Jasper texts you before sunrise.
Jasper: Meet at the studio early? Got a surprise for you.
You arrive to find him already there, sprawled on the big table, paint tubes scattered, his sketchpad open for you. "Couldn't sleep," he says, grinning. "Kept thinking about our mural."
"You're obsessed," you tease, dropping your bag and falling into the hard chair next to his. You ignore the flutter in your chest when he launches into ideas--fast, animated, making you laugh, making you feel like the epicenter of something new.
He hands you a tube of electric blue. "Try this. I saw it in a dream. I'll bet you make it magic."
You let him push a canvas toward you. The world narrows to the bright color splashing across white. Jasper narrates, suggestions, jokes, wild promises--and you get swept away, your hands moving fast.
At one point, you pause, brush angled. "We should text Beckett," you say, almost absent-minded. "He wanted to see the sketch."
Jasper's eyes flick, just for a second, his smile tight instead of wide. "We're on a roll. Let's finish first. He'll get it later."
You nod, not thinking twice as Jasper leans closer, his attention pouring into you, onto your art, until there's nothing else. No stadium, no dining hall, just the rooftop light you still feel on your skin.
As the sun climbs, you stand together over your half-finished mural test, hands spattered, energy thrumming.
Jasper lets his arm circle your shoulders, casual, friendly, but unmissable.
"Feels like we could do anything," he says softly.
You smile, letting yourself believe it.
Somewhere far off, your phone vibrates in your backpack. You don't check it right away.
For now, you're in Jasper's orbit, and the story is all color.
A while later, the studio lights have grown harsh and the smell of paint sharpens. Jasper's laughter is echoing off the high ceilings when you hear the sharp creak of the side door.
You glance up, startled. Beckett stands framed in the doorway, backpack over one shoulder, brow knitted but eyes warm.
"There you are," he says, voice casual, but there's something under it you can't quite read. "Priya said you were in here early."
You smile. "Hey! I lost track of time." You gesture at the swirl of color and mess. "Jasper's idea. He's got me up before the birds."
Jasper smirks. "Best hour to start trouble."
Beckett nods politely to Jasper, then turns his attention to you. "Just… wanted to check in."
You rub blue paint off your wrist. "We just finished sketching the new mural idea. Want to see?"
"Later," Beckett says, softer. He hesitates, waiting until Jasper is fussing with brushes and a haphazard palette. Then he lowers his voice, just for you: "You know you don't owe him all your time, right?"
You blink, not expecting that. "What? We're just--art stuff. He has good ideas, Beck."
Beckett's mouth pulls to the side, as if he's weighing pursuit and release. "I know. But you drop a lot for his ideas lately." He meets your eyes. Not angry, just earnest, almost vulnerable. "Just… don't forget what matters to you. That's all."
You look away, not sure if you're embarrassed or annoyed. "I know how to say no, Beckett."
He offers a tight smile, retreating. "I'm not saying you don't." His glance lingers. "I just wanted you to know it's okay to take a break."
Jasper bounces over, full of a new discovery. "Maren, come check this out!"
You glance from Beckett--solid, steady, concerned--back to Jasper--burning, electric, waiting. For a second, you stand balanced between two currents.
Beckett lifts his hand, halfway to reaching for you, then lets it fall. "Text me later?" he asks, hope and resignation tangled in three simple words.
You nod, unsure why you suddenly feel so stretched thin.
Jasper is gathering stray brushes and tubes from the worktable, his hands stained with every shade of blue. The mural sketches sprawl between you, raw and wild, full of promise.
You check the clock, realizing how late it's gotten. "I should go. Priya's waiting for me, and I promised Beckett I'd text."
He smiles, a little softer, his gaze lingering. "Today was good. It feels like creating something real for once."
You nod, your pulse skipping faster than you'd like to admit. "Me too."
He steps closer, and you smell paint, see the flecks on his collarbone. His voice drops. "Maren." Your name sounds like a question.
You meet his gaze, uncertain and caught.
Slowly, as if the silence gives him courage, Jasper leans in and kisses you. It starts gentle, just a meeting in the afternoon light, but then he draws you closer. His arms rest lightly around your waist and one hand slides to the small of your back.
Suddenly you taste summer, adrenaline, and something glittering and new.
You freeze for a moment, and then your hands find his shirt front. For a second you let yourself melt into it. Your heart is thundering in your ears, and the room shrinks down to just the two of you with paint everywhere.
When he pulls back, his smile is crooked. "Sorry. I couldn't let the day end without doing that."
You laugh, a little dazed. "That was… unexpected."
He grins, bright in the fading light. "Best art happens when you stop planning."
You gather your things, cheeks flushed, and you cannot stop smiling. Jasper watches as you head for the door.
Leaving the studio, you feel giddy and spinning, with no idea what you'll say next, to Priya, Beckett, or even yourself.
Later that evening, you find Beckett already waiting on the roof, the crisp evening air swirling around you both. He nudges over, making room on the ledge.
"Big day tomorrow," he says, voice lighter than usual. "Coach wants everyone in the zone for rivalry week. Marcus threatened to dye his hair orange if we win."
You laugh. "Tell him green is the way to go."
Beckett rolls his eyes. "He's not as brave as you." His gaze slips out over the campus. "Kind of wild how much stuff happens all at once. Feels like last year was way less intense, you know?"
You nod, watching the lights twinkle below. "It's weird. Everything feels bigger lately. The mural, school, all the new people…"
He stretches, warming his hands in his sleeves. "You handling it all right? Not too much?"
You smile. "Mostly. I mean, Jasper can be… intense. But it's been fun. He kissed me today, by the way," you add, as if it's nothing more than a footnote in the story.
For a split second, Beckett's face is unreadable. Then he laughs, a single, sharp sound. "Of course he did. The charming guys never wait long when there's someone they know will fall for it."
The words sting, sharper than you expected. You pull away. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Beckett flinches, realizing too late how it came out. "I just think you should be careful, that's all. Guys like Jasper… they take advantage of girls like you."
"Girls like me?" You shut down, hurt knotting in your chest. "You know what, Beck? You don't get to decide that for me."
He tries to take it back but you're already heading for the door. "Maren, wait-"
You ignore him, storming down into the stairwell before he can say another word.
Your dorm feels colder than the night outside. Dakota is sprawled on her bed, headphones around her neck. She looks up, sees your tight jaw and red eyes.
"What happened?" Dakota asks, voice soft.
You drop onto her bed, hugging a pillow. "Beck called me gullible. Or something close. Just because Jasper kissed me."
Dakota sits up straighter, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "Sounds like someone's jealous."
You snort, shaking your head. "That's not it. Beckett doesn't see me like that. We're just friends."
Dakota's brows lift. "Maren, you seriously believe that? After all these years?"
You squeeze the pillow tighter, defensive. "Maybe he's just… protective. He doesn't want me to get hurt by Jasper."
She lets out a huff. "Protective? Sure, but it always gets worse when you're into someone else. You remember sophomore year, when you hung out with Ethan? Beckett kept finding excuses to be around."
You flush, shaking your head. "It's not the same. He just doesn't like Jasper's type."
Dakota fixes you with a look that doesn't blink. "Every time you get close to a guy, Beckett gets all weird. He never says anything, just sulks. He acts like your approval is the only thing keeping him sane. Tell me I'm wrong."
You fumble for words. "He'd tell me if he felt that way. He's honest."
She throws her hands in the air. "Not about this he's not! Maren, you ignore everything unless someone is direct. People like Beckett aren't good at direct about feelings. They're good at loyalty and showing up and being there. They're terrible at saying 'I want you' because they think it'll mess up everything."
You stare at the patterns in Dakota's comforter, denial settling hard in your bones. "I don't see it, Dakota. I don't."
She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm. "You don't see it because you don't want to. Beckett's allowed to be hurt. He's allowed to not be perfect, especially when you tell him you kissed somebody else. You don't have to fix it right this second, but you definitely have to stop pretending it's not there."
You sit, silent and churned up by her words, wanting to push back but knowing Dakota never says anything she doesn't mean.
After a long stretch of quiet, she adds, "Just talk to him. Not about football, or the mural, or Jasper. Ask him what he wants."
You nod, hugging the pillow tighter. It's not the answer you wanted, but it's the one you needed.
Dakota leaves her hand on your shoulder until the sting fades and the truth feels a little less scary, even if you're still not sure what you'll do next.
Your dorm is softly quiet now, Dakota's words circling your mind but not settling. You're under the covers, phone glowing in your hand when Beckett's name flashes across the screen.
Beckett: I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have snapped.
You stare at the message for a long moment before replying.
Maren: It hurt, Beck. I wish you could believe I can take care of myself.
His reply comes quickly.
Beckett: I do believe it. I swear, Maren. You're probably the strongest person I know.
You bite your lip, fingers pausing over the keyboard.
Maren: Then what's the problem? Why do you act like I'm just… making bad choices? I need you to trust my judgement.
There's a pause, long enough that you wonder if he'll actually answer.
Beckett: I trust you. I promise. Maybe I just don't trust guys like Jasper. I've seen enough smooth talkers, you know?
You sit up, wanting more, wanting to know just how right Dakota was.
Maren: Is it only about Jasper? Or is this about me?
Another pause.
Beckett: You're my best friend. I just want you to be happy. If Jasper makes you happy, that's your call.
You sigh, feeling the emptiness hovering between lines that should mean something more.
Maren: Okay. I just… wish you'd let me figure it out myself. Without you making it harder.
Beckett: You're right. I'm sorry. I'll try.
You wait for more, but nothing comes except the soft glow of your phone and the steady thrum of the campus outside your window.
Finally, another message comes through.
Beckett: Go violet for your next color. Night, Mare.
You chuckle, rolling your eyes.
Maren: Noted. Night, Beck.
You set your phone aside, caught between forgiveness and frustration, knowing some answers might never come the way you want.
The sunlight is pale as you cross campus the next morning, biting down the leftover ache from a restless night. You replay Dakota's words, Beckett's texts, the way everything felt heavier in the dark. You told yourself it would clear by morning, but it hasn't.
Your group assembles near the quad; Hannah is sorting through a pile of flyers, Priya is fussing about paint samples, and Jasper is already there, waiting with two coffees in hand. He sees you coming and grins, handing one over like it's a ritual he's claimed from day one.
"Green bean latte, as ordered," Jasper jokes, bumping your shoulder. You smile, grateful for the normalcy, and let yourself fall into the easy pattern of his attention. Hannah teases you for running late, and Priya gives Jasper a sideways glance but keeps quiet, busy with her phone.
Beckett jogs up, helmet dangling from one hand, wind tanging his hair. He hesitates, watching the way Jasper stands close, the way your laugh lands between you like an inside joke. Beckett tries on a smile, sliding into the loose circle around your group.
He gets a reserved greeting from Jasper, who returns to talking about mural logistics, dropping Maren's name into every other sentence. Priya asks if anyone brought the extra brushes. Beckett, hoping for a thread of continuity, answers, "Yeah, I left the pack in Reyes's office, can grab it at lunch."
Hannah waves a flyer in Beckett's direction. "You playing tour guide for the art walk next week or just ducking out?"
Beckett shrugs, glancing at you as Jasper answers for you both. "We're all painting, I think Beckett's on audience patrol, right?" Jasper says lightly, flicking his gaze over the group before returning to you.
You patch together the conversation, laughing at Jasper's jokes, passing markers to Priya, but Beckett's struggle to join in is obvious. He hangs at the edge, quieter than usual, watching you and Jasper, how Jasper leans in, how you let yourself relax into his orbit. When the group fans out to walk toward the mural wall, Jasper tugs your sleeve, guiding you next to him. Beckett lingers behind, always just a step out of your new rhythm.
Hannah points out a new spot for supplies. "We'll need a dozen more jars of the blue if you and Jasper keep it up. Maren, you two are officially the color tornado."
You squint into the sun, cheeks warm, and nudge Jasper. "Guess we better make it count."
Priya is already halfway to the shed, calling you to follow. Jasper grins, tipping his chin toward Beckett. "Coming?" he asks, friendly enough.
Beckett hesitates, then shakes his head. "I… gotta hit the locker room early. Film review for the game." He tries to keep his voice light, but something's frayed underneath.
You turn, surprised and a little disappointed. "I thought you were coming with?"
He meets your eyes, and there's something raw there, masked by determination. "Maybe later. You've got enough help." The words are simple, but the way he looks away makes them heavy.
Hannah calls, "We'll save you a spot," and Priya waves an extra brush. Beckett lifts his helmet in a half-salute, but doesn't quite smile.
"Text me if you need anything," he says, directing the words to you alone, before turning away and heading off in the opposite direction. You watch his back fade across the quad, heart prickling with regret and worry you can't quite name.
Jasper notices your frown and squeezes your hand gently, guiding you back into the flow of the day. "He'll be fine. Coach makes everyone crazy during rivalry week."
You nod, biting down the instinct to chase after Beckett, knowing you won't, knowing this moment has changed something, even if you don't understand how.
As you gather brushes with your friends, laughter rising again around you, you feel the absence he's left in the group, a shape that used to fit perfectly at your side.
The mural wall stands ready, bright and blank in the morning sun, but you sense the fault lines running deeper than paint, the distance closing in on old friends who used to read each other better than anyone else in the world.