Chapter 13 — The Space Between Us
The café glass door made a soft chime as Cassie and I stepped out into the late afternoon light. Campus had quieted—students either in clubs, at practice, or pretending to study in the library. The sun hung low, warm but fading, stretching our shadows long across the sidewalk.
Cassie stretched her arms overhead with a groan. "God, I needed that drink."
"You had half of one," I reminded her.
"Yeah, but emotionally? I had five."
I snorted, shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets as we walked. My ribs were achy, not sharp, which was an improvement. The air smelled like fallen leaves and overpriced lattes.
Cassie matched her steps with mine easily—she always seemed to slip into people's rhythms without trying. I didn't know if it was a skill or a personality thing. Maybe both.
"Seriously though," she said, nudging me with her shoulder, "thank you. For telling me everything. I know you make jokes about it, but… that was scary stuff. You're allowed to actually feel things about it."
"Are you saying I'm emotionally repressed?"
"I'm saying you call dying 'a mild inconvenience,'" she said. "So, yes."
I shrugged. "It's over. The only part that matters is that she's fine."
Cassie shot me a sideways look that held too much insight for comfort. "You really don't see it, do you?"
"See what?"
"Never mind," she sighed dramatically. "I'll save the psychoanalysis for next time we drink."
"Next time?"
"Oh, there's definitely a next time. I have follow-up questions. Footnotes. An appendix of complaints."
"That sounds… extensive."
"Oh, it will be." She grinned and poked my arm. "But hey—despite everything? I'm glad you're okay, Ethan."
Her tone softened at the end. Warm. Genuine. And before I could think of what to say, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me in a quick, firm hug.
I blinked.
"Oh," I said brilliantly.
Her laughter puffed against my shoulder. "You're terrible at receiving affection."
"I'm out of practice."
She pulled back with a gentle shove to my arm. "Get used to it. I care about you, you idiot."
I opened my mouth to respond—but something flickered faintly in the corner of my vision.
Not a screen.Not a notification.Just that familiar blue shimmer, faint as a held breath.
I ignored it.
Cassie checked the time. "I have to run or I'll be late to my study group."
"Go," I said. "Before they start a manhunt."
She waved dramatically. "Goodbye, van survivor! Text me!"
Her ponytail bounced as she jogged off into the fading light.
I exhaled and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, heading toward the bus stop. The warmth of the hug lingered faintly on my jacket.
I didn't see anything wrong with today. I didn't feel any shift or danger.
So when the system shimmered again—soft, almost hesitant—it made me stop.
A single line appeared, dim and quiet:
[Affection Level Change — Ava Monroe: -3]
I stared.
"…What?"
The text flickered, almost apologetic.
Affection… dropped?
How? Why?
Nothing made sense.
The system offered no explanation.
The screen dimmed out again, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk with a knot in my chest I didn't have a name for.
I pulled out my phone and typed without thinking:
ME: Hey. How was practice?
I waited.
A minute passed.
Another.
Then—
AVA: Tiring. Long day.
I tried again.
ME: Everything okay?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Then finally:
AVA: Yeah. Just tired.
Short. Polite. Not cold—never cold—but distant.
Something was wrong.
I rubbed the back of my neck, unease gnawing at my ribs.
I texted again:
ME: Want to call later?
This time, the reply came after a long stretch.
AVA: Maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Not tonight.
Not "I'd like that" or "Of course."
Just… tomorrow.
The knot tightened.
I tried to breathe around it.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Something happened."
But I didn't know what.
****************************
Ava's POV
The apartment felt too quiet.
Ava dropped her bag onto the couch, kicked off her sneakers, and sank onto her bed without turning the lights on. The fading orange glow from the window stretched across her room, soft and heavy.
She pulled her knees to her chest.
For a long time, she just sat there.
Her heartbeat still hadn't fully calmed, even though practice had ended hours ago. Usually running helped her clear her mind—pounding the track until thoughts fell away.
But today…
Today they only grew louder.
She closed her eyes—and saw it again.
The girl laughing.
The girl leaning close, touching his arm.
Ethan smiling softly, the way he always smiled with her.
It shouldn't have mattered.
He wasn't hers.... She wasn't his.... They weren't anything.
She didn't want to be jealous.She didn't want to be hurt.
But the feeling had punched her in the stomach before she could stop it.
She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes.
"God… what is wrong with me?"
Her breath trembled.
Ethan had been hers first.Her person.Her safe space.Her warmth during the worst moment of her life.
And seeing him give even a sliver of that warmth to someone else…
It felt like the floor had cracked beneath her.
Her phone buzzed.
His name lit up the screen.
Her heart stuttered—but she didn't swipe open immediately. She stared at the glowing letters.
Ethan.
The only person she wanted to talk to.
The person she didn't know if she could talk to right now without… something breaking open.
She replied carefully. Short. Safe.
He asked to call.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Yes.I want to hear your voice.I missed you right now.
Instead she typed:
Maybe tomorrow.
She turned her face into her pillow and exhaled shakily.
"I'm such an idiot," she whispered.
But she wasn't angry.
She was afraid.
Afraid of wanting something she wasn't sure she was allowed to want.
Ethan's POV
The bus ride home was quiet enough to make my thoughts obnoxiously loud.
Practice was "tiring."
She was "just tired."
She'd "call tomorrow."
None of it was wrong. But none of it felt right either.
When the bus finally hissed to a stop near my apartment, I stepped off quickly and walked home with a pace that was half-rushed, half-restless.
Inside my place, I tossed my backpack on the couch and sat on the floor with my back against it. The room felt too still. Too silent. Too tight in the chest.
I opened the system panel — hoping for clarity, but expecting nothing.
It blinked on, gentle as always.
ETHAN L. RIVERS — PROFILE
Affection Level (Ava Monroe): 46 (previously 49)
No new quests.No dramatic warnings.Just that small, sharp drop.
I rubbed my face with both hands.
"What did I do?" I whispered.
Nothing came to mind. Nothing the system pointed to. Nothing that made sense.
I tried to do some homework, but the words and numbers swam. I tried to practice the guitar I just bought, but I couldn't finish a single song. I tried cooking a packet meal, but ended up burning half of it to the pan because I couldn't stop replaying every tiny detail of the day.
Lunch with Ava, the laughing and the openness that we can talk about anything without judgment.
Cassie laughing, touching my arm. Cassie hugging me goodbye.
Then the system notice about Ava's lose of affection, Ava's texts. Short. Distant.
Something twisted in my stomach. A slow, sinking heaviness.
I lay back on the carpet and stared at the ceiling until the dim room blurred.
The faintest shimmer appeared again — not even a word, just a flicker of system-blue.
As if it was watching. Waiting. Not interfering.
"Great," I muttered. "Even the system doesn't know what's going on."
I closed my eyes.
The last thought before sleep finally dragged at me was simple and sharp:
I didn't want Ava to be distant.
I didn't want her to pull away.
I didn't know why she was hurting.
I didn't know why it hurt me.
But something between us had shifted—subtle, small, but real.
And I had absolutely no idea how to fix it. not just for the system rewards but for Ava.