The school courtyard was mostly empty after sixth period, save for the scattered remnants of clubs and after-school hangouts. The sky was overcast again—California pretending to be somewhere gloomier, more thoughtful. A fitting backdrop for how Alex felt.
She sat alone on the stone bench near the koi pond, her textbook open but unread on her lap. Her eyes followed the lazy swirl of orange and white fish below the water's surface. They moved like thoughts—drifting, directionless, impossible to catch.
The Philosophy class had ended with another long-winded rant from Mr. Halvorsen about determinism, but Elliot hadn't said a word today. Not even his usual cryptic comment or carefully timed rebuttal. He'd just sat still, expression unreadable, eyes distant.
Alex didn't like it.
He was a mystery, sure. But he wasn't silent. Not like this.
She wondered what had changed.
And then, as if summoned, she heard his footsteps. Light. Deliberate.
Elliot.
He approached without hesitation and sat beside her, mirroring her posture: elbows on knees, gaze on the water. No greeting. No pretense.
Just presence.
They sat that way for a while.
The silence wasn't awkward. It never was with him. But today it carried a heavier weight—like the air before a storm.
"You didn't say anything in class today," Alex finally said.
"I was listening," he replied simply.
"To what?"
"Everyone pretending they've figured it all out."
She let out a soft scoff. "So, usual Tuesday."
He gave a small nod.
"I don't know why I keep trying to argue with people who think quoting Kant makes them deep," she muttered. "It's like philosophical cosplay."
Elliot tilted his head, amused. "Cosplay?"
"They wear big words like costumes. But none of them fit."
A pause.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loud. Not even prolonged.
But real.
Soft, unguarded.
Alex turned to look at him, stunned.
It was the first time she'd seen him laugh—not the polite smile, not the sharp twist of sarcasm. A genuine crack in the façade.
And it was…
Warm.
Unexpectedly warm.
His usually serious eyes held a glint of mischief. His posture relaxed just a bit more, the rigid serenity shifting into something closer to joy.
Alex blinked. "Was that—did you just laugh?"
Elliot looked at her, eyebrows raised slightly, as if surprised himself. "I think I did."
"And you didn't implode?"
"I'll check later."
She stared, half-grinning. "Okay, I need a minute. That's like seeing a statue blink."
He shook his head, but the smile lingered—subtle, but stubborn.
It changed his entire face.
Alex didn't know what to do with that. She hadn't realized how much she'd grown used to his calm, unreadable expression. Seeing it soften—just a little—felt like watching a glacier shift.
She caught herself staring and quickly looked back at the koi pond.
"So," she said, trying to sound casual, "what was so funny?"
Elliot glanced at her, then at the water. "The cosplay metaphor. You're right. Most of them don't actually understand what they're quoting. They just want to sound like they do."
He paused, thoughtful. "But you don't."
"What, try to sound deep?"
"You are deep. And you don't perform. You just... ask."
Alex's throat tightened slightly. Compliments usually rolled off her back. But this one hit different. Maybe because it wasn't flowery or forced. It was just honest.
And it came from him.
"Thanks," she said, voice quieter than before.
Another pause.
"You're different today," she added, almost cautiously.
Elliot nodded slowly. "I had a dream last night."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Philosophical or weird?"
"Both," he said. "I was in a forest. Alone. But I didn't feel lost. I felt… returned. Like I'd been there before."
She waited.
"And then I saw a version of myself," he continued, "older. Sitting on a log. He looked at me and said, 'Stop surviving and start living.'"
Alex blinked. "Damn."
Elliot gave a small shrug. "It stuck with me."
"You think it meant something?"
"I think everything does," he said. "Even the parts we ignore."
They both fell silent again.
The wind stirred the pond. A few leaves danced across the stone.
"You smiled," she said again, like she needed to make sure it really happened.
Elliot looked at her, expression unreadable again—but only for a second. Then the faintest curve returned to his lips.
"I did."
"Why?"
He hesitated.
Then: "Because you surprised me. And because it felt good."
That stunned her more than the smile.
It was the most direct, vulnerable thing he'd said to her yet.
She looked away, heart thudding too loudly in her chest.
Something had shifted.
And not just in him.
In her too.
Because now, she was thinking about things she shouldn't be thinking about—like how close he was sitting, or how the bench didn't feel cold anymore, or how his voice stayed with her longer than it should.
She took a breath.
"Elliot?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I like being around you," she admitted, not meeting his eyes.
He didn't respond immediately.
But when he did, it was without hesitation.
"I like being around you too, Alex."
And there it was.
The crack widened.
The wall between them—carefully constructed from intellect and restraint—had begun to crumble.
Not in a dramatic, world-ending way.
But quietly.
In the way two people learn to let each other in.
In the way a smile can mean more than a confession.