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The gym was quiet, echoing only with the faint screech of Isaac’s sneakers as he walked across the floor, clipboard under one arm. A few stray basketballs were still rolling lazily along the court from the last period, forgotten by students who had long since rushed home. Finstock had already left, muttering something about trying kombucha and never being the same.
Isaac stayed behind. He always did lately. There was something comforting about the quiet after the chaos. And besides—River was still here.
They always were.
Art rooms stayed open later than most, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, River stayed late, giving art students extra time to work on projects and then stayed cleaning brushes, organizing supplies, or occasionally just sitting at their desk with music playing faintly from their phone as they sketched something that would never make it to display. They said they liked the calm too.
Isaac had grown used to their presence. Even more than that—he’d started seeking it out.
He found them now exactly as he expected: perched on a stool, hair twisted up messily with a pencil through it, fingers smudged with charcoal. They were humming softly to themselves, something haunting and oddly aquatic-sounding, like the kind of melody that echoed in tidepools.
“Hey,” Isaac said, leaning in the doorway of the art room.
River looked up, their green-gray eyes lighting up slightly, though their smile was small and subtle, as always.
“Hey, Lahey,” they said, teasing gently. “Need more stick figures drawn for practice drills?”
He snorted. “You mock, but my diagrams are actually quite expressive.”
“I still don’t know how a stick figure can pull a hamstring, but okay.”
He laughed, stepping inside and dropping the clipboard onto a nearby table. “Okay, I deserved that.”
River’s smile lingered a bit longer this time, fond. They set down the piece they were working on—it looked like swirling kelp, tangled sea glass and koi fish—and turned toward him fully. Their fingers flexed slightly, always moving, always restless. Isaac watched them, warmth curling in his chest like spring sun on damp earth.
They had been circling this… whatever this was… for weeks now. Hanging out after hours. Sharing cold coffees and warmer smiles. Long conversations about identity, stories of how they came to be who they were. River had been the first to say it—I’m asexual, but not repulsed. And touch is… nice. Sometimes.
Isaac had nodded, not just understanding, but grateful for the clarity. And for the trust.
“You staying late again?” River asked, hopping off the stool with the grace of someone used to dancing between land and sea.
Isaac shrugged. “I guess. Or maybe I was waiting for you.”
River blinked at that, a flush blooming faintly across their cheeks. “You’re getting better at that.”
“At what?”
“Not hiding when you like someone.”
Isaac paused. That old instinct to brush it off, to shrug or joke, was still there. But it was quieter now, easier to ignore. He offered a gentle smile instead. “Yeah, well. You help with that.”
River nodded once, thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking,” they said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear. “I like being around you. More than I expected. More than I usually do with most people.”
Isaac’s heart picked up a beat, hopeful and nervous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So… maybe we should call it something. Us.” They hesitated. “If that’s something you want.”
His chest swelled with something soft and overwhelming. “I do.”
“Okay then,” River murmured, and stepped closer.
Isaac stood perfectly still, waiting—not out of fear, but reverence. He wasn’t about to push. He’d learned better than that.
River’s hand brushed his, fingers curling around the edge of his. Their eyes searched his face, unreadable but not closed off. Then, slowly, so slowly it was more breath than contact, they leaned in.
A kiss. Just a touch. A brush of lips over his. Light, fleeting, but so achingly deliberate it nearly knocked the wind from him.
River pulled back just slightly, watching him with an expression that was careful and exposed all at once.
“That okay?” they whispered.
Isaac smiled, his eyes soft and his voice barely there. “Yeah. That was… more than okay.”
River looked away for just a second, shy now, the way clouds shift after revealing too much sun. Then they exhaled. “Good. I don’t know how fast I want to go with anything. But I want this. Whatever it becomes.”
Isaac squeezed their hand gently. “Fresh start, yeah?”
River nodded, the corners of their lips curving up again. “Yeah. Fresh start.”
Outside, the sun dipped just behind the trees, casting long shadows over the parking lot. But inside the little art room, it still felt bright.