couldn’t help but feel like a smudge in the middle of all that sparkle.

And yet—Kori had asked her.

Even if it wasn’t a date. Even if she was probably straight. Even if Jewels had technically been the one to suggest it, and Kori had just gone along with it.

Except… she hadn’t looked like someone who was just going along with something. She seemed genuinely excited about going with Lydia.

But still. That didn't mean anything. Straight girls liked attention. Straight girls liked being close without realizing what it did to people. Kori could smile like that, lean in close, send little TikToks and compliments and mean nothing by it. That’s what terrified Lydia most—that she was reading into something that wasn’t there.

And worse: that if it was there… she wouldn't know how to handle it.

Her stomach tightened. She hated this feeling—being off-balance, exposed, like she was one ill-timed “you look beautiful tonight” away from losing everything they’d built.

God, what if she went and it was all a joke? What if she ended up alone at a table while Kori flitted around with her sisters and forgot she even came?

What if she embarrassed herself?

What if she didn’t belong?

What if—

“Honestly, I think brand equity has more to do with emotional attachment than loyalty,” Kori said, cutting cleanly through Lydia’s thoughts.

Lydia’s head snapped up before she even realized it, drawn by the sound of her voice like a magnet.

Kori was sitting forward now, speaking with easy confidence. She gestured lightly with her pen as she made her point, and a few students nodded around them. Even Professor Visage gave a small, pleased hum in response.

Lydia blinked.

And just like that, the spiral in her head hit pause.

Kori glanced sideways, like she could feel Lydia’s eyes on her, and flashed her a quiet, knowing smile.

And Lydia—God help her—smiled back.

For the rest of class, she did her best to stay grounded, take notes, even if her thoughts still floated somewhere in the ether, tangled up in nerves and lip gloss and the ridiculous warmth blooming in her chest.

As the lecture wound down, Professor Visage cleared her throat and tapped the edge of the whiteboard with her marker.

“A quick reminder,” she said. “Your final reports are due April 8th—no exceptions. And presentations will begin the week of April 22nd. That gives you two full weeks after break to finalize everything.”

“Oh, and midterm grades will be posted this afternoon,” she added, like an afterthought.

Lydia immediately stiffened in her seat.

Her stomach twisted. She could already picture the numbers in bold font next to her name, shouting not good enough.

Kori must have noticed because she leaned in slightly. “You’re going to be fine.”

Lydia huffed out a humorless breath, eyes still fixed on the glowing laptop screen in front of her. “I literally forgot everything the second I turned in that exam,” she whispered, panic rising. “I blacked out. I think I forgot the fourth P.”

Kori smiled, soft and unbothered. “You didn’t. You’ll see. You probably did better than me.”

“That’s objectively false,” Lydia muttered, slumping back in her seat.

Kori bumped her knee gently under the table. “Still. You’re going to be okay. I’ll text you when they come out and we can face it together.”

Lydia swallowed and nodded, but her thoughts were still spiraling. It wasn’t just about the grade—it was about what the grade meant. About how much she’d let herself care. About how she was suddenly surrounded by people who were really, truly good at things, and she couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t care whether she measured up.

She didn’t say thank you, but she didn’t have to. Kori’s voice had cut through the panic just enough for her to breathe again. And the nudge under the table—small, unspoken—felt like a tether back to Earth.

The room began to empty. Students filed out slowly, buzzing about the deadlines and the looming specter of their grades. Lydia packed up her laptop with stiff fingers, still distracted, but Kori waited beside her, patient as ever.

“You good?” Kori asked.

“Define good,” Lydia muttered, tugging her hoodie sleeves down past her wrists.

Kori just smiled. “Want to walk with me? I have like twenty minutes before I have to meet Lana.”

Lydia hesitated, then zipped her bag. “Yeah. Sure.”

They stepped out of the classroom together, the hallway buzzing with post-lecture chatter. Lydia’s backpack felt heavier than usual, the straps biting into her shoulders, but she barely noticed. Her attention was too fragmented—tugged in every direction at once.

She was hyper aware of everything: the clack of Kori’s s tennis shoes against the tile, the way her pink tie-front cardigan fluttered slightly with each step, the impossibly calm way she carried herself. Kori didn’t walk so much as glide—like she wasn’t weighed down by things like midterm anxiety or spiraling thoughts.

Meanwhile, Lydia felt like every step she took was too loud. Too awkward. Like her limbs didn’t quite belong to her.

“So,” Kori said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as they stepped into the sun, “where are you headed now?”

“Mugar,” Lydia replied, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “I’ve got to finish some readings. It’s… calming there.”

“That’s the library, right?” Kori tilted her head, genuinely curious.

“Yeah. On Bay State. About a ten-minute walk.”

“I’ll walk you,” Kori said, easy and unbothered.

Lydia blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Kori said again, with a smile so casual it made Lydia’s stomach flutter.

And that was that.

They fell into step, their strides syncing almost without effort. Lydia tried to keep her expression neutral, tried not to overthink every inch of space between them—or the fact that Kori’s shoulder kept brushing hers every few steps. She could feel her heartbeat thudding in her throat.

They didn’t speak for a moment. Lydia listened to the low rustle of leaves, the muted traffic, the soft buzz of passing students. She wondered if Kori could hear her heart pounding.

They passed a group of girls in matching Greek letter sweatshirts, their laughter sharp and bright. Lydia looked down quickly. They weren’t Kori’s letters—at least, she didn’t think they were. Truthfully, Lydia had no idea what Kori’s sorority was even called. Just that one of the letters looked like a triangle, one like a zero with a stick through it, and the third one… maybe an E?

She really was walking into this blind.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Lydia said, trying to keep her voice light—like her brain hadn’t been spiraling over this exact question for days. “What are you wearing to the formal?”

Kori grinned, teeth flashing. “It’s a surprise.”

Lydia stopped walking for half a second. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Kori said, her eyes glittering with something Lydia didn’t have the energy to unpack. “You’ll see it on Thursday. Big reveal. Dramatic moment. Cue gasp.”

“That’s… mildly terrifying,” Lydia said, trying to cover how off-kilter she felt. “What if our dresses clash and the universe implodes?”

“What color is yours?” Kori asked.

“Blue,” Lydia said. “Kind of a periwinkle.”

Kori looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. “We won’t clash,” she said, and the certainty in her voice made Lydia’s skin warm under her coat.

And the way she said it made Lydia’s stomach do something awful and traitorous. Her sweater suddenly felt too warm. Her whole body did.

“So…” Lydia tried to redirect the energy building in her chest. “Do you go to a lot of formals?”

“Kind of. We have one in the fall and one in the spring, and a few date parties throughout the year. Plus other people’s formals. The Spring one is usually the big one.”

“Sounds… intense.”

“It can be. Depends on who you go with.”

Lydia caught the way Kori glanced at her sideways when she said it—light, almost teasing—and looked quickly back at the sidewalk, nearly tripping on a crack.

Kori didn’t comment. She just walked quietly beside her until they reached the steps of Mugar Library.

“Okay,” she said, checking her phone briefly. “I’ve gotta go meet Lana, but be at my house by eight on Thursday, okay? We’ll pregame a little, then head to the venue together.”

Lydia nodded. “Got it. Eight.”

She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. Like she wasn’t internally combusting. Like she wasn’t staring at Kori’s mouth and thinking entirely too much about what it might feel like to kiss her. Lydia mentally snapped an imaginary rubber band against her wrist. Focus. Stop it.

And then, casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world, Kori stepped in and wrapped her arms around her.

It wasn’t a long hug. It wasn’t tight. But it was intentional.

Kori’s hand brushed between Lydia’s shoulder blades, just barely. Her perfume was soft—something vanilla and orange blossom and completely impossible to ignore. Her head tilted slightly toward Lydia’s, like she’d done this a thousand times before.

Kori pulled back before Lydia could even register what was happening. Her expression was soft, unreadable, totally composed.

“See you Thursday,” she said, like nothing had happened at all. 

Lydia didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She watched as Kori walked off toward the corner, phone already back in her hand, blonde hair catching in the sun like a literal Pantene commercial.

Lydia just… stood there. Staring.

Her heart was beating way too fast. Her limbs were buzzing. Her lips were dry and she couldn't tell if she was sweating or freezing or both.

It had only been a hug. A stupid, friendly, normal hug.

But her brain couldn’t stop replaying it—Kori’s voice so close to her ear, the faint scent of her lip gloss, the way she hadn’t hesitated for even a second.

She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

This was bad.

She was in so much trouble.

She finally exhaled, long and slow, like it might calm the shaking in her chest. It didn’t.

“Oh no,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the traffic.

Then, as if on autopilot, she turned toward the library. Her feet moved like they belonged to someone else.

She was unraveling.

And Thursday was going to kill her.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Thursday

She stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, clutching her eyeliner pen like it might suddenly demand a duel. The tip hovered dangerously close to her lash line, but her hand kept shaking like her body knew she was about to do something stupid. Irreversible. Possibly life-ruining.

Her black hair—curled to soft, glossy perfection—fell over her shoulders in waves that bounced when she so much as breathed. Sam had insisted on doing it, and Lydia had reluctantly agreed, thinking it would be a disaster. But somehow, here she was, looking like she belonged on the cover of a Pinterest board labeled subtly glamorous .

She hadn’t even put on the dress yet, and already, she felt like she was shedding layers of herself. It wasn’t that she looked bad. Objectively, she looked great. But not necessarily like her. More like a stylized version of a girl she was still trying to figure out if she could be.

“You’re holding that eyeliner like a weapon,” Suzie drawled from Lydia’s bed, where she was reclined like a Victorian invalid—albeit one munching M&M’s out of the bag they’d all sworn to save for post-formal decompression.

“I am armed and dangerous,” Lydia muttered, squinting at her reflection. She tugged her eyelid taut, praying for symmetry. “One wrong move and this turns into a tragic graphic liner moment.”

“You say that like it’s not your brand,” Sam said from the floor, where she was reorganizing Lydia’s jewelry collection with unsettling focus. 

“This is not the time for my brand,” Lydia said. “This is… this is something else.”

This was a performance. A risk. A chance. And Lydia wasn’t sure she was brave enough to follow through.

Her chest was tight. She hadn’t even left the apartment, and already her heart was sprinting, imagining every possible scenario that could unfold tonight—most of them mortifying.

What if she said something weird? What if Kori looked incredible and Lydia paled in comparison? What if she spilled something on herself, or tripped, or worse, spilled something on someone else?

Lydia exhaled through her nose and blinked hard at her reflection.

“You look hot, by the way,” Suzie said between bites. “Like, the kind of hot that makes straight girls rethink everything.”

Lydia groaned. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Suzie smirked. “Because it’s true?”

Sam stood, holding up two necklace options like a stylist. “Name necklace or heart necklace? And don’t say neither.”

“Name necklace,” Lydia muttered, barely looking. She was still staring at herself, trying to reconcile the version of her in the mirror with the girl who used to scoff at the idea of sorority formals. The girl who wore boots and ripped jeans and rolled her eyes at everyone who wanted to fit in.

Lydia drew the final line of eyeliner with a shaky breath and pulled back to inspect it. It looked perfect. Sharp but delicate. The perfect balance of being true to herself and looking like someone who went to sorority formals. She dabbed on a bit of highlighter—not too much, just enough to catch the light if she turned her head the right way—and then finished with a nude sparkly lip gloss that Suzie had all but forced into her hand.

She blinked at herself in the mirror.

It was strange—seeing her own face, so familiar and yet so transformed. Not like a stranger. Not like someone else. Just… a different version of her. One who let herself take up a little more space. One who wasn’t hiding behind smudged eyeliner and an oversized hoodie.

Sam came up behind her and rested her chin on Lydia’s shoulder, peering into the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” she said simply.

Lydia rolled her eyes, but she felt the compliment in her chest. “Don’t make me cry before I even get the dress on.”

“You’d still look good with tears in your mascara,” Suzie called from the bed. “All tragic femme fatale. But seriously—you look amazing, Lyds.”

Lydia turned away from the mirror, cheeks warm. “Okay. I’m going to go change.” 

She disappeared into the closet, grabbing the garment bag with the periwinkle dress. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unzipped it, careful not to catch the fabric. She stepped into it slowly, like she was crossing some invisible threshold. The fabric slipped over her like water, cool and soft. She adjusted the bodice, smoothed the skirt.

And then she stepped back into the bedroom.

Suzie gasped so dramatically you’d think someone had died. “Shut. Up.”

Sam, for once, was speechless. She just smiled, wide and sincere.

But Lydia barely heard them.

She walked toward the mirror again and stopped, frozen by her own reflection. Her breath caught.

It wasn’t just that the dress fit—it fit her. It hugged her in all the right places, flattering but comfortable, soft but strong. The periwinkle color brought out the cool tones in her skin, and even her eyes looked brighter, more open.

She looked beautiful.

And more than that—she felt beautiful.

Not in a way that erased who she was, but in a way that expanded it. Maybe she didn’t have to pick a side. Maybe there was room in her life for both combat boots and heels. For biting sarcasm and soft curls. For guarded walls and dresses that made her feel like she could float.

Maybe there was even space for this version of her to be loved, too.

She met her own gaze in the mirror and tilted her chin up slightly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

Suzie grabbed her phone. “We’re taking ten thousand pictures before you leave.”

“Obviously,” Sam said, already opening the Camera app. “Also, I’m tracking your location the entire night.”

“I’m sure I will be subjected to a million photos while I’m there,” Lydia rolled her eyes

Lydia smiled at them, nerves still flickering beneath her skin like static. But her shoulders stood a little straighter now. Her spine didn’t feel like it was trying to fold in on itself. Her eyes a little steadier.

She was still scared.

But she was ready.

She crossed the room and picked up her purse from the bed, mentally checking off everything she’d packed: phone, ID, lip gloss, gum, emergency safety pin. Emotional stability? Questionable. But everything else was accounted for.

She let Sam and Suzie do their photoshoot once she put her heels on. First a few solo shots (“ Serve, Lydia, serve! ”), then one with each of them, then an overly chaotic selfie of all three that Suzie immediately threatened to post on Instagram with the caption “Our little lesbian’s all grown up.”

“Do not post that,” Lydia warned, even as she laughed.

When she finally escaped their clutches, she ordered the Uber. It was two minutes away.

She made her way down the stairs, gripping the banister while Sam kept a steady hand on her elbow. Lydia was still walking like a baby deer in the heels, and the last thing she needed was a pre-formal tumble down the stairs.

“You’ve got this,” Suzie whispered, squeezing her hand before opening the door.

The car pulled up with a low hum, headlights casting soft beams across the sidewalk. Lydia climbed in, giving one last glance at her friends, who stood on the curb like proud stage moms, waving and grinning.

As the door shut and the car eased into motion, Lydia let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Here we go.

The radio was playing—something upbeat, bright. Chappell Roan’s Good Luck, Babe! thrummed low through the speakers, and Lydia couldn’t help the way it made her chest ache. Of course this would be playing right now.

She leaned her head against the window, watching the familiar blur of Boston flash by.

And for the first time all day, she was alone with her thoughts.

She didn’t feel like herself. Not entirely. Not in a bad way—just in an unfamiliar way, like she’d put on someone else’s skin. Someone braver. Someone who wore heels and shimmer and got invited to formals by girls she maybe had feelings for.

What if she didn’t belong tonight? What if everyone at the house looked at her and saw right through the dress and the makeup and the soft curls to the awkward, bitter lesbian underneath? What if Kori got caught up in the whirlwind of the night and forgot she’d even invited her?

What if it had all meant more to Lydia than it had to Kori?

Lydia closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The singer’s voice was sharp and glittering, like dancing on the edge of heartbreak.

She’d said yes. She was doing this. No matter how afraid she was.

Even if Kori was straight. Even if Lydia ended the night humiliated. Even if none of it meant anything.

She was still going. She was still showing up.

✿

The Uber slowed to a stop in front of the glowing brick house, its windows lit with warm golden light. Through the glass, Lydia could see movement—girls in colorful dresses laughing, taking photos, the kind of joyful chaos she only ever observed from a distance.

Deep breath, Lydia.

She thanked the driver and stepped out, immediately clutching the strap of her bag like it might anchor her to the ground. Her phone was already in her hand.

LYDIA: hey! i’m here

Kori responded almost instantly with a thumbs up, and a moment later, the front door creaked open.

There she was—framed in the soft light of the entryway like something out of a dream sequence. Kori’s hair was pulled back in gentle waves, her makeup glittery and warm-toned, glowing in the light. She wore a hoodie and sweatpants, and for the first time, Lydia felt overdressed in her presence.  

Kori’s smile stretched into a grin, eyes flicking over her in a way that made Lydia feel seen in the most unnerving, heart-thudding way.

“I love your dress,” Kori said, her voice warm and sure. “You look beautiful.”

Lydia’s brain short-circuited. That word—beautiful—floated around her head like a balloon she wasn’t ready to pop.

“Thanks,” she said, soft and a little breathless, stepping inside.

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs. Everyone’s getting ready in my room.” Kori reached for Lydia’s arm and linked it with hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The house smelled like expensive perfume, body glitter, and something floral she couldn’t quite place. The living room buzzed with activity—dresses swishing, phones flashing, girls shouting names and compliments across the space like some kind of pageant battlefield.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You are just a normal girl in a normal dress at a normal pre-formal hosted by your maybe-straight project partner who hugged you like she meant it. Who just called you beautiful. Totally fine.

Kori led her up the stairs and down a hallway strung with fairy lights and framed composite photos of smiling girls in perfect makeup and flawless hair. Every single one of them looked like they belonged.

Lydia’s borrowed heels clicked against the hardwood floor a little too loudly.

At the end of the hall, Kori pushed open a door. “Lydia’s here,” she said casually.

Inside, Jewels was perched on Kori’s bed with a pink Solo cup in one hand and her phone in the other, legs crossed like she’d invented being unbothered. Crystal was still in sweats, half-crouched over a tote bag overflowing with hair clips, travel-size makeup, and some suspiciously strong-smelling body spray. Lana, in full glam, danced to Taylor Swift playing low on a speaker, twirling like she didn’t know how to do anything halfway.

Jewels looked like she’d stepped out of a 2003 prom catalogue in the best, most terrifying way. Her baby pink satin dress clung to her like it was sewn on, complete with delicate scalloped lace at the bust and wide straps framing her shoulders. It was a little too perfect.

Lana, meanwhile, wore a pale yellow slip dress with sheer lace panels cutting across the skirt in angular patterns. The lace was somehow both demure and daring—Lydia wasn’t sure how that was possible, but Lana made it work. 

All three girls turned to look at her.

And suddenly, Lydia was back in middle school, holding her lunch tray and wondering if she could just evaporate on the spot.

Jewels let out a low whistle and raised her Solo cup. “Damn, Lydia. Okay. You clean up way better than I expected.”

Lydia blinked. “Thanks... I think?”

“She means you look hot,” Lana added, spinning barefoot in a slow circle, a solo dance to the music playing from someone’s speaker. “Very prom queen, but like, if the prom queen starred in a gritty A24 film.”

“Exactly,” Jewels nodded, taking another sip. “Like you might burn down the prom but still be the best-dressed girl there.”

Lydia gave a tight smile, trying to ignore how warm her cheeks felt. Compliments from girls like them felt like a foreign language. Flattering, yes, but strange and suspicious. She could barely understand it, let alone reciprocate.

Crystal finally looked up from a tote bag of hair clips and gave her a sincere once-over. “Love the dress. That blue’s kind of unreal on you.”

“Thanks,” Lydia said again, her voice still soft, trying not to completely unravel under the scrutiny. She hovered near the doorway, feeling very aware of how out of place she was in this glitter-slicked, perfume-drenched world. The girls returned to their conversations and makeup brushes with the ease of people who knew they belonged.

Kori pulled out Lana’s vanity chair and gestured. “You wanna sit?”

Lydia nodded gratefully and perched on the chair. Kori stood beside her, pouring a cup of vodka lemonade with a little flourish before handing it over.

Lydia took a sip. It was stronger than she expected—but good. It buzzed down her throat like liquid courage. And she needed all the courage she could get.

Lydia glanced around. “So, uh… where are everyone’s dates?”

Jewels laughed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Not here yet. Boys aren’t allowed upstairs. House rule. Also, technically? We’re not allowed to drink in the house either, so… you saw nothing.”

“They’re meeting us downstairs at 8:30,” Lana added, checking her phone. “Once we’re dressed. And, you know, appropriately tipsy.”

Lydia nodded slowly. House rule. Boys downstairs. Dates downstairs.  

So when Kori had told her to come upstairs, to pregame with her and her friends— was that just a friend thing? Or a girl thing?

She felt that familiar pit settle in her stomach again. You’re not a date, just a plus-one. A project partner. An invited guest. It doesn’t mean anything.

She pressed her hands against the sides of her thighs to steady herself, trying not to let it show on her face.

Kori sat cross-legged at her vanity now, hoodie sleeves pushed up as she tapped glitter highlighter across her cheekbones. She was so relaxed. So at home in her skin. Lydia could only stare.

“You’re not dressed yet,” Lydia said, trying to keep her voice light.

Kori glanced at her in the mirror, eyes flicking briefly to meet Lydia’s. “I was waiting for you.”

That sentence hit Lydia square in the chest. She didn’t know what to do with it, so she laughed awkwardly. “You mean you just didn’t want to stand in heels longer than you had to.”

Kori smiled, but didn’t deny it. “That too.”

She stood and stretched, the hem of her hoodie lifting just slightly before she disappeared into her closet with a garment bag slung over one shoulder.

The room kept humming, but Lydia felt everything slow. Her drink was half gone. Her nerves were not.

When Kori stepped out, the air shifted.

The dress shimmered like raspberry wine in low light—form-fitting, beaded lace trailing down in delicate floral embroidery. It clung to her in all the right places, sheer in bold, heart-stopping ways that Lydia’s brain wasn’t prepared for.

Lydia forgot how to breathe.

Do not say anything stupid. Do not say anything gay. Just blink like a person.

Jewels gave a low whistle. “Kori, you’re disgusting. In a gorgeous, unfair kind of way.”

Lana laughed. “She’s about to ruin at least three relationships tonight.”

Kori adjusted the straps, like the dress wasn’t a full event unto itself. She turned slightly in the mirror, eyes flicking to Lydia.

“I told you we wouldn’t clash,” she said. “So… what do you think?”

Lydia’s throat worked. Her brain was just static.

“The dress is beautiful,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “You look beautiful.”

There was a pause. Kori’s eyes stayed on her a second longer than necessary. “Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter too.

“Once Crystal’s ready we can go take pictures,” Lana called.

“You can’t rush perfection,” Crystal said.

Lydia drained the rest of her drink in two gulps. Her body felt warm, but her mind still buzzed with too many sharp, spiraling thoughts. She wanted to stay in this moment and also crawl out of her own skin.

Kori noticed the empty cup and smiled. “Another?”

Lydia nodded. “Maybe a little less strong this time.”

Kori laughed and poured her another.

For the next twenty minutes, the room settled into a cozy chaos. Drinks were poured. Lashes curled. Glitter applied. The girls peppered Lydia with friendly questions about her film classes. In return, she asked about their majors, their professors, their worst group projects.

Halfway through her second drink, Jewels turned toward her. “Where’s your dress from?”

Lydia froze for a beat. “Oh—borrowed it from a friend. I didn’t really have anything that felt… formal enough.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Jewels said. “I love the cut.”

“No clue where it’s from,” Lydia admitted. “It was one of her old pageant dresses, I think.”

Jewels nodded, and didn’t press further—but Lydia could practically hear her calculating. Taking notes.

At exactly 8:28, Crystal stood and stretched, cracking her neck like she was about to run a marathon instead of get dressed.

“All right,” she announced, grabbing her garment bag. “Time to transform.”

She disappeared into the closet with a hair tie between her teeth, leaving the door slightly ajar. Lydia could hear the faint rustling of fabric, the swish of a dress being stepped into. It was weirdly cinematic.

A minute later, the door creaked open, and Crystal stepped back into the room.

Lydia blinked. Okay, wow.

Crystal’s dress was a sleek, silver slip that shimmered with every movement, delicate spaghetti straps trailing over her shoulders. The fabric caught the light like a disco ball, clinging to her frame, the hem brushing the floor with every step. A high slit up one side revealed a glimpse of toned leg and silver heels.

Jewels let out a sharp whistle. “There she is.”

Lana clapped like someone had just stuck the landing at the Olympics. “Babe, if you don’t hook up with your date tonight, it’s a crime.”

Crystal just smirked. “He’s lucky I’m even giving him the chance.”

Everyone laughed, but Lydia stayed quiet. She smiled politely, careful to keep her expression neutral, but inside, that sense of not-belonging gnawed at her again. The glitter, the heels, the effortless confidence—it all felt like a world she’d been invited into as a guest, not as someone who actually belonged.

Still, she stood when the others did, chugging the rest of her drink, smoothing the front of her dress and grabbing her coat from Kori’s desk chair. Kori came up beside her, placing a hand gently on the small of Lydia’s back. It wasn’t much. Just a guiding touch. But Lydia felt it like an electric shock.

“Come on,” Kori said, voice soft in her ear. “We’re heading downstairs for photos.”

The girls clattered out of the room in a wave of perfume and laughter. Lydia followed, trying not to feel like a nervous extra trailing behind the main cast.

The downstairs hallway had been cleared for the pre-formal photo shoot—string lights overhead, a wall of gold and pink streamers with foil balloons spelling out FORMAL in the background. A few more sisters were already downstairs, posing for pictures with their dates and group shots.

Lydia stood to the side while Jewels handed her a phone. “Can you take a few of us?” she asked, slipping an arm around Crystal’s waist.

Lydia nodded and took the phone, angling it up as the four girls—Kori, Jewels, Crystal, and Lana—fell into their poses like professionals. Cheek kisses, peace signs, over-the-shoulder glances. They glowed under the entryway lights, a kaleidoscope of satin and sequins.

Lydia kept snapping. “Okay, I think that’s 400,” she said, handing the phone back to Jewels with a faint smile. “At least five are usable.”

“Your turn,” Kori said immediately, stepping toward her.

Lydia blinked. “Oh—no, I’m good.”

Kori tilted her head. “Come on. Just one.”

Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but a sharp ding cut through the room. Lana glanced down at her phone.

“Oh,” Lana said, glancing down. “The boys are here. They're waiting on the porch.”

Crystal immediately perked up, patting her curls and angling herself toward the mirror near the stairs. Jewels popped her lip gloss back into her clutch with a click and blew herself a kiss in the window’s reflection.

“All right, see you two in a sec,” Lana said over her shoulder as the three of them glided toward the front door in a blur of metallic, pastel, and heels.

Lydia watched them go, biting the inside of her cheek.

Right. Just a friend. Not a date. Not walking out to meet anyone. Just the girl who got brought upstairs because there’s no boy waiting downstairs.

Kori didn’t seem bothered by any of it. She was typing something into her phone when the front door creaked open and the boys stepped inside.

Three of them—tall, smug, and likely from the same frat based on the fact they seemed to already be friends with each other. They were all in crisp navy and charcoal suits, one with a pocket square folded too neatly to not be intentional. They looked around like they owned the room.

The girls greeted them with casual hugs, loud laughs, easy touches.

“We’re just taking pictures,” Lana told them, gesturing back toward the hallway.

Jewels’s date, a tall guy with sandy hair and a suit that probably cost less than his watch, looked past the group and spotted Kori.

“Hey, Kori,” he said, grinning wide like they were old pals.

“Hey,” she replied, voice flat.

His gaze drifted to Lydia, lingering a beat too long. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Lydia,” Kori said, her voice light but her smile not quite real. “My date.”

Lydia’s stomach dropped. The word hit the air like a glass shattering—sharp and impossible to ignore. But Kori delivered it so smoothly, so casually, that Lydia didn’t even have time to process it.

She smiled politely at the guy as he turned to her. “James,” he said, shaking her hand like he was meeting a senator.

“This is Brad and Jacob,” he added, gesturing to the two other guys, who nodded with the bored air of people expecting there to be alcohol here.

Then James turned back to Kori. “Chris was so bummed he couldn’t make it tonight.”

There was a beat. Lydia saw Kori stiffen almost imperceptibly—shoulders tightening, lips twitching into something colder than her usual expression.

“Yeah,” Kori said, her tone now distinctly clipped. “Devastating.”

The sarcasm was thick enough to choke on, but James just laughed like she’d made a joke.

Lydia didn’t know who Chris was, but she could guess. And whatever he meant to Kori, it wasn’t nothing.

Kori rolled her eyes and turned back to Lydia, her voice dipping into something soft. Familiar. Just for her. “You ready for our picture now?”

Lydia hesitated for a beat, the frat boy interaction still humming like feedback in the back of her mind.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

Before she could brace herself, Kori stepped in close—so close Lydia could smell her perfume. Something light and citrusy with a hint of vanilla. It wrapped around her like warmth. Like memory. Then Kori’s arm slipped around her waist—not tentative, not performative. Like it belonged there. Like it always had.

Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. Her body tensed, not in fear, but in that specific kind of panic that came with wanting something too much.

“Jewels,” Kori said, already holding out her phone. “Can you take one of us?”

“Obviously,” Jewels replied, taking the phone like a seasoned professional. “Okay—smile.”

Lydia tried. She really did. But all she could focus on was Kori’s hand resting against her hip, the soft brush of her hair near Lydia’s cheek, the way her body leaned in without hesitation.

The first click of the camera barely registered.

“Okay, that one was cute,” Jewels said, angling the phone again. “One more, but Lydia—maybe smile like you’re not being held at gunpoint.”

Kori let out a laugh, her grip tightening just slightly as she turned her head toward Lydia. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lydia said quickly, eyes flicking away. “I just… I don’t photograph well. I don’t want to ruin your photos.”

Kori frowned like the idea was physically painful. “That would be impossible. Just think of something that makes you happy, okay? I swear I won’t hold you hostage much longer.”

Lydia almost laughed— almost —but it got caught in her throat, snagged on everything she couldn’t say.

The camera clicked about 20 more times.

God help me, Lydia thought, every nerve ending lit like a match. I’m completely in love with her, aren’t I?

And then Kori pulled back, reaching for her phone to check the photos.

“These are cute,” she said, smiling at the screen like she meant it.

Lydia could barely hear her over the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even want to pretend she wasn’t anymore.

Chapter Text

The venue was… a lot.

Lydia stepped out of the Uber and into a scene that looked like it had been plucked from someone’s Pinterest board and brought to life with a suspiciously generous budget. Twinkling string lights crisscrossed above the entryway. Just beyond it, she could hear laughter, clinking glasses, and the low pulse of a curated playlist of songs she would never personally play for herself.

She trailed behind Kori and the others as they made their way inside, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The space opened up into a high-ceilinged hall bathed in golden light, with tables scattered artfully around the perimeter and a wide-open center space clearly meant for dancing later. Wait staff in sleek black outfits moved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering trays of bite-sized hors d'oeuvres that looked like they belonged on a wedding menu.

Lydia tried not to stare, but… she stared. Every corner was perfectly curated. A flower wall stood along one side of the room, a pink neon sign on top of it read, Delta Upsilon Kappa Formal. Beside it was a professional-looking photo booth setup complete with props—tiaras, feather boas, oversized sunglasses. 

Kori glanced back over her shoulder. “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Lydia blinked. “Not even a little,” she admitted.

Kori laughed. “The social committee really went all out this year.”

“You’re welcome,” Lana chimed in with a smug little smile.

They had Ubered over with Lana and her date—either Brad or Jacob, Lydia still wasn’t sure—and were now hovering near the entrance, waiting for the rest of Kori’s friends to show up. The place was packed. Way more than Lydia had expected. Girls in long, shimmering gowns. Frat boys in suits, hair slicked back, looking like they’d just stepped out of a department store catalog. No backwards hats in sight. Lydia raised an eyebrow. Guess the boys cleaned up for this one.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Kori asked, already angling toward the bar.

Lydia nodded, grateful for the out. She still felt off-balance, like she was walking around in someone else’s dream. The two vodka lemonades she’d had earlier gave her a nice buzz until Brad-or-Jacob launched into a ten-minute conversation in the Uber about his crypto investments. That had sobered her up faster than a cold shower.

“We’ll wait here for the others,” Lana said, already pulling out her phone.

Kori gently touched Lydia’s elbow and steered her through the crowd. The bar line wasn’t bad, thankfully. Just a handful of people ahead of them, all equally glossy and perfect.

Before Lydia could even think of something to say to Kori, a tall girl emerged from the crowd like she’d been conjured. She walked like she knew exactly where she was going and who would be watching.

It was the red dress that caught Lydia’s attention first.

Satin-like, deep cherry red, and molded to her frame like it had been tailored by a designer with a grudge against subtlety. The fabric shimmered faintly under the lights, revealing a barely-there floral pattern etched into the fabric. The halter neckline plunged dramatically, the back dipped low, and the skirt skimmed the floor with every confident step. It was bold. Show-stopping. The kind of dress you didn’t just wear, you announced yourself in.

And she was definitely announcing herself.

Her hair was pin-straight and dark brown, parted clean down the center and tucked behind one ear like she hadn’t even tried. Her date lingered half a step behind her in a standard charcoal suit, but his red tie matched her dress exactly because of course it did.

Lydia recognized her immediately.

Jane.

She’d seen her all over Kori’s Instagram. Concert pics, sorority events, a few film camera shots. Not part of Kori’s usual group, but definitely someone important.

“Gorgeous as always,” Jane said, pulling Kori into a hug.

Kori stepped back, giving her an easy smile. “You look amazing. That color is so fierce on you.”

Jane gave a little twirl, the hem of her dress catching the light. “You know I like to make a statement.”

Then her eyes landed on Lydia.

It was subtle—nothing overtly cruel—but Lydia felt it. That slow once-over, top to bottom. Like she was being measured. Assessed. Weighed against some invisible standard.

And she wasn’t sure she passed.

“Hey,” Jane said, her tone bright but distant. “You must be Lydia.”

Lydia nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m Jane,” she continued, smiling, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Kori’s big.”

Big. Right. That was a sorority thing. Lydia had heard about the whole Big/Little system, but she didn’t exactly know what it entailed. Was Jane Kori’s mentor? Her protector? Her friend? All of the above?

Whatever it meant, one thing was clear, Jane had claimed her territory. And Lydia wasn’t sure if she was standing on it, or trespassing.

Jane’s eyes didn’t leave Lydia as the three of them moved forward in line, the crowd buzzing around them like static.

“So,” Jane said, “how do you two know each other again?”

Kori smiled before Lydia could answer. “We’re in a marketing class together. She’s my partner for that project I told you about?”

Jane nodded slowly, like she already knew that. “Right. The group project. Classic origin story.”

Lydia forced a smile. “It’s super fun, I love learning about distribution channels” she deadpanned, hoping the sarcasm would mask the nerves tightening in her stomach.

Kori snorted softly, but Jane didn’t laugh.

“You must be good at it,” Jane continued, unfazed. “Marketing. Or just the project part. Kori hates working with people she doesn’t like.”

The implication was so thinly veiled it might as well have been broadcast over the venue’s speakers.

Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t trust herself to say something that wouldn’t come out defensive or weird.

Luckily—or maybe not—they were next in line. Kori turned toward Lydia, her voice gentler than it had been moments before. “What do you want?”

Lydia blinked, momentarily thrown. “Oh. Um, vodka and Diet Coke?”

Kori nodded and leaned across the bar to order. “Two vodka Diets, please.”

The bartender moved quickly. Kori reached for her phone, tapped her card, and didn’t even glance at Lydia as she paid.

Jane’s date stepped forward to order something with too many syllables and even more sugar. Jane didn’t look at him. Her focus was still laser-trained on Lydia.

“So,” she said again, casually, “have you ever been to a Greek life event before?”

Lydia sipped her drink, the vodka sharp on her tongue. “No,” she said. “This is my first one.”

Jane raised an eyebrow, as if that surprised her. “Really? So, what do you think?”

Lydia looked around the room, “it’s very… sparkly.”

Kori let out a quiet laugh beside her. Lydia wasn’t sure if it was meant to be encouraging or just amused.

Jane tilted her head slightly, studying her like Lydia was an open book she’d decided to annotate. “Do you know anyone in Greek life? Besides Kori of course.”

“Nope.”

“Hm. What do you study?”

“I’m in the film program.”

Jane blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “Film?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool,” Jane said, though her tone was unreadable. “So, what do you want to do with that?”

Lydia shifted her weight, the heels still unfamiliar. “Make movies, ideally. Documentaries or artistic films. Maybe work in editing. Or just become wildly famous and emotionally unavailable. Depends on the day.”

That got another laugh out of Kori, soft and real.

But Jane was still locked in. “Are you from around here?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“That’s not around here.”

“Nope.”

Jane sipped her drink, then said, “Are you seeing anyone?”

Lydia blinked. “What?”

“Like, are you in a relationship?”

It was asked so bluntly, so offhandedly, that Lydia nearly choked on her vodka. She glanced at Kori, who was suddenly very focused on a neon sign over the bar.

“No,” Lydia said after a beat, trying to sound chill. “I’m not.”

Jane’s lips quirked like she already knew. “Huh. Interesting.”

Lydia had no idea what that meant. She hated how warm her neck felt. She hated that Kori wasn’t saying anything. She hated that Jane’s stare made her feel like she was failing a test she didn’t study for.

“But you’re here with Kori,” Jane said, not as a question, more as a gentle fact. “So you must be special.”

Lydia didn't know what to do with that sentence. Was it a compliment? A warning?

Before she could answer, Kori finally broke her silence. “Jane, we should go find the others. Lana just texted about a group photo.”

Jane turned to her, a flicker of something—knowing, smug—passing through her expression. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep Lana waiting.”

She looped her arm through her date’s and offered Lydia one last glance over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you.”

Lydia nodded, her mouth dry. “You too.”

Jane disappeared into the crowd like smoke curling into the night. Lydia turned to Kori, trying not to look as rattled as she felt.

Kori looked back at her. “Sorry,” she said gently. “She can be a little intense.”

Lydia exhaled slowly. “It’s fine. I love being interrogated by strangers in formalwear.”

Kori smiled, but there was something behind it. Something careful. “You handled her well.”

Lydia gave a tight smile. “Do I get a gold star?”

“You get a drink,” Kori said, lifting her cup toward hers. “Cheers?”

Lydia clinked it. “Cheers.”

But the clink didn’t quiet her nerves. If anything, it echoed.

They weaved their way back through the crowd, the music louder now, the lights lower, everything glittering just a bit more under the dimmed chandeliers and fairy lights. Kori’s hand brushed against Lydia’s once, barely a graze, like an accident.

But Lydia felt it. She felt everything.

They spotted the group near the far end of the venue, gathered around the photo station set against a sparkly pink backdrop. A tall ring light framed a mounted touchscreen where an attendant tapped through each session with practiced ease. 

Crystal and her date were mid-pose, the flash going off as Lana and Jewels waited at the front of the line, adjusting their dresses and smoothing flyaways.

“There you are!” Lana called. “Come on, we’re taking a group photo.”

Jewels waved them over. “We need one of all the girls and their dates.”

Lydia slowed as they approached. Everyone else had someone. Arms linked, hands on waists, perfectly timed smiles. She was… not that. Not a date, not part of the group, not quite sure what she was doing here. Just a guest. Just passing through.

The ache of not knowing where she fit pressed against her ribs.

She took half a step back, almost instinctively but Kori reached out and caught her hand in a light tug.

“Don’t even think about running off,” she murmured, not looking at her. “You’re in this.” 

There was no room to argue. The attendant motioned them forward, and Lydia found herself wedged between Kori and Lana, the pink backdrop glittering behind them, the spotlight harsh and warm. Kori’s arm slid around her waist—steady, certain.

“Okay, everyone smile!” the attendant called.

Lydia tried. She really did. But her smile felt a little cracked at the edges, too self-conscious. The flash went off once, twice, three times.

Then it was over.

The group scattered, laughing and crowding around the machine as the strips began printing. Someone passed one to Lydia—her own copy. She stared down at the glossy paper. She looked… fine. Like a girl playing a part. Like she’d wandered into someone else’s life.

“That was cute,” Jewels said, fanning herself with her strip. “Only one person is blinking. Miracles.”

Lydia barely heard her.

“Okay,” Kori said, suddenly beside her again. “Now one of just us.”

Lydia blinked. “What?”

Kori had already turned back toward the photo station, tugging Lydia by the hand. “Come on. We look hot. I need one with you.”

Lydia’s heart gave a stuttering kick. The others were drifting toward the flower wall, posing in pairs beneath the glowing neon. Lana and Brad struck an ironic prom pose. It was all laughter and camera flashes, light and easy.

This wasn’t.

Lydia let herself be led. Her pulse quickened with every step. This felt different. Too intimate. Too deliberate.

The photo booth attendant looked up and smiled politely. “You two ready?”

Kori nodded. “Yep.”

Lydia stood there, unsure what to do with her hands or her face or her whole body. Then Kori stepped closer—closer than expected—and the vanilla scent of her perfume curled around Lydia like a ribbon.

The attendant tapped the screen. “Three… two… one!”

The first flash caught them smiling. Barely.

Kori leaned in for the second. “Relax,” she whispered, her voice warm at Lydia’s ear. “It’s just me.”

That was the problem.

The second flash went off as Lydia’s laugh slipped out. Small and startled and real.

In the third frame, Kori wrapped an arm around Lydia’s waist, her eyes shining. Lydia didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. Just smiled.

The final flash hit.

The attendant pulled the strips and handed it to Kori, who looked down, smiled, and passed one to Lydia without a word.

Lydia stared at the photos. Three tiny rectangles. Proof. She looked… happy. Not fake-happy, not trying. Just—like someone who belonged here. Someone who made sense next to Kori.

She didn’t recognize that version of herself, but she didn’t want to look away either.

“We can take another if you want,” Kori said softly, almost too casually.

Lydia shook her head, her fingers tightening around the glossy strip. “This one’s perfect.”

Kori smiled at that, soft and proud, like she’d just won something no one else even knew they were playing for.

They drifted back to the group, shoulders brushing. Kori’s fingers trailed lightly against the back of Lydia’s hand, a whisper of contact that felt like a secret.

They posed for more group photos. Everyone in front of the flower wall, then just the girls. The sorority girls. Lydia stepped back, uncertain where to stand.

Kori posed effortlessly, radiant in every frame. Lydia watched from the sidelines, trying not to stare.

“Lydia, do you want to take one with us?” Jewels called, beaming.

Lydia hesitated. She wasn’t really in this friend group. But she guessed… she was a friend. A friend in the friend photo.

She slipped into the lineup, standing beside Kori, careful not to lean too close, careful not to want to. She smiled, just enough, willing the camera to click faster.

After Lana insisted on a silly one—with peace signs and fake pouts—Lydia thought she was finally done.

But Kori turned to her again, smiling with that particular softness Lydia hadn’t figured out how to interpret yet. “Can we take one just us?”

Lydia could never say no to that smile.

The other girls stepped aside, teasing them lightly. Lydia and Kori posed again. It was friendly, technically but their bodies leaned too close. Their hands brushed. Lydia couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just… unavoidable.

They finished and stepped out of the frame, letting the group behind them claim the photo spot. The velvet rope guided them back into the crowd, the lights overhead glittering like captured stars. The DJ had switched to a hazy remix of something Lydia half-recognized, the beat thick and slow and strange.

The dance floor pulsed nearby, but the group had staked out a quieter spot near a velvet-lined wall, just out of the way of foot traffic.

Lydia followed Kori into the semi-circle, slipping in beside her. Kori stayed close, standing just a breath away, their shoulders almost touching. Every now and then, she felt the barest graze of Kori’s arm against hers, a whisper of contact that Lydia couldn't decide was accidental or on purpose. She wasn’t brave enough to ask.

The conversation was loose and rambling, fueled by vodka sodas and too much cologne. Most of it revolved around stories from spring break and frat gossip Lydia didn’t know enough to follow. Someone had hooked up with someone else’s ex. Someone had thrown up on a DJ booth in Miami.

But what Lydia couldn’t help noticing was how often one name came up.

“Dude, remember when Chris jumped off the boat to impress those girls and lost his phone?” Jacob—or maybe Brad—laughed, shaking his head. “Classic.”

“Yeah, and then acted like it was totally fine while he was crying in the Airbnb,” the other chimed in.

Every time they mentioned him—Chris—it was like they couldn't help themselves. The name would drop into the conversation and, without fail, their eyes would flick to Kori. Like they were waiting for a reaction. Like they were testing something.

Kori never gave them one.

She didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t smile. Just took a slow sip of her drink, as unreadable as ever.

“Chris would’ve loved this place,” one of them said as a waiter passed with a tray of tiny lobster rolls. “Definitely his kind of vibe.”

Another glance at Kori. Another beat of silence.

“Guess he had other plans,” she said lightly, voice smooth but cool. She didn’t elaborate.

Jewels, ever the master of tone shifts, swooped in to grab two rolls from the tray. “Okay, but these? These are unreasonably good,” she said, offering one to Kori without even looking. Kori accepted it and turned to Lydia.

“Hungry?” she asked softly.

Lydia blinked. “Kind of.” She hadn’t realized it until now, but the drinks had hit fast, and food would definitely help stabilize things.

She took one of the appetizers from the tray and bit into it, nodding. “Okay, that’s actually incredible.”

Kori smiled, pleased. “Good. The food may be the only redeeming part of the night.”

“Oh, the company’s decent too,” Lydia replied, teasing. “You’re here. Your friends are cool. These boys…” She glanced across the group. “They’re more like a case study. I’m observing them in their natural habitat.”

Kori laughed, and Lydia felt it ripple through her chest. The sound made her feel a little floaty. She still didn’t quite feel like herself. Her hair curled, her makeup perfect, this borrowed dress clinging to her just right but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe she was discovering a new version of herself she didn’t hate.

More conversation passed. One of the guys started talking about a girl in another sorority who was pregnant. Someone else told a vaguely chaotic story involving a broken coffee table, a ski mask, and a bottle of Malibu. The girls reacted in gasps and laughter, but Lydia found her focus drifting.

She kept glancing at Kori.

Or maybe she never really stopped.

And then the laughter died down. Jewels and Lana were on their phones again, comparing incoming photos from the booth. The guys were saying something about shots, but no one was listening.

Kori leaned slightly toward Lydia. Her voice was quiet—just for her.

“Wanna dance?”

Lydia’s stomach flipped.

She turned to look at her. “Right now?”

Kori shrugged, casual but with a spark in her eye. “Why not?”

Lydia hesitated. “I am a terrible dancer.”

“You don’t have to be a good dancer,” Kori said. “but also I don’t believe you.”

Lydia’s first instinct was to say no. To laugh it off. To hide behind her drink and let the moment pass.

But the alcohol was buzzing pleasantly in her chest, and Kori was still standing there—hand half-out, waiting.

Screw it, Lydia thought.

She downed the last sip of her drink, handed it to a passing waiter, and took Kori’s hand.

“Okay,” she said, heart pounding. “Let’s go.”

Kori smiled like she’d been waiting all night to hear that. And together, they turned toward the dance floor.

The music was fast, pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat. Colored lights swept across the room in lazy circles, catching on sequins and highlighter and the glint of cocktail glasses. Lydia could feel it in her chest, the thrum of the bass, the echo of too much vodka and not enough food.

Kori tugged her gently into the thick of the crowd, weaving through the blur of moving bodies until they found a pocket of space near the center. It was warm, electric, and Lydia didn’t have time to think—just feel.

The beat dropped. Kori started moving effortlessly, hips swaying, hands lifted like she didn’t have a single thought in the world.

Lydia tried to match her rhythm. She wasn’t a dancer. Not like this. But Kori’s energy was infectious, and the warmth of the drinks had loosened something in her. Her limbs didn’t feel stiff or out of place—they just moved. Not perfect. Not graceful. But alive.

They didn’t talk. Not at first. Just circled around each other like satellites, a little closer with every pass. Kori’s hands found Lydia’s for a moment, fingers lacing before slipping away again. Her laugh rang out like a bell when Lydia accidentally bumped her shoulder, and she spun playfully before coming back to her.

The crowd surged. Someone spilled a drink nearby. None of it mattered.

A pair of frat boys approached—overconfident and reeking of tequila, collared shirts unbuttoned just enough to look like they tried. One of them angled toward Lydia with a grin like he’d never considered being rejected.

“You ladies mind if we join?”

Lydia froze.

Kori didn’t. She turned, smile sharp and empty. “Yeah, we do.”

The guy blinked. “What?”

Kori leaned in, her voice still sweet, but her eyes like ice. “We’re good. You can go.”

He faltered. His friend hovered behind him, already sensing it wasn’t going to land. After a beat, they disappeared back into the crowd, a little deflated.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

Kori just shrugged, unfazed, her hands finding Lydia’s again. “They’ll live.”

Lydia studied her as they danced—really studied her. The way she moved. The way she kept glancing over, like checking Lydia’s reaction. She seemed so completely uninterested in the boys who orbited her like moths, even though she knew exactly how to charm them if she wanted to.

It was… fascinating.

“I’ve been wondering something,” Lydia said, leaning closer so her voice could cut through the music.

Kori tilted her head, curious.

“Why didn’t you bring Chris?”

There was a flicker in Kori’s expression—surprise, then something harder to read. “What?”

Lydia shrugged, trying to sound casual, even though her heart had picked up speed again—like it always did when she was just a little too close to Kori. “Back at the house. One of the guys said Chris was bummed he couldn’t come. They kept bringing him up. I just figured…” She hesitated, watching Kori’s expression carefully. “I don’t know. That you two were a thing?”

For a beat, Kori just blinked—like she hadn’t expected that. Her expression didn’t give anything away.

Then she let out a short laugh. Dry. Almost amused. “God, no.”

That was it. No explanation, no elaboration. Lydia felt her breath catch—not in relief, not quite—but in something that felt tangled and unfinished. She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t know how to answer.

“Chris is… not my type.”

Lydia swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. “Okay,” she said, her voice quieter now. “So… what is your type?”

Kori didn’t respond right away. She just smiled. Slow. Secretive.

“My type is—”

But before she could finish, the sound system crackled to life. A sharp screech of feedback cutting through the music like a knife. Lydia flinched slightly as the speakers roared to full volume.

“Thank you everybody for coming to the Delta Upsilon Kappa formal!” a girl’s voice rang out, bright and practiced. A wave of cheers followed.

Lydia turned instinctively toward the raised DJ booth, where four girls stood framed under a spotlight. Lana was among them, beaming like she owned the place. At the front stood a tall blonde girl in a shimmering blue dress, her manicured fingers wrapped confidently around the mic.

Behind Lydia, the crowd shifted. She felt the subtle press of bodies closing in—Jewels, Crystal, and the boys rejoining them in a flurry of movement and noise.

But Lydia barely registered them.

“I’m Lexi,” the girl with the mic continued. “DYK’s VP of event planning—and behind me is the rest of the social committee. These girls worked so hard to put this night together, so please give them a round of applause!”

The crowd erupted around them—cheers, claps, hollers. Jewels let out a sharp “Wooo!” beside her, and someone’s date let out a piercing whistle that made Lydia wince.

It was loud. Too loud. The flashing lights, the crush of perfume and sweat and glitter. The heat of the dance floor wrapped around her, clinging like static.

She felt like she was drowning in sequins and sound.

“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…” Lexi said, pausing with just enough dramatic flair to reel the crowd back in. “Sisterhood awards!”

A wave of clapping followed, mixed with woo-ing and a high-pitched squeal from somewhere near the bar.

Lydia watched as Lexi passed the mic to one of the other girls—blonde, too smiley, clearly reading off her Notes app.

“First up,” the girl said in a voice both chipper and completely devoid of soul, “is the award for Most Supportive Sister. This award goes to the sister who shows up for everyone, no matter what…”

Lydia tuned out the name. She didn’t know any of the girls outside of Kori’s orbit, and the DJ booth’s echoing mic didn’t help.

She leaned toward Kori, her voice low. “How long does this go on for?”

Kori smirked, eyes flicking toward the stage, then back to Lydia. “There’s like ten awards, I think. Maybe twelve if they’re feeling sentimental.”

“Great,” Lydia said dryly.

Beside her, Kori's expression shifted—something soft in her eyes. “You holding up okay?”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m fine. Just... I don’t know what any of this means. Like, I didn’t even know sororities gave out awards.”

“Yeah, every formal,” Kori said. “Mostly harmless. Some of them are serious, some are... very much not.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as the next award was announced—something like “Most Likely to Have Beef with a Frat (and Win).”

Lydia raised a brow. “Were you nominated for anything?”

Kori tilted her head like she was pretending to think about it, even though Lydia could tell she already knew the answer. “Maybe,” she said casually. “They don’t tell us beforehand.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It is,” Kori said, grinning. “Do you want to get a drink?”

“Right now? What if you win something and have to go up there to accept it?”

“Then I will calmly hand you my drink and go accept my prestigious and very real award,” Kori said, already turning toward the bar. “I’ll make sure to thank you in the speech.”

Lydia chuckled, feeling the warmth in her chest spread outward as she followed. The crowd behind them erupted into another round of applause as two girls claimed the “Best Room Decor” award.

By the time they reached the bar and each had a fresh vodka soda in hand, three more awards had been announced. Kori didn’t rush to rejoin the group. She leaned back slightly against one of the high-top tables, sipping her drink, completely unbothered. Lydia stayed close, shoulder brushing Kori’s once or twice—casual, accidental, maybe—but she didn’t pull away.

It struck Lydia again: Kori could be at the center of everything right now. She should be. She was the kind of person people gravitated toward—laughing, glowing, camera-ready. But instead, she stood here, on the edge of it all. With her.

And Lydia wanted to believe that meant something.

Onstage, Jewels’ name was called for Social Butterfly, and Kori whooped, clapping with genuine pride. Lydia clapped too, unsure if it was for Jewels or just to keep her hands busy.

Then Lana’s voice echoed out over the mic again.

“The next award is the Future President Award—this one goes to the sister who isn’t on exec yet, but everyone knows she’s got it in her. And the winner is…” Lana paused, drawing it out with practiced drama. “Kori King!”

Kori blinked. Her eyebrows lifted just slightly, like she hadn’t expected it—even though Lydia was pretty sure she had. Still, she handed over her drink without a word, and Lydia instinctively reached for it, fingers brushing Kori’s. A charge sparked at the touch.

Kori stepped forward, slipping back into the crowd like it parted for her. And Lydia watched.

She could not look away.

The magenta dress hugged Kori’s frame as she moved, catching the light with every step like it had been designed for this exact moment. Her posture was effortless. Her smile was the kind that made people lean in without realizing it. She looked so confident, so collected. Like she belonged in front of a crowd.

And maybe that’s what got to Lydia most.

Because no matter how many times she reminded herself that this was Kori’s world, and she was just visiting, it still hit her like a punch to the chest.

Kori didn’t just belong here.

She ruled it.

Applause rang out again, snapping Lydia from the thought just in time to feel someone slide in beside her.

“I knew she was going to win that one,” a voice said lightly.

Lydia startled, nearly sloshing both drinks in her hands. Cold condensation slid over her fingers, grounding her.

She turned to see Jane, standing just a little too close, arms crossed over her chest, eyes pinned to the stage like she was watching something she’d seen play out a dozen times before. There was a curve to her mouth that wasn’t quite a smile, more like quiet satisfaction, like she'd just watched a bet pay off.

“Mhm,” Lydia managed, because her brain was suddenly empty and her hands were full and she didn’t trust herself to say anything smarter.

Onstage, Kori was posing for a photo, award in hand. Her smile was wide but effortless, her body turned just slightly toward the lights, her dress shimmering like it was built for this exact moment.

“She always plays it cool,” Jane murmured, voice silk-edged. “But she likes the recognition more than she lets on.”

Lydia kept her eyes on Kori, unsure if she was supposed to respond. What was she even supposed to say? Yeah, she seems like someone who deserves attention? I think about her all the time? I’m trying really hard not to fall in love with her in the middle of a sorority formal surrounded by people I don’t know?

Jane took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes still on the stage. “You know,” she said casually, “Kori’s never actually brought someone to one of these.”

Lydia’s grip tightened slightly around the two cups. “Really?”

“Yeah. Usually she just shows up with the group. If she brings a date, it’s one of the randos orbiting Jewels or Crystal. But she never paid any actual attention to them.”

Lydia blinked, unsure whether she was being insulted or complimented. Maybe both.

“But you,” Jane continued, tilting her head just slightly, “you’re different. She actually chose to come with you.”

Lydia glanced at her, trying to read between the lines. “Okay…”

Jane smiled, just a little too sweet. “I’m just saying. It’s nice to see her with someone she actually likes. You must be special.”

That word—likes—landed like a drop of water on hot metal. Sharp. Evaporating before she could even hold onto it.

Lydia looked back toward the stage, but Kori was already on the move, her eyes scanning the crowd. They found Lydia immediately, locking on like gravity. Her smile widened—warmer now, personal. She moved through the crowd with the kind of quiet authority Lydia had only ever seen in movie characters: calm, graceful, untouchable.

She reached them, breath slightly quick from the walk. “Hey,” she said, and her gaze went straight to Lydia, ignoring the tension in the air like she could dissolve it with proximity alone.

“Congratulations, Future President,” Lydia said, offering her the drink she’d been holding.

Kori grinned, taking it. “Thanks.” Then she glanced at Jane, a playful wariness in her voice. “Did you behave?”

Jane shrugged, all innocence. “Of course. Just making conversation.”

Kori gave her a look—half fond, half wary—and Jane just raised her brows.

“Well,” Jane said, finishing her drink and slipping her clutch back under her arm, “I’ll let you two get back to it. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Lydia.”

And just like that, she vanished into the crowd, her perfume lingering around the spot she just left.

Lydia exhaled slowly, only now realizing how tightly she’d been holding her breath.

Kori looked at her, amused. “What did she say?”

Lydia hesitated. “Just stuff about how you never bring people to formals.”

Kori took a sip of her drink, eyes still on Lydia. “And yet…” She smiled, slow and almost teasing. “Here you are.”

“Here I am,” Lydia replied, holding her eye contact.

Kori’s gaze lingered a beat too long, like she was searching Lydia’s expression for something—confirmation, maybe. Permission.

Lydia didn’t look away.

It was loud around them—laughs, music, distant cheers—but somehow the space between them felt quiet. Tense in that breathless, anticipatory way. Her heart was hammering. She swore Kori could hear it.

Then—

“Pizza!” Jewels’ voice cut through the static, dragging Lydia back into the real world.

Lydia blinked, startled back to reality. Jewels and Crystal were approaching, glittering and flushed, with the three frat boys trailing behind them—Jacob, James, and Brad (who Lydia had mentally dubbed “the three stooges”). Lana was nowhere to be seen, probably off handling very serious and intense formal business.

“They just brought out pizza in the back,” Crystal said. “And not just like, basic pizza. I saw at least three kinds. I’m talking truffle oil, basil leaves, hot honey drizzle level stuff.”

“And we’re going before it gets cold,” Jewels added, looping her arm around Crystal’s. “Let’s go.”

Kori gave Lydia a questioning glance, like you up for this?

Lydia nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

The walk to the back of the venue was slow, chaotic. The crowd had thinned slightly, but the pizza station was bustling—people standing around high-top tables, eating off napkins and laughing like it was the best meal of their lives.

They grabbed slices and found an open table. Lydia sank onto a tall stool beside Kori, the others circling around, filling every gap.

She took a bite of the truffle mushroom slice, “ok that’s really good.”

Kori grinned. “Formals can be chaotic, but the food is usually worth it.”

Crystal and Jewels were on the opposite side of the table, conversing with their dates, while Brad—Lana’s date—stood between Jacob and Lydia, pizza in hand, his tie loose, eyes glazed with one-too-many drinks.

Then he looked at Lydia.

“You,” he said suddenly, pointing a greasy finger at Lydia. “You don’t talk much. You’re like—mysterious or something.”

Lydia froze mid-bite, her shoulders tensing. “Just listening,” she said quickly, swallowing hard. She glanced toward Kori, just for a second—just long enough to make eye contact. A flicker. A silent please help.

“You’ve got this cool girl vibe going,” he continued, swaying slightly. “Like, artsy. Bet you write poetry or… paint portraits or whatever girls like you do.”

Lydia shifted in her seat, retreating inward. The attention burned. She gave Kori another look, this one sharper, tighter. Kori was already turning.

“Brad,” James groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dude. Chill.”

“Seriously,” Crystal added under her breath.

But Brad just grinned and took a sloppy sip of beer, still staring at Lydia like she was a dare. “I mean, I don’t usually go for the quiet art girls, but you’re hot. You got, like, Snapchat or whatever?”

Kori moved.

She stepped forward, between Lydia and Brad, her voice low and clear—but razor sharp.

“She’s not giving you her Snapchat,” she said. “And you're disgusting.”

Brad blinked, laughing awkwardly. “Relax, it’s not that serious—”

“No,” Kori cut in, eyes glittering. “What’s serious is that you think cornering a girl who clearly isn’t into you makes you charming. It doesn’t. It makes you gross.”

Brad opened his mouth, but Kori wasn’t done.

“You’re here with Lana. Remember her? The girl whose formal this is? Maybe stop embarrassing her and literally everyone else within a ten-foot radius with whatever this is supposed to be.” Her smile was bright, sharp as glass. “You’re not cute. You’re not clever. And you smell like rail vodka and Axe body spray.”

Crystal snorted into her drink. Jewels choked on a laugh. Even Jacob looked impressed.

Brad stood there, stunned for a second. Then he muttered something unintelligible and turned, stumbling a little as he walked away, suddenly fascinated by a decorative balloon arch.

Lydia let out a shaky breath, her pulse still sprinting. She looked up at Kori, who was already facing her again—soft now, concerned.

“You okay?” Kori asked.

Lydia nodded, but her voice came out quieter than she meant. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Kori just gave a small shrug, casual. Like it really was nothing.

But to Lydia, it felt like everything.

The way Kori stepped between her and Brad without hesitation. The way she looked at her afterward—sharp, focused. Like she mattered.

It was dangerous, the way her chest kept tightening.

“I’m gonna go find Lana,” Crystal said suddenly, brushing crumbs from her hands. “Give her a warning.”

Jacob nodded, tossing his napkin on the table. “Yeah, good call.”

They disappeared into the crowd, leaving just Kori and Lydia alone at the table with Jewels and James.

James cleared his throat. “Hey… sorry about that,” he said, voice lower, more thoughtful than Lydia had heard from him all night. “Brad’s a good guy, he’s just—he doesn’t know how to shut up. Ever.”

“It’s fine,” Lydia said quickly, offering a tight smile. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Didn’t want Kori to think she couldn’t handle herself. Even if her hands were still trembling a little under the table.

James glanced between them, then added, “For what it’s worth… I think you two make a really cute couple.”

Lydia froze.

Her brain stalled for a second, then spun into overdrive. Couple? He thought she and Kori were—what?

Her pulse picked up, roaring in her ears.

Was that how they looked? Had everyone else been thinking that all night?

Her mind darted in a thousand directions: to Chris, who isn’t Kori’s type, to the fact Kori had only ever brought guys to her formals. Kori, who wore pink and orange bracelets and smelled like vanilla and champagne and had a big sister named Jane who told Lydia she must be special. Kori, who—

Wasn’t saying anything.

Kori was still next to her, quiet. Lydia didn’t dare look at her. She could feel the weight of the silence between them, and it only made the panic worse.

Was she offended? Embarrassed? Was this going to make things weird?

Lydia’s eyes flicked toward Jewels—hoping for backup, maybe—but she was too busy watching some drunken spectacle on the dance floor.

Finally, Lydia found her voice. “Oh… we’re not.”

It came out weak. Barely above the music. But it was something.

“We’re just friends,” she added quickly. “Partners for a group project, actually.”

Her voice was too chipper, too fast. It sounded like a rehearsed line. Like she was trying to fix something that hadn’t even broken—except it had, somewhere, she could feel it.

Kori said nothing.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t offer a reassuring nod or a sarcastic jab. She just took a long sip of her drink, eyes trained somewhere far away, her face unreadable in a way Lydia wasn’t used to. Not since they became friends.

Lydia’s stomach dropped.

Say something, she thought. Please. Just say something.

James shifted awkwardly, sensing the discomfort. “Oh—my bad,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought… never mind.”

Lydia forced a tight smile, but her mind was already sprinting.

She wanted to sink into the floor. Crawl under the table. Rewind the night and redo that moment—say something cooler, smoother, or maybe just shut up entirely.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward now. Her cheeks were burning. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

And still, Kori didn’t say a word.

Lydia glanced at her finally, out of the corner of her eye. Kori was staring straight ahead, unreadable. Not tense, exactly. Just… blank.

Like a window with the blinds drawn.

Lydia’s throat felt tight. She reached for her drink just to do something with her hands.

Then, thankfully—mercifully—Jewels leaned over from across the table, holding her phone out like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Okay, not to interrupt,” she said, “but they just started playing Breakin’ Dishes and I feel spiritually obligated to go dance.”

James perked up. “That’s my cue.”

The moment shattered. James and Jewels both stood up, rejoining the wave of bodies flooding the dance floor.

Kori still hadn’t moved.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Sorry if that was weird. What I said, I mean.”

Kori blinked, slowly, like she was pulling herself back from wherever she’d drifted. “What?”

“I just…” Lydia fumbled, heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward. I just didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

Kori looked at her, finally. Really looked at her.

And for one uncomfortable beat, Lydia couldn’t read her expression at all.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Kori said at last. Her voice was calm. Controlled.

It wasn’t angry. But it wasn’t warm, either.

Lydia gave a small nod, even though her stomach twisted. It felt like she’d said something wrong but didn’t know how to fix it. The silence between them stretched thin and taut.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Kori said abruptly.

“I’ll come with you,” Lydia said too quickly.

Kori just nodded, her face unreadable again.

Girls go to the bathroom together all the time, Lydia reminded herself as they left the table. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t make it weird.

But anxiety clung to her ribs like wet fabric. She didn’t want Kori to think she was following her. Or worse, that she was creeping. She didn’t want to be the lesbian freak making everything weird. She just… also didn’t want to be left there alone.

They walked in silence down the hall, heels clicking against the tile. When they reached the bathroom, Kori pushed the door open and held it for her. Lydia gave a polite smile, avoiding eye contact, and headed straight for a stall.

She shut the door behind her, exhaled, and sat down.

From the other side of the stall, she could hear the laughter from other girls entering the bathroom, giggling and teasing each other. One was loudly recounting how her date kissed her in the middle of the dance floor. Lydia felt a pang in her chest, like she was on the outside of some movie scene, watching from behind the glass.

She flushed, patted her dress flat, and exited the stall. At the sink, she washed her hands carefully, avoiding her reflection as much as possible. She reached into her purse for her lip gloss—half out of habit, half as a distraction.

Kori stepped up beside her at the neighboring sink, quiet, composed. She started washing her hands, then pulled out her own gloss. The same ritual, but it felt colder now. Mechanical.

“What lip gloss is that?” Lydia asked, her voice just a bit too bright. Trying to cut through the awkwardness like it wasn’t already hanging in the air between them.

Kori glanced down at the tube, turning it over. “Fenty Beauty,” she said. “Fuchsia Flex.”

“Well, it matches your dress perfectly.” Lydia forced a smile. She sounded like someone trying to make small talk at a funeral. “Like, exactly. It’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” Kori said, dabbing at her lips.

Lydia turned back to her reflection, trying to look normal, like she wasn’t unraveling inside. She pulled out her phone and saw a handful of unread messages from the group chat with Suzie and Sam. Requests for pictures and updates. A “how’s it going????” text with six question marks.

She put the phone back in her purse.

The night had been going well. Better than well. But something had shifted, and now Lydia didn’t know how to steer it back.

She wasn’t ready to explain any of this to her friends. Mostly because she didn’t even know what this was.

“I think I’m gonna get some air,” Kori said, slipping her lip gloss back into her purse. “You can come with me if you want, or I can text one of the girls—”

“I’ll come with you,” Lydia cut in, more quickly than she meant to.

She didn’t usually interrupt people mid-sentence, but something about the way Kori spoke wasn’t right. Her voice had that rare hesitation Lydia had only heard a couple of times before. The class after they ran into each other at the bar and during that study session when Kori had awkwardly said she wanted to be friends. That was it. Kori King didn’t get nervous. Lydia did constantly but Kori? Never.

The unease in Kori’s voice made something twist in Lydia’s chest. She didn’t want things to be weird between them. She didn’t want Kori feeling like she had to escape, or worse, feeling ashamed that people might think they were together. But more than anything, she didn’t want to go back inside alone.

They made their way toward the exit. Kori offered a soft smile to the bouncer, who, like clockwork, opened the door for them.

The cold hit Lydia’s bare arms immediately, sharp and sobering. It was the kind of cold that cut through the alcohol, though not completely. Small groups lingered outside, smoking cigarettes and joints, the sharp scent of weed hanging in the air. Lydia wasn’t much of a stoner, but sometimes it helped her calm down. She wished she had some now, to dull the ache and quiet the noise in her head.

They found a spot along the wall and stood side by side, both careful not to brush up against anything that might stain their dresses.

Kori shifted slightly closer until their arms touched.

Lydia didn’t say anything, but she leaned into the contact just enough to soak in the warmth.

Without a word, Kori pulled a yellow vape from her purse and took a quick hit.

“I didn’t know you vaped,” Lydia said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not addicted or anything,” Kori said quickly, her tone a little too defensive. “Only sometimes. Mostly when I’m drunk. I just like the flavor.”

“I’m not judging,” Lydia replied, offering a small smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever turned down a drunk cigarette in my life.”

That got a laugh out of Kori—a small one, but still. Lydia felt lighter just hearing it.

“Do you want a hit?” Kori asked, holding the vape out to her.

“Sure.” Lydia took it and brought it to her lips. The mango vapor hit her tongue immediately. Sweet, a little sharp. When she exhaled and handed it back, she could still taste the lip gloss Kori had applied inside.

The taste was dangerous. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking about Kori like that. She shouldn’t be imagining what it would feel like to kiss her, to taste the gloss for real. Especially because of her reaction to James saying they were a couple.

Trying to distract herself, she asked, “How late do these things usually go ‘til?”

“Bored already?” Kori teased, turning toward her with a smirk.

“No, no. Just curious. My roommate wants to know when I’ll be back.”

“We have the venue until midnight, but there’s going to be an after party at James’s frat. Their president is dating Lexi—our VP of event planning—so they’re our ‘brother frat’ for the year.” Kori replied, doing air quotes as she said ‘brother frat’.

“I see.” Lydia checked her phone. 11:30. The night had flown by.

“You can come to the afters, if you want,” Kori added. “I know you’re not exactly a fan of them, but we can avoid them. Oh—and we can steal something. Revenge on Brad.”

Lydia laughed, genuinely this time. The idea of stealing from a frat did feel a little cathartic.

She’d only been to two frat parties in her life. Freshman year with the girls from her dorm. She and Suzie hated the first one but decided to give it a second try, just to be sure. After someone dumped an entire Solo cup of beer on her Doc Martens, Lydia had vowed to never go again.

But this felt different. This wasn’t some frat rager, it was a private after party for a sorority formal she had actually attended. With Kori.

“You’re really tempting me with the stealing,” Lydia said, grinning.

“I steal at least one thing every time I go,” Kori replied with a giggle. “Lana and I have a whole collection. I’ll show you next time you come over.”

Lydia took a slow breath, letting the nicotine lull settle into her chest. The mango flavor still clung faintly to her lips. She was so close she could smell Kori’s perfume, the vanilla mixing with the mango as Kori exhaled more vapour and passed the vape to Lydia who took another hit. It was warm and sweet and dizzying.

Being here, outside with Kori. Just the two of them in their own little world, it felt like they were back to normal. No pressure from anyone else. No one assuming anything about them. Just them. Two friends sharing a mango flavoured vape and trying not to freeze.

“You and Lana have a little trophy case of frat crimes?” Lydia asked, her voice a little softer than before.

Kori grinned. “We keep it in an old shoebox under her bed. Shot glasses, a lava lamp, some random guy’s hat. Once we took a whole blender.”

“A blender?” Lydia laughed, tipping her head back slightly.

“I carried it out in my tote bag,” Kori said proudly. “It was heavy as hell.”

“What did you do with it?” Lydia asked.

“Oh nothing, we gave it back but I just wanted to see if I could do it,” Kori laughed.

Lydia smiled, eyes lingering on Kori's face longer than she probably should’ve. Her hair glowed under the weak yellow light outside the venue, and her lips looked even more tempting up close.

Kori turned to face her a little more, her bare shoulder brushing against Lydia’s, deliberately this time. “So? Are you coming?”

“To the after party?”

Kori nodded, her earrings catching the soft light. “Yeah. Or… we could ditch. Just us.”

Lydia blinked. “Ditch the party?”

“I mean, you’ve been more than polite. You danced, you mingled. You’ve had the full formal experience.” Kori’s voice was light, teasing, but her eyes stayed locked on Lydia’s. “I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to go.”

Lydia’s heart thudded, the alcohol and nicotine making her less cautious than usual. “What would we do if we ditched?”

Kori tilted her head slightly, her smile just a little sly. “I dunno. We could go back to mine. Order food. Watch something bad. Steal a blender from our kitchen. Whatever you want.”

The air between them shifted. Lydia’s mouth went a little dry, and not from the cold. Kori was still watching her—lips parted, like she was waiting for a signal.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

Kori lifted the vape again and took a slow pull, her eyes still on Lydia. Then, as she exhaled, she leaned a little closer. “I just want to do what you want to do,” she said, voice low and velvety. “You’re my guest. It’s my duty to make sure you have fun so you don’t go telling everyone how evil sorority girls are.”

Lydia gave a soft laugh. “Well, that’s too bad, because I kind of already did that.”

Kori turned away slightly, her expression unreadable. “Wait… actually?”

“Kind of.” Lydia winced playfully. “Well, just my two best friends. And one girl from my film class. But don’t worry, they know now I was wrong.”

Kori glanced back at her, brows raised. “So, you don’t think I’m evil?”

“No,” Lydia smirked. “I don’t think you’re evil.”

Kori smiled, soft and knowing, and held out the vape again. Lydia took it without hesitation this time, her fingers brushing against Kori’s. She brought it to her lips, inhaled too sharply, and coughed mid-exhale, laughing.

Before Kori could say anything, her phone buzzed from inside her purse. She glanced at the screen—Jewels—and answered.

“Hey,” Kori said, stepping half a pace away.

Lydia turned toward the street, the chill air sobering her just enough to notice the way groups of people were beginning to spill out of the venue, pulling coats tight and huddling into Ubers. She watched a girl trip in heels, caught by her date’s arm. She could still taste the mango sweetness of Kori’s vape on her tongue.

“Yeah, we’re outside but I’ll head back in,” Kori said. “Okay, see you in a sec.” She hung up and tucked the phone back into her purse.

“That was Jewels. The venue’s going to kick us out soon so they want to head to Beta before Uber prices spike.”

“Oh,” Lydia said. “Okay. Let’s go back in, then.”

Kori held the door open for her, and they slipped inside toward the coat check. The lighting inside was warmer now, quieter, the energy of the night thinning out like smoke.

“So,” Kori said as they waited, her voice low, almost casual. “Did you want to come to the afters?”

Lydia met her gaze. Kori’s mascara had started to smudge slightly beneath her lower lashes, just enough to make her look soft in the way Lydia hated noticing. There was a spark in her chest again, persistent and unignorable. It fizzed beneath her ribs like static, made worse by the nicotine buzz still thrumming gently through her limbs.

“Why not?” she said, voice light, almost amused. “Tonight’s for trying new things.”

Kori’s lips curled into something between a smile and a secret. “Good.”

They stood in a small pocket of quiet near the entrance, cold air spilling faintly from behind them. Lydia felt herself loosening, slightly, like she was floating outside of the usual sharp edges of herself. Maybe it was the nicotine. Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was Kori.

Jewels, Lana, and Crystal emerged from the coat check with their dates trailing behind them. Brad lingered at the rear, visibly awkward, like a dog that knew it had been bad. Lydia avoided his eyes.

“We’re coming with you,” Jewels said firmly to Kori, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Kori nodded without hesitation. “Probably for the best. I’ll call the Uber.”

“ETA?” Jewels asked, already pulling on her coat.

“One minute. Let’s head out.”

Kori reached for the door first, holding it open so Lydia and Jewels could step through. Lydia caught a glimpse of Brad scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk as their group walked toward the curb. He didn’t say a word.

The Uber rolled up moments later, headlights slicing through the dark. Kori’s bracelet caught the light. She was wearing a charm bracelet. Different from the beaded one she usually wore but still entirely her. James slid into the front seat without a word. That left Lydia between Jewels and Kori in the back.

The doors closed. The car pulled away from the curb.

Lydia became instantly aware of everything: the faint rumble of the tires over the road, the scent of leftover perfume and sweat and mint gum in the air, the slow rise and fall of Kori’s breath beside her. And most of all, the press of Kori’s thigh against hers—warm, steady. Lydia could’ve shifted away. But she didn’t.

There wasn’t really anywhere else to go. Not in the back seat. Not tonight.

And besides… maybe she didn’t want to.

She stared out the window, watching the city lights smear into long lines. A strange calm settled in her chest—not clarity, not yet. But something easier. Something that let her rest her arm beside Kori’s without flinching. Something that let her lean into the buzz in her skin and pretend, just for a second, that this night was unfolding exactly as it was meant to.

Maybe she really was trying new things. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Chapter Text

The Uber slowed in front of the house, its headlights sweeping over red brick and towering white columns like the entrance to some pretentious temple. The bold Greek letters hung above the door, a “B”, the pi symbol and what looked to be an upside-down L. She recognized that the B was for beta and the pi symbol from her high school math classes but the third one she didn’t know, and she didn’t care to ask.

Music thumped faintly from inside, the beat pulsing through the windows like a second heartbeat. Behind the frosted glass, Lydia could make out silhouettes of people laughing, moving, living a kind of loud, golden life she felt entirely separate from but was now somehow a part of.

Kori slid out of the Uber first and didn’t hesitate. Her heels clicked confidently on the pavement as she stepped out before turning back, holding the car door open with one hand and offering Lydia the other.

Lydia took it.

She wasn’t sure if her fingers were cold from the March air or something else, but Kori’s palm was warm, and Lydia didn’t let go right away. She didn’t want to. When Lydia stepped out, Kori gently closed the door behind her like it was a quiet gesture just for them, sealing off the rest of the night.

Jewels and James joined them on the walk to the house, their conversation light and half-lost to the rising music. Up close, the house was even more ridiculous. A sprawling three-story structure with ivy curling up the sides and white-trimmed windows glowing gold from the inside. It smelled like old beer and Pine Sol. James typed in a code and pushed open the heavy wooden door, spilling warmth and sound out into the night.

The inside was somehow even louder than she expected. The foyer had a grand, sweeping staircase that looked like it belonged in a historical drama, not a frat house. Coat racks were already overflowing. The floor was dark hardwood, scuffed from years of parties, and strings of Christmas lights lined the crown molding like a failed attempt at ambiance.

As they stepped inside, James reached for their coats.

“I got ‘em,” he said, already shrugging out of his own and gesturing to the rack like a valet. “First timers get full service.”

Lydia raised a brow as she unzipped her jacket. “Is it that obvious?”

James grinned, taking it from her. “You ever been to one of our parties before?”

She glanced around at the marble-topped banister, the chandelier that was missing one light bulb, swaying faintly above, the crowd already spilling from the living room into the hallway.

“No,” she said flatly. “But I love what you’ve done with the place. Very Gatsby meets beer pong.”

James laughed, and Kori—beside her again, closer than before—smiled with something almost proud in her eyes.

Lydia wasn’t sure where the night was going. But she was here now. Coatless, buzzed, and standing in a frat house she’d once sworn she’d never step foot in.

“We should give Lydia a tour,” Jewels squealed, looping her arm around Lydia’s like they were old friends.

“Let’s get a drink first,” Kori said smoothly, already stepping off toward the living room. Her voice cut through the noise with the kind of ease Lydia envied. She didn’t even look back, but Lydia followed.

The living room opened up from the foyer like the reveal of a stage. It was huge. Wide and high-ceilinged, with crown molding that had definitely seen better centuries and a fireplace with a carved mantel that looked like it had once housed candelabras instead of abandoned White Claws. Above it, a gold-framed portrait of some long-dead fraternity founder stared down at the chaos below with a vaguely judgmental expression.

The space was packed with people. Bodies brushed by Lydia’s as she moved, slick with sweat, perfume, and spilled drinks. The music was louder here, some bass-heavy remix thumping through speakers shoved into corners. The air was humid and smelled like a cocktail of cheap beer, weed, cologne, and something vaguely sour.

Kori led them toward a battered wooden bar shoved against the far wall. It looked homemade with planks of wood hammered together with just enough charm to feel intentional. A string of multicoloured Christmas lights dangled around the edge, and behind it, a guy in a Red Sox cap was pouring jungle juice from a massive plastic tub into plastic cups.

“Trust me,” Kori said over her shoulder, handing Lydia one. “You only need one of these.”

Lydia eyed the drink suspiciously. It was neon pink and definitely not FDA approved, but her fingers curled around it anyway. The cup was cold, wet with condensation, and sticky. She took a sip.

It tasted like melted Jolly Ranchers and regret.

She coughed. “That’s… wow.”

Kori grinned and bumped her shoulder. “See? You're doing great.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move away. The alcohol from earlier was still in her system, warm and dull, and now this drink was threading through her nerves like static. The nicotine buzz lingered too, just enough to slow everything down in a way that made her less anxious about the crowd pressing in around them.

The three girls chatted for a bit before James reappeared beside them, his own beer in hand. “Alright,” he said brightly, “drinks secured. Do you want the tour?”

Jewels grabbed Lydia’s hand again and tugged. “Come on! You have to see the upstairs. There’s a haunted mirror. Kori hates it.”

“I don’t hate it,” Kori said. “I just think it’s cursed.”

Lydia blinked. “I am intrigued by the haunted mirror.”

Kori laughed. “Of course you are.”

They began to move through the house together, drinks in hand, weaving deeper into its tangled hallways.

And against her better judgement, Lydia followed.

James took the lead, gesturing dramatically with his drink like a deranged tour guide. “Welcome to the legendary Beta Pi Gamma house,” he announced. “Built in 1908. Probably haunted. Definitely not up to code. We barely passed the fire inspection.”

Lydia arched a brow. “So far, checks out.”

He led them first into the dining room, where a long, scarred wooden table stretched down the center like it had hosted a hundred beer-fueled feasts and never recovered. Benches lined the sides, while two comically mismatched ornate chairs anchored each end. A half-eaten pizza and a smattering of dirty plates decorated the surface like tragic centerpieces.

“This house is, like, a historic landmark or something,” James said. “It’s been in the frat since before the Great Depression. Roosevelt walked by it once.”

“I’m sure he was deeply moved,” Lydia muttered.

James missed the sarcasm entirely.

Next stop: the kitchen. It was somehow worse than the dining room.

Lydia gagged theatrically. There was about a million different biohazards in there. The counter was cluttered with empty liquor bottles, old takeout containers, and inexplicably, a jar of oregano next to a bottle of vodka.

“Ok I’ve had enough of the kitchen,” Jewels announced, backing out like it might bite her.

They returned to the main room. James pointed to a heavy wooden door with chipped paint. “That’s the basement. We won’t go down there, but that’s where we’ve got the DJ booth setup for parties.”

Lydia gave a noncommittal nod. She was ninety-nine percent sure she’d never set foot in that basement. And one hundred percent sure she didn’t want to.

From there, they made their way to the grand staircase, if you could still call it that. Lydia had noticed it when they first came in, an old, sweeping staircase that might’ve been elegant in its prime. Now it just looked tired.

James gestured up like he was inviting them to ascend Mount Doom. “Shall we?”

The stairs creaked underfoot as they climbed, the banister worn smooth from a hundred years of palms and, more recently, sticky cups and careless sliding. Every few steps, Lydia passed framed black-and-white photos of Beta brothers from decades past, all in tuxedos and stiff collars, staring down with solemn expressions.

“Why do they all look like they’re about to haunt me in my sleep?” Lydia whispered.

“They probably are,” Jewels said cheerfully.

One of the frames was cracked. Another had a wad of gum stuck to the corner. Kori cringed and stepped carefully, like the whole hallway gave her the ick.

“They’re very... serious,” Kori said, glancing nervously at one photo. “Did nobody smile in the olden days?”

“They hadn’t invented joy yet,” Lydia said.

“Or mouthwash,” Jewels added.

James reached the top of the stairs and turned down a narrow hallway, continuing his narration with theatrical flair. “This is where the real magic happens. Bedrooms, ancient relics, probably mold.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Lydia deadpanned, but she was already curious, eyes scanning everything, absorbing the weird mix of grime and history.

They passed an open door with a single bare mattress on the floor and a traffic cone in the corner. Lydia didn’t ask. Jewels peeked in and went, “Yikes,” before they moved on.

The hallway narrowed slightly, the crown molding above their heads cracked but still elegant. A line of battered picture frames sagged unevenly along one side. The frames held old composites of frat brothers’ past, all in suits, frozen in time. The other wall was mostly bare, except for one thing.

The mirror.

It stood tall between two bedroom doors, completely out of place. It was freestanding, tilted just enough to catch your full reflection if you were walking by. The frame was ornate and deeply carved. The glass was cloudy at the edges and warped in the center.

Lydia stopped cold. “Oh my god,” she whispered, stepping toward it like she was being pulled. “This is it, isn’t it?”

James grinned. “You mean our famous haunted hallway mirror? Allegedly it’s cursed. Some guy back in the sixties tried to smash it with a broomstick and ended up falling down the stairs. Coincidence? Probably. But, like, maybe not.”

Lydia leaned closer to the glass. “It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, half to herself. The surface shimmered faintly, her reflection dull and double-layered, like she was being watched from behind her own eyes.

Jewels crossed her arms. “You’re into this kind of stuff?”

 “Of course she is,” Kori said, still hovering a safe distance away.

Lydia smirked at her through the mirror.

“You’re going to get possessed,” Kori muttered.

James stepped beside Lydia and waved his hand in front of the mirror. “They say if you stare too long, it shows you something you’re not ready for. Or maybe that’s just the vodka talking.”

Lydia didn’t blink. She studied the faded streaks in the glass, the way the wood twisted like vines around the edges, the strange ripple in her own image.

Then James clapped his hands loudly, breaking the spell.

“Alright,” he said, shaking his head, “before the mirror eats your soul or whatever, let’s keep it moving. The attic’s cursed and off-limits, but the sunroom’s dope.”

He clapped Lydia on the shoulder—too hard, and too familiar. “Sorry again about earlier. Brad’s a dumbass.”

Lydia gave a noncommittal smile and stepped away from his touch. “It’s fine.”

Kori slid in beside her, putting space between her and James, as they moved down the hall again, her voice low. “It’s not fine.”

Lydia didn’t respond, but her hand tightened around the plastic cup in her fingers before taking another gulp of the pink liquid.

They passed more closed doors. Some thumping with bass, others silent and vaguely menacing before finally reaching the end of the hall, where double glass-paned doors opened onto the sunroom.

It was a strange, beautiful space, dusty and forgotten, but peaceful in a way the rest of the house wasn’t. The windows stretched nearly floor to ceiling, smudged but intact, letting in the spill of amber streetlight. There were mismatched couches and a dented coffee table covered in empty bottles.

Lydia walked to the windows and pressed a hand against the cool glass. Outside, the front yard was swarming with more people arriving, headlights slicing through the dark.

“Looks like the party’s just getting started,” Kori said, her voice low and close.

Lydia startled slightly; she hadn’t realized Kori had come to stand right next to her. So close that their arms almost brushed, but not quite. Lydia didn’t move away.

“I like this room,” Lydia said, quieter now, almost to herself.

Kori glanced at her. “Yeah… me too.” Her eyes lingered on Lydia’s face a moment longer than necessary. “It’s kind of… beautiful. In a haunted, sad kind of way.”

Lydia turned to look at her. Kori was still facing the window, but her reflection hovered in the glass. Lydia’s pulse skittered. She wanted to say something smart, something funny or cutting. But all that came out was-

“I don’t think it’s sad.”

Kori looked at her then. Really looked. “No?”

They stood there a beat too long, like something was balancing between them, holding its breath.

Then Jewels burst in behind them. “You guys, I swear I just saw a possum on the landing. Or a cat. Or maybe a massive rat.” She collapsed dramatically onto one of the couches. “God, this room smells like my grandma’s attic.”

James was already halfway through some story about a dumbwaiter system that used to run through the walls, his voice echoing off the tall glass. Lydia didn’t catch all of it, her ears still buzzed with Kori’s nearness, the afterglow of her attention.

Kori stepped back, just slightly. “We should probably go rejoin the party,” she said. “Before Jewels finds more wildlife.”

Lydia exhaled, slow. “Yeah… right.”

“There’s a third floor,” James added with a shrug, “but unless you’re into old socks and mysterious stains, you’re not missing much. Tour’s over.”

They turned back toward the staircase. Lydia let the others lead, but as she passed through the doorway, she glanced one last time at the sunroom behind her—quiet, glowing, full of ghosts and maybe something else too.

Then she felt the gentle brush of Kori’s hand at the small of her back. Just a moment. Just enough to guide her forward.

Lydia didn’t look at her. She didn’t have to.

They descended the stairs, the thrum of music swelling with every step. The low, steady bass and the sharp chatter of laughter cutting through it. The warmth slipped away as they hit the bottom landing, replaced by something harsher, louder, stickier.

As they stepped off the last stair, a small knot of people clogged the narrow passage between the staircase and the entryway. Just ahead, James was dapping up a guy in jeans and a black hoodie with the frat letters screen-printed across the chest.

He didn’t look like everyone else at the party. Everyone else was in their suits from the formal. Lydia assumed this guy must live here but wasn’t at the formal tonight with what seemed to be every single one of his frat brothers. Jewels spotted Lana and Crystal across the foyer and made a beeline for them, disappearing into the crowd.

Kori shifted like she was going to do the same, tilting her head toward Lydia, signaling they could slip back into the main room unnoticed. But then the guy in the hoodie turned, noticed Kori, and stepped forward, cutting off their path.

They were pinned between the bottom of the staircase and his casual lean, boxed in by the flow of partygoers behind them. Kori stilled, her spine tightening in a way Lydia could feel rather than see.

“Hey, Kori,” the guy said, smirking as his eyes dragged over her. He didn’t bother to hide it, his gaze slow and assessing, like she was something on display.

Lydia’s stomach turned.

Kori crossed her arms and gave a clipped, “Hey,” her voice cool and flat. There was steel under it, quiet but unmistakable. She didn’t like this guy. That much was obvious.

“How was your formal?” he asked, still smiling like he knew something they didn’t.

“It was great,” Kori replied. She smiled too, but it didn’t touch her eyes. It was the kind of smile Lydia recognized sharp and practiced, like armor.

Then his eyes shifted. Landed on Lydia.

The once-over he gave her was more subtle. His gaze flicked down and back up. Lydia stiffened, caught off guard by how exposed it made her feel.

“You’re not gonna introduce me to your friend?” he asked, his voice dropping in a way that was supposed to sound flirtatious but came out more like an oil slick.

Kori didn’t hide her eyeroll. “Lydia, meet Chris. Chris, Lydia.”

Chris.

Oh.

So, this was Chris.

Lydia’s brain clicked into place like a Rubik’s Cube turned just right. The name alone was enough to make her tense but seeing him in the flesh was worse. This was the guy. The one those guys wanted Kori to bring to formal.

Now Lydia saw why she hadn’t.

He looked like the kind of guy who hit on girls way younger than him and called it a compliment. He reeked of Axe body spray and entitlement. He had that loose, easy confidence that read more like laziness than charm.

“Nice to meet you, Lydia,” he said, stepping just a little too close. Close enough to make her stomach knot.

Lydia forced a tight smile. It felt like it might crack her face.

“Yeah,” she said. flatly “You too.”

But she didn’t mean it.

“Did you just initiate?” Chris asked, cocking his head. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“No. I’m not in the sorority,” Lydia replied. She tossed back the rest of her drink. It burned her throat but right now, she needed it to survive this conversation.

“Oh, really?” Chris lifted an eyebrow. “So, how’d you end up here?”

“I brought her,” Kori cut in before Lydia could answer, her tone clipped and ice-cold.

She was glaring at him now. Actually glaring. But Chris either didn’t notice or didn’t care. More likely, he thought she was smizing.

Chris let out a short laugh, smug and too loud. “You never told me you were a lesbian,” he said, eyes darting between the two of them, “is this why you didn’t want to bring me?”

The words landed like a slap, crass and lazy, like he thought he was being clever. Lydia’s stomach clenched. Twice now tonight someone had assumed they were together, and after the way Kori had reacted the first time, she wasn’t sure she could handle a repeat. She braced herself, waiting for the flinch, the denial, the awkward deflection.

But it didn’t come.

Kori didn’t shrink. She didn’t stumble. She stood like she owned the space, the version of her Lydia used to be afraid of but was now so grateful for.

“Even if I was straight,” she said, voice cold and steady, “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

There was a beat of silence. Lydia’s mouth opened slightly, her brain scrambling to process what Kori had just said. If she’d just said what Lydia thought, she said but she didn’t get the chance.

Kori grabbed her hand and then they were moving. Shoving past Chris, who made a half-hearted sound of protest, and pushing through the knot of people in the foyer. Kori didn’t stop until they’d broken into the main room, where the thump of the bass swallowed the tension behind them.

Lydia stumbled after her, breath caught somewhere in her throat, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Her fingers loosened around the empty cup, and it dropped onto the ground. She felt bad for littering, but she couldn’t stop to pick it up.

“What…” she started, but her voice was too thin to finish the question.

Kori didn’t look back, but her grip stayed firm.

“Sorry,” she muttered, barely audible over the music. “I just—he’s disgusting.”

He was. No argument there. But that wasn’t what Lydia was stuck on.

Not even close.

They wove through the crowd, Kori still tugging Lydia by the hand. Lydia let herself be pulled, because she didn’t know how to function independently anymore. Not after what she’d just heard.

“Even if I was straight.”

If.

If.

Her brain snagged on the word like a loose thread, unraveling everything she thought she knew. Kori’s voice kept echoing in her head, looping louder than the music pounding around them.

Kori wasn’t straight?

KORI WASN’T STRAIGHT?

Lydia’s feet moved but she wasn’t entirely sure she was walking. It felt more like floating, drifting, like she’d just stepped off the edge of the earth and was freefalling through some glittering gay dimension she never thought existed. Not here. Not with Kori.

She’d spent weeks, practically months, convincing herself Kori was straight. Weaponizing it against herself. Of course she’s not into you. She’s straight. She’s a straight sorority girl and you’re just… you. She’d practically built a fortress around the assumption, stacked brick after brick of self-protection.

And now Kori had knocked a hole straight through it. Casually. Offhandedly.

Her knees felt wobbly. Her anxiety mixing with the jungle juice.

The sugary, deceptively pink mess she’d chugged in an effort to get through talking to Chris was now blossoming in her bloodstream like a firework. Her cheeks felt hot. The floor wasn’t quite where she left it. And the colored lights streaking across the living room were starting to trail a little when she blinked.

Kori finally let go of her hand just as they reached the far side of the room, near the tall windows that rattled faintly with the bass. Lydia’s fingers felt cold immediately, like they missed the contact. She curled them into a fist, trying to tuck the feeling away.

“Are you okay?” Kori asked, turning to face her. Her voice was softer now, almost drowned out by the thump of the music behind them. She looked genuinely concerned, her brows gently knit, eyes scanning Lydia’s face.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lydia lied, but the words felt brittle in her mouth. They cracked on the way out.

How was she supposed to say what she was really thinking?

Her heart was practically beating out of her chest. Kori had just said she wasn’t straight. Out loud. Like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t just shattered the entire architecture of Lydia’s mental defenses.

Because that was the thing. Kori being straight was the boundary Lydia had clung to. She had told herself over and over that they’d only ever be friends, that Kori would never see her that way. It had been painful, but manageable.

But now?

Now Kori wasn’t straight.

Now rejection wouldn’t be because she wasn’t interested in girls. It would be because she wasn’t interested in Lydia.

And somehow, that was infinitely worse.

“You don’t look okay,” Kori said again, her voice more certain this time.

“No, really, I’m fine. It’s just the jungle juice, and the lights, and all the noise,” Lydia said quickly, trying to smile. Her face felt too hot. She hoped it looked like a buzz and not a breakdown.

Kori didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyway. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter? There’s a back staircase right there.”

Lydia’s gaze followed her finger to a narrow door tucked into the corner of the room. It was half-shadowed and almost invisible in the chaos of the party. A quiet escape hatch.

“Yeah. Sure,” Lydia said, her voice a little too soft.

Kori reached for her hand again, and Lydia let her. Her grip was warm, steady. It should’ve been comforting. It was comforting. But it also terrified her. Every nerve in Lydia’s arm was suddenly tuned to Kori’s touch, hyperaware of the pressure of each finger.

She was spiraling but still, she didn’t want to let go.

Kori pushed open the door, and they stepped into a utility stairwell lit by blinding fluorescent lights. It smelled faintly of Pine Sol and concrete dust. The music faded into a dull, distant thud as the door swung shut behind them.

Kori spotted a plastic-wrapped case of water bottles against the wall and grabbed two before starting up the stairs. Lydia trailed slightly behind, trying to anchor her steps so she wouldn’t fall.

At the top of the stairs, they emerged into the hallway right beside the sunroom.

The sunroom they were just in twenty minutes ago. It looked just as they had left it, but changed somehow. The atmosphere felt heavier. More charged.

Kori led the way inside and, without hesitation, locked the door behind them. “I really don’t want to deal with any more frat boys right now,” she muttered.

Lydia nodded and flopped down onto the ancient couch, the cushions sighing beneath her. Kori sat beside her, keeping a bit of distance between them.

“Drink,” Kori said gently, handing her the water bottle.

Lydia unscrewed the cap with shaking fingers and took a small sip. Her mouth was dry. Her brain was moving a mile a minute. Every thought crashed into the next.

Kori wasn’t straight.

Kori had pulled her away.

Kori had held her hand.

Kori had said she wouldn’t touch Chris “with a ten-foot pole,” even if she was straight.

And what the hell did that mean?

Lydia couldn’t think straight. The alcohol was fully settling in now. The warmth was blooming in her chest, the edges of everything becoming a little fuzzier. Her limbs were heavy, and her heart was weightless. Kori was beside her, not looking at her, just sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But nothing felt normal anymore.

Lydia glanced sideways at her, the slope of her cheekbone catching in the dim sunroom light. Her lip was caught slightly between her teeth, her fingers fidgeting with the label on her water bottle.

And Lydia thought, If I say something now, it’ll change everything.

So she stayed quiet.

But her chest ached with all the words she wasn’t saying.

Kori broke the silence first, her voice soft. “Hey… I’m really sorry about what happened with Chris. That was… ugh. I didn’t think he would even show up tonight, but I forgot he lived here.”

Lydia looked over at her. Kori wasn’t just brushing it off or laughing it away, she actually looked guilty.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Kori continued. “I feel like you’ve been uncomfortable since we got through the door, and then that whole thing in the foyer. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know he’d be so gross. And I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to stay, I just thought maybe it’d be fun…”

Something in Lydia twisted. All this time, she’d been convincing herself Kori barely cared what she thought, that she was just tagging along in her world like an afterthought. But now Kori was looking at her like her comfort mattered. The guilt in her voice wasn’t performative; it was real. And it caught Lydia off guard, stirring something warm and painful at the same time.

“It’s not that,” she said. Her voice came out quieter than she expected.

Kori finally looked at her. “What is it then?”

Lydia hesitated.

The silence stretched between them. A song thudded from the floor below, muffled and distant. The air in the room felt heavy, too warm, too still.

She should have laughed it off. Said she was tired, overstimulated, needed some air. But the jungle juice was a low buzz in her bloodstream now, softening the edges of her thoughts, shaking loose the little screws that usually kept her quiet. She was floating just above her own restraint, and suddenly, honesty felt like the easiest thing in the world.

“It’s you,” Lydia said.

Kori blinked. “Me?”

“You said you weren’t straight,” Lydia blurted, then immediately wished she could take it back. Her heart thudded against her ribs, too loud. “Downstairs. With Chris. You said even if you were straight, you wouldn’t touch him. And I-” She stopped, gripping her water bottle like it might keep her grounded. “I didn’t think… I thought you were straight. This whole time.”

Kori didn’t move. Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“You did?” she asked. Her voice was soft, puzzled. “It’s not a problem, is it? Because… I kind of thought you were too.”

Lydia gave a weak laugh. “Of course it’s not a problem.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Kori, but she could feel the shift in the air as Kori moved a little closer. Lydia’s anxiety was pulsing through her veins.

“Are you upset I didn’t tell you?” Kori asked, gently.

Lydia shook her head. There was no backing out now. It was already too late.

Her pulse roared in her ears. Her mouth felt dry. The words came too fast, tumbling over each other, impossible to hold back.

“This whole time I thought you were straight. And it made things easier. Because then it didn’t matter if I…” She let out a breathless, humorless laugh and looked down. “I wasn’t supposed to care this much. About you. But then you said that. And suddenly the math didn’t make sense anymore.”

Kori said nothing.

Lydia took a shaky breath. “I thought the worst thing that could happen was just me being ridiculous. Crushing on a straight girl who used to hate me. That, I could live with. But now…”

She looked up. Her eyes were glassy.

“Now the worst thing is that you’re not straight. And I still don’t have a chance.”

The words hung between them, too loud in the quiet room. Lydia’s chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts. The walls felt closer than they were, her skin hot, her heartbeat loud enough to drown out thought. Even the silence seemed heavy, pressing into her from all sides.

She squeezed her water bottle so hard it crackled.

“I shouldn’t have said any of that,” she muttered, eyes fixed anywhere but Kori’s. “That was stupid. Just forget it. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Lydia-”

“No, seriously.” Lydia stood up suddenly, too fast. The room tilted. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I don’t know why I even said anything.”

Kori stood too, moving quicker than Lydia expected. Her hands closed gently around Lydia’s wrists, not holding her back so much as anchoring her in place.

“Lydia. Stop. Just… stop.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. She kept her gaze fixed somewhere over Kori’s shoulder, on the way the light caught the edge of a curtain. She couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t risk it. Her heartbeat was a frantic drum in her ears, her chest tight, air coming in quick, shallow bursts.

She could feel Kori’s closeness anyway. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She could smell her perfume. Kori’s fingers were steady around her wrists, thumbs brushing slow, absent circles that Lydia felt all the way up her arms.

Seconds passed, thin and fragile. Somewhere beyond the walls, the party’s laughter and music blurred into a distant hum.

“Why would you think you don’t have a chance?” Kori’s voice was soft, the ache beneath it was impossible to ignore.

Lydia’s throat locked. She stared at the floor, at the scuffed toes of her shoes. Words crowded at the back of her mouth, restless and sharp, but she kept them there. Her pulse was racing so hard she was sure Kori could feel it.

The question hung there, unanswered. Then Kori spoke again, voice lower now, more certain.
“Why would you think that?”

Lydia’s chest felt tight, like her ribs were straining to hold everything in. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, on the faint shadow of their bodies spilling across the rug. Every instinct told her to keep looking down, to keep her words locked up where they couldn’t make things worse..

But she could feel Kori watching her. She could feel the weight of it, warm and unrelenting, like sunlight she couldn’t escape.

She swallowed hard. The silence between them seemed to swell, heavy enough to crush her. And then, slowly, Lydia lifted her gaze.

Kori was already looking at her. Really looking. Her eyes were soft but intent, lit with something that felt almost dangerous in its honesty. There was no teasing there, no smugness, none of the casual bravado Kori wore like armor. Her gaze was steady, almost reverent, drinking Lydia in as if she were something rare, fragile, and impossibly precious. It was the kind of look that stripped away every excuse Lydia had ever made for why this couldn’t be real.

Lydia’s voice barely made it out. “Because… look at you.” She gave a helpless laugh, the sound caught somewhere between affection and disbelief. “You’re literally perfect. You walk into a room and people notice. Your hair, your smile, your whole vibe—God. You could have anyone. I’m just the grouchy girl from your marketing class.”

“Do you seriously think that’s how I think of you?” Kori said, her brow pulling in.

Lydia hesitated. “I mean… maybe. I thought you hated me for like two months.”

Kori dropped her hands to her side and shook her head. “I never hated you.” Her eyes didn’t leave Lydia’s. “I was… intimidated, maybe. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Lydia frowned. “Intimidated? By me?”

“You walk around like you don’t need anyone,” Kori said. A half–smile tugged at her mouth, soft and reluctant. “That’s terrifying when someone actually wants to get to know you. I thought I was annoying you just by existing.”

Lydia frowned, her chest tightening. “But the first day we met, you looked so upset when I sat next to you.”

“That had nothing to do with you,” Kori said, letting out a soft laugh. “I was stress-texting Crystal because she registered for the wrong section. She was supposed to be in that class with me, and when I realized I was alone, I panicked.”

Lydia blinked at her. “So… you really never hated me?”

“No,” Kori said gently. “I’ve never hated you.” Her voice dipped into something softer. “And I’ve also never been straight.”

The words landed like a slow-motion revelation. Lydia’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t tell you because it never came up,” Kori continued. “And I guess you never asked. I just thought you knew.”

Lydia pressed a palm to her forehead like the thought might leak out. “How was I supposed to know?”

Kori raised an eyebrow. “How many straight girls do you know with a lesbian flag heart emojis in their Instagram bio?”

“I just thought you really liked Dunkin’,” Lydia muttered. “We live in Boston. It made sense at the time.”

Kori burst out laughing, the sound warm and full and so stupidly beautiful Lydia felt it in her chest.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” Kori said, still smiling, but there was something delicate in her expression now, like she was walking a tightrope made of all the things they hadn’t said yet.

Lydia’s lips twitched. All she could focus on was the way Kori’s eyes kept drifting down to her mouth before snapping back up again.

“So,” Lydia whispered, “what happens now?”

Kori took a step forward. The hem of her sparkly dress brushed against Lydia’s knees. She smelled like vanilla, mango vape, and something faintly floral beneath it. Lydia’s heart climbed into her throat.

Kori looked at her for a long moment, eyes wide and searching, like she was trying to memorize her. “Now,” she said softly, “I tell you that I asked you to come tonight because I wanted you here. Because I like being around you.” Her voice caught for a second, but when it returned, it was steadier. “Because, ridiculous as it sounds, you make the chaos quieter.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. “Kori…”

The name felt foreign and familiar all at once, like she was tasting it differently now. The words pressed against her chest like a second heartbeat, too big to fit, too loud to ignore. Kori liked being around her. Kori wanted her here.

“I…” Lydia blinked, lips parted, but no coherent thought made it to her mouth.

Kori smiled, but it was a nervous kind of smile, the kind that trembled at the edges. “I know I haven’t always said the right thing. Or done the right thing. And I definitely didn’t make the best first impression-”

Lydia huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “Understatement.”

Kori’s eyes crinkled, but her hands twitched at her sides like she was keeping herself from reaching out again. “But I never hated you. Not even close. I wasn’t trying to make your life harder, I just-” She broke off, looking down for a breath, then back up, meeting Lydia’s eyes. Her expression was raw, unguarded, vulnerable in a way Lydia had never seen on her before. “I think I was just scared.”

Lydia’s chest squeezed.

“It’s not every day the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen sits next to you in class. And then gets paired with you for a semester-long project.”

Lydia’s heart stopped.

She stared at Kori, wide-eyed and blinking, trying to decide if she’d imagined it. If her brain had, once again, fabricated a fantasy she was destined to wake up from. But Kori was still there. Still glowing faintly in the warm light from the sunroom. Still looking at her like she was the only real thing in the world.

Kori stepped closer, voice quieter now. “It scared the hell out of me. How much I wanted to be near you. How much I still do.”

Lydia’s stomach flipped violently, a whirl of disbelief and joy and panic crashing all at once. She’d spent so long convincing herself that Kori couldn’t possibly feel the same. Telling herself it was delusion, a cruel trick of proximity and longing. But now, those defenses crumbled, slow and jagged.

Her mouth felt dry. Her thoughts raced, colliding like fireworks. And still, her fingers itched to reach for Kori. To close the space. To believe this could be real.

She whispered, “You wanted me?”

Kori gave the smallest nod. “From the start.”

Lydia blinked. Her breath caught in her throat like a stone. “You mean, like—back in January?”

Kori smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Since you asked me for that pen.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. Her knees locked to keep herself from swaying. The words reverberated through her, rearranging every memory like shattered glass falling back into place but this time, into a picture she didn’t recognize. One where Kori hadn’t been rolling her eyes out of disdain, but hiding something softer. Where her little comments weren’t jabs, but invitations.

Lydia had been so sure Kori hated her. So sure that every glance was judgment, every pause a rejection waiting to happen. And now?

Now it turned out Kori had liked her. Wanted her. This whole time.

Heat rose to Lydia’s cheeks flushed from sugar and vodka and a bit of embarrassment. A deep, curling ache in her chest for every time she’d written Kori off. For every second she’d spent resenting a girl who had been trying to get close.

God. How had she been so wrong?

But then Kori’s fingers threaded into hers again, slotting into place like they belonged there. And somehow that felt louder than any apology Lydia could offer.

Kori stepped in, so close Lydia could feel the warmth of her skin. Her voice dropped low. “If you want, I could kiss you. Maybe that way the math will make more sense.”

A shiver worked its way down Lydia’s spine. Her brain was still fizzing, but the noise was starting to clear—like her thoughts were finally clicking into place. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t some cruel misunderstanding. Kori liked her. Had always liked her.

Her heart pounded like a warning drum, but it wasn’t telling her to run. It was telling her to leap.

She nodded, small and shaky.

Kori’s other hand came up gently, fingers brushing Lydia’s cheek before settling against the curve of her neck, warm and steady. For a second, they just looked at each other, a charged silence that held every unspoken thing between them.

And then Kori closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, testing, almost reverent. The world seemed to tilt, everything narrowing to the press of Kori’s lips on hers, warm and gentle and unbearably careful. Lydia’s whole body lit up, like a spark catching kindling. She leaned forward, greedy for more, her hands bunching in the silky cascade of Kori’s hair.

Kori kissed her again, deeper this time, more certain, tilting her head to fit perfectly against Lydia’s mouth. The taste of mango and the smell of her vanilla perfume was dizzying, a perfect swirl of everything that was Kori, everything Lydia had been aching for.

Her hands tightened in Kori’s hair, angling her closer, urging her on. Kori responded with a soft, low sound that sent a fresh rush of heat spiraling through Lydia’s veins. The kiss turned more urgent, mouths parting, their tongues brushing in a slow, deliberate slide that stole what little air Lydia had left.

The rest of the world dissolved entirely. There was no music, no party, no past or future, only the dizzying now, the glide of Kori’s lips, the faint scrape of teeth, the warmth of her hands. Every point of contact felt amplified, charged, like their bodies were speaking in a language they’d both been wanting to learn.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads fell together. They were breathing hard, Kori’s lips pink and swollen, Lydia’s fingers still buried in her hair. The room felt impossibly still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

Kori’s eyes fluttered open, bright and unguarded.

Lydia couldn’t speak. Her lips were tingling, her mind trying and failing to catch up with her body. Everything in her was electric, alive. The space between them still pulsed with heat.

Kori let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, though it trembled like she wasn’t sure if it was safe to breathe yet. Her hand stayed at Lydia’s neck, thumb tracing an absentminded, reverent line along her jaw.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice unsteady. “That was… definitely worth the wait.”

Lydia’s laugh caught in her throat. She managed a tiny nod, eyes still locked on Kori’s, searching for any sign that this wasn’t real. But Kori was glowing. Lips pink, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and bright and completely open.

The words weren’t there, but her hands still held fast to Kori’s hair like an anchor, like letting go might wake her up.

Kori leaned in again, slower this time, and pressed the faintest kiss to the corner of Lydia’s mouth. The softness of it unraveled her completely. Lydia’s heart squeezed so tight it hurt.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Kori murmured, her forehead brushing Lydia’s.

A small smile tugged at Lydia’s lips, shaky and impossibly full. “I’m really glad you did.”

They didn’t move. The party behind them raged on but in this dusty little sunroom, it was quiet. Just the hum of leftover music, the distant echo of laughter, and the weight of everything unsaid hanging sweet and suspended between them.

After a moment, Kori’s voice came again, soft and tentative. “Do you… wanna go back to the party?”

Lydia looked at her, at the way Kori’s hand hadn’t left her skin, at the hope just barely hidden behind her smile.

Lydia hesitated, then slowly shook her head. “No.”

She didn’t need to explain why.

Kori smiled, something small and secret curling in the corners of her mouth. She nodded once and didn’t let go.

And Lydia let herself breathe.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to run.

She didn’t want to hide behind sarcasm or overthinking or fear.

She just wanted to stay in this room, in this moment, in this feeling, for as long as Kori would let her.

Chapter Text

The next day, Friday

Lydia woke up smiling. Actually smiling. The kind that pulled at her cheeks before she was even conscious enough to know why, the kind that made her bury her face in her pillow because she couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. Her whole body felt lighter, as if some heavy, invisible weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying had finally slipped off in the night.

The memories replayed the second she let her mind wander: the sunroom, the soft glow of the string lights, Kori’s hand warm against hers, Kori’s lips—God. Lydia pressed her palms to her face, muffling the embarrassed, delighted sound that escaped her throat. She’d kissed Kori. Kori King. And Kori had kissed her back, not out of pity, not as a mistake, but like she’d been waiting for it just as much as Lydia had.

After the kiss they sat up there for God knows how long, talking in hushed voices, stealing glances like they couldn’t stop, Lydia nearly melting from the feeling of Kori’s arm around her. Then Kori’s phone had gone off—her friends, wondering where she was—and reality had crept back in. Lydia had been too drained, too euphoric to face people again, so Kori had ordered her an Uber, fussing over whether she’d get home safe, giving Lydia a tender hug before letting her go.

And now it was morning. Lydia was home, lying in her bed, and none of it had disappeared overnight like some dream. Her lips still tingled with the ghost of the kiss. Her chest still buzzed with the memory of Kori’s eyes on her.

She sat up in bed, hair a tangled mess, heart beating far too fast for someone who’d just woken up. She knew she should probably be embarrassed at how giddy she felt, like some lovesick idiot in a coming-of-age movie, but she wasn’t. For once, she didn’t care. It was nice to feel this way. Dangerous, but nice.

Rolling onto her side, Lydia grabbed her phone. 11:28 a.m. Friday. No class, thank God. She blinked at the two unread texts from Kori, sent at 2:45 in the morning:

KORI: You’re probably asleep already but wanted to let you know I’m home safe :)

KORI: Thanks for coming tn

Lydia smiled, a stupid, helpless grin that curled up from somewhere deep in her chest. She would probably never stop smiling at Kori’s texts, no matter how short or casual they were. She tapped out a reply before she could overthink it:

LYDIA: no need to thank me i had a great time

LYDIA: also good morning :)

She stared at the bubble after it sent, chewing the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d sent a proper good morning text. Every girl she’d dated or sort-of-dated had always wanted those routine morning check-ins, like proof you were still invested. Lydia had always found them exhausting, a performance she could never keep up.

But this didn’t feel like a performance. It felt easy. Natural. Like the only thing she could do. And she genuinely wanted Kori to have a good morning.

Still, her stomach twisted with nerves. She didn’t know what direction she and Kori were going in. She knew they liked each other. She knew they had chemistry—undeniable, infuriating, wonderful chemistry—but what came next? Was she supposed to ask her on a date? Bring her flowers? Write her poetry and serenade her on the street like some cliché? Lydia didn’t know the rules here, didn’t know how to be the right kind of girl for someone like Kori King.

Lydia finally forced herself out of bed, still slightly buzzing. She padded into the bathroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror and winced. Smudged mascara ringed her eyes, dark and messy, making her look like a raccoon who had been out all night clubbing.

“Hot,” she muttered, splashing cool water onto her face. The smudges only half-faded, leaving her with a faint gray shadow under her eyes, but she decided to let it go. At least it made her look vaguely mysterious.

She brushed her teeth with more enthusiasm than precision, humming under her breath, then dragged a brush through her tangled hair. After a brief battle, she surrendered, yanking it into a ponytail that was more “functional” than “cute.” Glasses back on, armor restored, she felt almost human again—except for the giddiness thrumming beneath her skin, too loud to ignore.

Stepping into the living room, she froze. Suzie and Sam were side by side on the couch watching an episode of Glee on the TV. Lydia’s stomach did a little flip. Great. An audience.

Suzie paused the show as soon as she saw her, but Lydia made a beeline for the kitchen, practically sprinting to the coffee machine. “Morning,” she mumbled, fumbling for a mug with hands that still felt clumsy from too little sleep and too much adrenaline.

“Don’t ‘morning’ us,” Suzie shot back immediately, her eyes glittering with the kind of feral joy only gossip could bring. “Spill.”

“Yeah,” Sam added, leaning forward like a detective who already knew the answers. “You’ve got a light behind your eyes. Did something happen?”

Lydia blinked at them. God, was she that obvious? Her face felt hot, her chest buzzing with the memory of Kori’s mouth on hers. “Wait, what—why are you even here?” she asked Sam, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t miss this,” Sam smirked, lounging back like this was dinner theater she’d bought front-row tickets to. “I knew the debrief would be too juicy.”

Lydia groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it almost hurt. Couldn’t a girl just… exist for five minutes after kissing the girl who’d been living rent-free in her head for weeks?

“So,” Suzie drawled, practically vibrating. “What happened last night? Tell us everything.”

“Let me have some coffee first, damn.” Lydia turned back to the machine, staring at the stream of coffee like it was the slowest, most inconsiderate liquid on earth. Her knee bounced. Each drip felt like it was mocking her. The memory of Kori’s hands on her wrists, the way she’d looked at her—yeah, that wasn’t helping.

When it finally finished, Lydia pumped two shots of sugar-free sweetener into the mug with a precision that felt almost violent, then carried it into the living room.

She deliberately avoided the couch. No way was she wedging herself between her interrogators. Instead, she sank into the recliner, clutching her coffee like it was some kind of shield. The steam fogged her glasses for a second, which only made her feel more exposed.

Facing Sam and Suzie, she had the sudden, terrible sense she’d wandered onto a game show set, except her private life was the prize. Their eyes were locked on her, greedy and unblinking, like she was Willy Wonka and they were starving for a golden ticket.

She shifted in her seat, trying to play it cool, but the heat crawling up her neck gave her away. There was no escaping this.

“Last night was… good,” Lydia said at last, immediately hating how small and suspiciously vague she sounded.

“Good?” Suzie scoffed. “That’s all you’ve got for us? Good? No. No, no. Start at the top. Chronological order. Don’t skip.”

Sam leaned forward, smirking like she’d paid for front row tickets.

Lydia sank deeper into the recliner, clutching her mug as if it might protect her. “Ok fine. First, we pregamed at the sorority. Drinking in Kori’s room with some of her friends.”  She paused, editing in real time, cutting out the part where Kori had walked in wearing that dress and Lydia forgot how to breathe. That detail stayed locked in her head, thank you very much.

“And then we went downstairs to take photos,” she continued. “I met her friends’ dates—don’t ask me their names. I spent hours with those guys and still couldn’t keep them straight. Pun intended.” She waved a dismissive hand, though her pulse still skipped every time she said her friends—Kori’s world, not hers. “Anyway, did you know boys aren’t even allowed upstairs at their house? They had to just hover downstairs like lost puppies.”

“No, I did not know that” Suzie said, eyebrows arching. “God, it must be nice being a lesbian in a sorority. No boys, no rules, just bring your girlfriend upstairs while the straight girls are stuck sneaking theirs around like contraband.”

“Yeah, it’s like sexism doubled back on itself and somehow became progressive,” Sam added, grinning.

That earned a laugh from Lydia—short, nervous, but real. She could feel the warmth creeping up her cheeks anyway.

“So then,” Lydia went on, “we Ubered to the venue, and it was insane. Like, chandelier-huge, ballroom-insane. I swear the place must’ve cost at least ten grand for the night.”

“Yeah, that tracks. Their dues are insane,” Sam said casually.

Suzie cut her a look. “And how would you know?”

Sam just smirked, tilting her head. “Did you seriously think I never considered rushing? I’m from the South, Suze. All my cousins are in sororities. I know things.”

Suzie rolled her eyes, but Lydia barely heard them—her mind was still running in fast-forward, sorting through which pieces of the night were safe to hand over and which she’d keep locked away.

She told them about meeting Kori’s big, about the endless parade of photos, about how the dancing blurred together, about how the awards ceremony dragged on like it might never end. But the whole time, she felt herself circling around the truth, trimming away the sharp edges of what it really felt like: the way Kori had laughed with her, leaned close, the way Lydia had spent half the night convinced she was either in heaven or in over her head.

“And then one of the frat boys hit on me,” she added, too casually.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and Kori just… went off on him. It was kind of hilarious.”

“She’s definitely into you,” Suzie said, laughing, her grin sharp.

Lydia’s cheeks burned hot. She curled her hands tighter around her mug as if the ceramic could ground her. “Let me finish my story, please.”

“Mhm,” Suzie hummed, smirk pulling at her mouth. “Just pointing out, you didn’t deny it.”

Lydia clenched her jaw and ignored her. “Anyway. Then Jewels’ date thought we were a couple.”

Sam leaned forward. “How did Kori react to that?”

Lydia stalled, tapping her fingers against the side of her mug. “I don’t know. Honestly, I think she was just… stunned.”

She left out the part where she’d accidentally friend-zoned Kori in the moment, the way the words had slipped out and lodged in her stomach like lead. They didn’t need to know how badly she’d fumbled it.

And she definitely wasn’t going to tell them about stepping outside with Kori, the quiet air between them, the sweetness of the mango vape passed back and forth. That memory, fragile and golden, was hers. Theirs.

“So then we went to afters at the frat,” she said quickly, redirecting. “They gave me a tour of the house and, oh my god—it was disgusting.”

Suzie made a dramatic gagging noise and clutched her chest. “I can’t believe Lydia B. Kollins willingly stepped foot in a frat house. I’m shocked. Appalled. Betrayed.”

“I know, right?” Lydia managed a laugh, but it slipped the moment another memory elbowed its way in. Chris.
Her smile faltered. She hadn’t even thought about him when she started retelling the night—like her brain had shoved him into some dusty corner. But now, the words sat heavy on her tongue, waiting.

Her voice dropped a little. “So… there was this guy.”

Both Suzie and Sam arched their eyebrows in unison.

Lydia exhaled, shaky. “I guess he was—or is—into Kori. He was pissed she didn’t invite him to formal. He cornered us in the house and said something about her bringing me, like… like it automatically meant she was a lesbian.”

Just repeating it made her stomach tighten all over again. Chris’s sneer, the way the words had landed like a slap. For a second, the old instincts kicked in: panic, self-doubt, that bone-deep certainty she didn’t belong in Kori’s world. She almost cut the story short, smoothed over the edges, let it vanish.

But then Kori’s voice echoed in her head, slicing right through the memory.

Suzie’s whole face hardened. She sat up straighter, glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Do I need to kill this guy?”

Lydia’s head jerked in a quick shake. “No, no—it’s fine. I mean—” Her throat caught. It wasn’t fine. The memory pressed against her ribs, ugly and electric all at once.

But what happened after? That wasn’t just fine. That was everything. An answer to a question Lydia hadn’t dared to even form.

“She said to him—even if she was straight—she wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

The reaction was immediate and explosive.

Sam let out a screech, half cheer, half banshee wail, while Suzie actually jumped off the couch.

“SHE’S GAY?” Suzie demanded, grinning ear to ear.

“Um… yeah,” Lydia admitted, the word tasting both surreal and sweet.

“Why didn’t you start with this?!” Sam threw her hands up.

“This is amazing news.” Suzie flopped back onto the couch, still buzzing with energy. “Okay, let me guess—then she confessed her undying love for you, and you two made out in the middle of the frat party.”

Lydia froze. Heat crawled up her neck again. “Um. Well…”

Suzie gasped, eyes going wide. “No way.”

Lydia groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh my god!” Suzie squealed. “And to think you didn’t even want to admit you had a crush on her.”

“Hush, let her finish,” Sam said, though her grin was just as shameless. “I need to know what happened next.”

Lydia sat back in the recliner, her coffee cooling in her hands, pulse still buzzing from her own confession. “Okay, we didn’t make out in the middle of the party,” she said, voice too thin, “but after the whole Chris thing… Kori could tell I was kinda… spiraling, I guess. And she asked if I wanted to go somewhere quieter. So, we ended up in the sunroom.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Suzie leaned forward so hard Lydia thought she might actually fall off the couch.

“She whisked you off to some private room minutes after telling you she was gay?” Suzie smirked.

“It wasn’t like that,” Lydia said quickly, though her cheeks flamed. “She just didn’t want to deal with Chris, okay? And… she gave me water. We sat down. It was normal.”

Sam gave her the most skeptical look possible. “Uh huh. Keep going.”

Lydia stared into her mug, watching the faint ripple of coffee against the ceramic. She thought about the way Kori’s hand had felt around hers on the stairs, the smell of Pine Sol in the stairwell, the blinding fluorescent lights, the weight of Kori’s gaze in the dim glow of the sunroom lamp. Her chest squeezed. There was no way she was handing all of that over.

“…Anyway,” she said instead, “she apologized. For Chris. For bringing me at all, honestly. She thought I was uncomfortable the whole night, and-” Lydia hesitated, words tangling. “And it was just… not what I expected. She actually cared what I thought. Like, really cared. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Suzie’s grin was getting feral. “So what did you do?”

Lydia’s leg bounced uncontrollably. “I… kind of blurted out that I thought she was straight.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You said that? Out loud?”

“I panicked!” Lydia hissed. “I wasn’t planning to, it just fell out. And then she was like, no, she never was straight, and I was like… oh. Oh. Cool. Great.”

 “Bitch. You’ve been suffering for weeks.” Suzie said, letting out a small laugh.

“I know,” Lydia groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Trust me, I know.”

She didn’t tell them how Kori’s hands had wrapped gently around her wrists when she tried to bolt. She didn’t tell them how Kori had looked at her—like she was precious, like she was something worth keeping.

But she could feel her friends’ stares drilling into her, the silence begging for the next piece. Lydia’s stomach flipped.

“So then…” she said carefully, “we talked a little more. Cleared some things up. And…” Her throat tightened. She forced the words out. “We kissed.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. We kissed.

For a split second, the apartment went silent. Lydia thought maybe they hadn’t heard her, maybe her voice had been swallowed by the sound of her heartbeat.

And then-

“Oh my GOD!” Suzie shrieked, launching forward so hard the couch squeaked.

“LYDIA!” Sam slapped the pillow next to her. “You absolute menace!”

Lydia winced, shrinking into the recliner like it might swallow her whole. Heart racing like she’d just confessed to murder instead of, you know, kissing a girl she’d been thinking about nonstop for weeks.

“You’ve been sitting there acting all casual—‘oh, the decorations were expensive, the awards dragged on’—and you wait until now to say you kissed?” Suzie clutched her own hair like she might rip it out. “You’re evil. You are literally evil.”

“You asked for chronological order,” Lydia muttered, lips twitching before she could stop them.

“I need more details,” Sam demanded, leaning forward like a detective. “How did it happen?”

“I don’t know. I was fully spiraling and kind of drunk—it’s honestly a blur,” Lydia stammered. Her cheeks burned so hot she had to set her mug down before she dropped it. “I didn’t plan it. We were alone and then—I don’t know.” She broke off, burying her face in her hands. Saying it out loud twisted her stomach into knots, except the knots felt suspiciously close to butterflies.

Suzie kicked her legs on the couch, practically vibrating. “So what you’re telling us is, after weeks of convincing yourself she hated you, and then more weeks of pretending you didn’t have a crush on her, Kori King—actual sorority Barbie—kissed you, and you didn’t text us in the bathroom immediately after?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to run a press release,” Lydia said from behind her hands.

Sam leaned forward, voice sharp with glee. “So who kissed who? Was it you or her?”

Lydia groaned, feeling their stares drilling holes into her. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” they chorused without hesitation.

She peeked between her fingers and found both of them perched like vultures on the edge of the couch, eyes blazing. A laugh bubbled out of her despite herself. God, they weren’t going to let her live this down for the rest of her life.

“It was…” She hesitated, pulse hammering in her ears. Thinking about the moment again made her chest ache in a way that was terrifying and sweet all at once. “It was her.”

That set them both off again—screaming, kicking, clapping, Suzie burying her face in a pillow to muffle the shrieks while Sam fanned herself theatrically.

Lydia sank deeper into the recliner, half dying of embarrassment, half… glowing so bright she felt like she might light up the room. Because for once, saying it out loud didn’t make it feel smaller. It made it real.

“So what did she say to you? Before she kissed you?” Suzie pressed, eyes wide.

Lydia hesitated, nerves sparking all over again. “She told me… she liked me. Since, like, our first class together.”

Suzie’s jaw dropped. “No way. So she really never hated you?”

“I guess not,” Lydia said, her laugh weak and incredulous. “God, I feel so stupid for misreading it.”

“You’re not stupid,” Suzie shot back quickly. “She was totally giving mixed signals. But—okay—maybe that look she gave you that night we walked home from the bar wasn’t a glare. I was kind of drunk. My bad.”

Sam leaned forward, careful, like she was poking a bear. “So… are you guys, like… going to date now?”

Lydia nearly choked. “What? No. I mean- God, I don’t know.”

Suzie gasped, dramatic as ever. “You don’t know? Ten bucks you two U-haul before the end of the semester.”

“Shut up,” Lydia shot back, hugging her knees tighter against her chest. Her pulse was spiking, too fast, too loud. “All I know is what happened last night. She told me she liked me. She kissed me. That’s it. We didn’t talk about… anything after.”

Sam tilted her head, eyes softening just a touch. “Okay, but you like her back. Right? You’ve still never actually said the words out loud.”

Lydia buried her face in her hands, voice muffled. “Yes. Obviously, I have a crush on her. But liking her back doesn’t mean I’m… equipped for this. What if she regrets it? What if it was just heat of the moment? What if I ruin everything?”

Suzie grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at her. It smacked Lydia square in the chest. “Lydia. Shut. Up. She’s had a crush on you for months. She literally told you. And then she kissed you. She’s not going to ‘regret’ it. Unless you talk yourself into some freak-out spiral and push her away.”

Sam nodded, more gently. “She’s right. If Kori wanted to keep it casual, she wouldn’t have put her feelings out there. People don’t say stuff like that just to walk it back.”

Before Lydia could muster an argument, her phone buzzed against the armrest. A single vibration, loud in the quiet room.

Sam and Suzie froze.

Then, simultaneously, they screamed.

“Oh my god, I bet it’s her!” Suzie lunged like she might grab the phone herself.

“Check it, check it, check it-” Sam moved to stand next to Lydia, trying to eavesdrop.

Lydia’s stomach bottomed out. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she reached for the phone, her hand trembling. She wasn’t sure which was scarier: if it was Kori, or if it wasn’t. Both possibilities felt like they might split her chest open.

She flipped it over.

It was Kori.

KORI: Good morning ;)

Another message popped up before Lydia could breathe.

KORI: I’m glad you had a good time (I did too obviously)

Her grin came instantly, uncontainable. She tried to press her lips together, to keep it neutral, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

“Based on the smile on your face we don’t even need to ask if it was Kori,” Suzie teased, leaning back smugly.

“Oh, shut up,” Lydia muttered, rolling her eyes, though her cheeks were practically burning.

Sam leaned in, peering at the phone. “She used a winky face. Oh, Lydia, that’s capital-F flirting.”

Another vibration cut her off.

KORI: What are you up to today?

Lydia typed back quickly, thumbs nervous but eager:

LYDIA: not much, my friends are here rn grilling me about all the details of last night

She barely hit send before Kori replied:

KORI: Anything interesting you got to share with them?

Sam gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, she knows. She’s basically saying, ‘Yeah, tell them we kissed.’”

Lydia nearly dropped the phone. “She is not saying that!”

“She literally is,” Suzie countered, she was now standing on the other side of her, grinning wickedly.

Lydia ignored them both and typed back instead, fingers buzzing with adrenaline:

LYDIA: i could think of a few things

Kori’s response was immediate:

KORI: I woke up this morning to Lana staring at me waiting for my debrief

KORI: She says hi btw

LYDIA: tell her i say hi too

KORI: Will do

KORI: We’re gonna go get breakfast but I’ll call you later, we should make plans for finishing the project

The word project hit Lydia like a splash of cold water. She gulped. She hadn’t thought about the project in days. Kori had eclipsed it entirely in her mind. When she thought about Kori now, it wasn’t google docs and slide decks; it was her laugh, her hands, the butterflies Lydia felt anytime they were close enough to touch.

But the final report was due in less than two weeks.

Lydia leaned back against the couch, staring at her phone. She should be relieved the class was almost over, that she’d be done with marketing forever. And part of her was. But another part—one she didn’t want to examine too closely—was clinging. Because the project was the thing tying her and Kori together, the excuse to see each other. And once it was gone, what then?

Soon they’d be standing up in front of the class, giving their final presentation, and then taking their exams before Lydia had to pack up for Pittsburgh. The thought of not seeing Kori for an entire summer was unbearable.

But that was still over a month away. For now, she still had Boston. She still had Kori and she was going to take advantage of every second she got to spend with her.

✿

The rest of the day had been low-key. After their morning debrief, they ordered pizza, and Suzie and Sam sunk deeper into their obsessive Glee rewatch. Lydia didn’t care for it, but she had to admit it worked as decent background noise—loud enough to drown her thoughts, though not enough to keep her from checking her phone every five minutes. She hated herself for it, hated how every buzz of a delivery notification made her stomach jump like it might be Kori.

By four o’clock, somewhere in the middle of the Glee cast’s overly earnest rendition of Keep Holding On, Lydia’s phone lit up. Kori’s name.

Her heart dropped and then soared all at once. She grabbed the phone, mumbling something to the couch about “taking this in the other room,” and darted into her bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her as she pressed accept.

“Hey,” she breathed, trying to sound casual, like she hadn’t been waiting all day.

“Hey,” Kori’s voice came through, warm and steady. Just hearing it made Lydia’s lips twitch into a smile she couldn’t suppress.

“Is now a good time?” Kori asked.

“Yeah, perfect, actually. My friends have been torturing me with Glee all afternoon.”

A laugh bubbled through the speaker. “Oh my god, no way. Did you just insult Glee? I love Glee.”

“Of course you do,” Lydia muttered with a soft laugh. She leaned back against the wall, hand pressed over her eyes, both mortified and endeared. She would never be free from being surrounded by Gleeks.

There was a pause. Lydia heard a breath, the subtle shift of tone that made her straighten.

“So…” Kori began slowly, “the project is due next Monday.”

Right. The project. Lydia’s chest deflated, just a little. “Yeah,” she said, careful not to sound disappointed.

“…And we should probably finish it.” Kori hesitated, then added quickly, “Do you want to get together tomorrow or Sunday to work on it?”

“Yeah, sure. Either works.”

“Let’s do tomorrow,” Kori said, voice light but insistent. Then, softer, almost rushed: “I want to see you.”

Lydia’s breath caught. Her face burned, and she pressed the heel of her palm into her cheek as if that could cool her down. She prayed her voice wouldn’t crack when she answered.

“You saw me yesterday,” she managed, aiming for casual, though her throat felt tight.

“And?” Kori replied without missing a beat. “I want to see you again.”

Her heart stuttered. Lydia had no idea how she was supposed to breathe, let alone respond. Somehow, through the static of nerves buzzing in her head, she forced out: “Okay.”

It came out steady, mercifully. But inside, her thoughts were sparking like fireworks. Loud and bright and impossible to contain.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she added, the words timid, almost shy.

“To working on the project?” Kori teased.

“Not so much the project,” Lydia admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “but I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“I know,” Kori chuckled, warm and sure, “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Lydia was reeling. She wasn’t good at flirting; she never had been. Half the time she didn’t even know if someone was flirting with her. But this? This was undeniably flirting. And Kori was so smooth with it, so confident, while Lydia could barely string two words together without her pulse jumping into her throat.

“Where did you want to meet?” she asked, grasping for safer ground.

“Is my house okay? I don’t think I’ll be able to book the study room, but if you don’t mind the floor we can work at mine. If not, we can go to the library—or your place, if that works?”

The thought of Kori in her apartment made her stomach flip. Kori seeing her space, her mess, the chipped mugs and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket—it was terrifying. Kori’s house was immaculate, polished like her Instagram feed. Lydia’s apartment was… character. Too much character. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for Kori to see it.

But before she could overthink it into the ground, the words slipped out:

“You can come to mine if you want.”

“Really?” Kori’s voice brightened, almost surprised.

“Yeah… we have a small dining table we can work at. I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The line went dead, but Lydia didn’t move. Her phone felt heavy in her hand, like it had anchored her to the spot. Her pulse thudded in her ears, her brain replaying Kori’s voice on a loop—I want to see you.

She finally looked around her room, really looked, and dread spread through her chest. Piles of clothes on the floor. Makeup scattered across her desk. Her nightstand overflowing with pill bottles and water glasses, like a miniature pharmacy.

“Oh, god.” She shot upright, panic propelling her out the door and into the living room.

“I need to clean this place up,” she practically screeched.

Sam and Suzie tore their eyes away from Glee, startled.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Suzie said, squinting at her. “What’s happening?”

“Kori is coming over. Tomorrow. Here., I need to clean my room and the kitchen and the living room and—God, why did I say yes?” Lydia’s words tumbled out too fast, her chest tight with anxiety. The reality of Kori walking through their apartment door, sitting at their table, existing in her space, was overwhelming. What had she agreed to?

“Okay, yeah, I’ll help you clean,” Suzie said immediately, scanning the disaster zone with fresh eyes. “This place could use it. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time we did a proper one.”

“I love you both,” Sam said, grabbing her coat from the hook, “but this is giving major roommate bonding activity, and I want no part of it. Besides, I’m going out tonight with Lexi so I should go get ready.”

She pulled her sleeves on and pointed at Lydia. “Good luck tomorrow. And Suzie­­­—text me every single detail.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Lydia grabbed a garbage bag and dove into the chaos, muttering, “Why did I say yes? This place is a mess.”

Suzie crouched to pick up stray papers from the coffee table, humming. “Hey. Breathe. It’s fine. Kori’s not coming to judge your apartment, she’s coming to see you. And we’ll get it decent. Don’t spiral.”

Easy for Suzie to say. Lydia’s chest was tight with the thought of Kori here, in her world instead of the other way around. Every crack in the wall, every chipped mug suddenly felt like it reflected on her. “I know, I know,” she said, voice thin, “but what if she thinks I’m—like—a total mess? What if she thinks my posters are cringy?”

Suzie shot her a grin, brushing hair from her face. “Lydia, she’s already into you. I think that’s a pretty big vote of confidence.”

Lydia blinked, feeling a heat rise to her cheeks. “You’re… too optimistic,” she muttered, though a small, nervous smile threatened to break through.

“I’m not optimistic,” Suzie laughed. “I’m realistic. Kori’s coming because she likes you. Also—I can’t wait to meet her. The girl who’s been breaking your brain since January? I need to see this in person.”

Luckily, the apartment was small, so cleaning didn’t take forever. Lydia tackled her room while Suzie worked on the kitchen, both of them moving fast—shoving things into drawers, wiping down surfaces, hiding the worst of it. Lydia’s body moved on autopilot, but her mind was racing, faster than her arms could keep up. Kori’s smile kept flashing in her head. Her laugh. The warmth in her voice when she said I want to see you.

By the time they collapsed onto the couch, the place looked… presentable. Not spotless, not perfect, but livable in a way that didn’t make her want to crawl out of her own skin. Lydia’s pulse hadn’t slowed once. Her hands still shook faintly, but now the tremor felt less like panic and more like energy she didn’t know where to put. Tomorrow, Kori would walk through their door and see her space, see her life, see her. The thought still made her stomach flip, but underneath the nerves was something steadier, something she hadn’t expected: a spark of excitement.

Maybe Kori seeing all of it—the real her—wouldn’t be a disaster. Maybe it would be… exactly what it was supposed to be.