Alexa got there early. Ten minutes early, because Marleny had shoved her out the door with a "text me every half hour or I'm calling campus security" that she'd delivered with a perfectly straight face. So now she was wedged into the cracked vinyl of a corner booth, both hands wrapped around a coffee she hadn't drunk yet, watching the door like it might bite.
The coffee shop on Elm was the kind of place that sold itself as rustic but was really just old — mismatched chairs, a counter that had been wiped so many times the wood was concave, a chalkboard menu with three items crossed out and never replaced. A fan somewhere rattled on its highest setting. The only other customer was a guy in a beanie hunched over a laptop, earbuds in, not looking up.
She'd picked the booth in the back. Facing the door. Defensive position. Marleny would've approved.
The coffee was too hot. She set it down, watched the surface shiver, and pressed her palms flat against the table instead. It wobbled. One of the legs was short. She shifted, the vinyl creaked beneath her, and she thought about how many times she'd imagined this meeting in the last twelve hours — versions where they were kind, versions where they were cruel, versions where she didn't show up at all. Every single one had been easier than this waiting.
The door opened.
Not them. A woman with a dog on a leash. The dog pulled toward the counter. The woman apologized to no one. Alexa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She checked her phone. 10:57. Three minutes.
She took a sip of coffee. Too hot. Still too hot. She set it down again.
The door opened.
Three bodies filled the frame.
Liam came in first — she knew it was Liam from the messy copper hair, the lanky frame, the way he held the door for the others like he was ushering them into a party instead of a coffee shop. He was wearing a faded band tee and glasses that sat slightly crooked on his face, and he looked around the room with an energy that seemed to land on everything at once before his eyes found hers.
He stopped.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing came out.
Ben stepped around him — taller, blonder, built solid in a way that made his plain gray hoodie look deliberate. His blue eyes swept the room once, found her, and held. There was something careful in his face. Calculating. Like he was reading a room before he entered it.
And then Hayden.
He came through last, and she knew him before she saw his face — knew him from the broad shoulders that filled his unbuttoned flannel, from the way he moved slow and deliberate, like he had nowhere else to be. His dark hair curled at the edges. His jaw was set. And his eyes — dark brown, almost black in the dim light of the shop — found her and stayed.
He didn't blink.
For a second, she felt like she was back in her room, the camera on, the red light glowing, performing for a screen full of strangers. Except there was no screen. No camera. No distance. Just three boys standing in a doorway, looking at her like she was something they'd conjured out of a dream.
Liam recovered first.
"Hey," he said, and his voice cracked on the single syllable. He coughed, adjusted his glasses, and tried again. "Hey. You're — you're Alexa. Right. Okay. Cool. We're — I'm Liam. This is Ben. And Hayden. You already — I mean, you probably figured that out. From the, uh." He gestured vaguely at the door. "The coming in together."
She felt her mouth twitch. "I got that, yeah."
"Right. Cool. Good." He was already moving toward the counter, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. "I'm gonna — coffee. I need coffee. Do you want — you already have coffee. Okay. I'm going to get coffee."
Ben caught her eye as Liam retreated to the counter. Something passed between them — a shared recognition of the chaos they were both managing — and he gave her the smallest nod. Then he slid into the booth across from her, leaving the space beside him open.
Hayden didn't sit.
He stood at the edge of the table, one hand resting on the back of the booth, his dark eyes still fixed on her face. She felt the weight of it — the way he was looking at her, not like he was studying her, but like he was memorizing her. Like he was comparing the girl in front of him to the girl on the screen and finding the differences staggering.
"You're smaller than I thought," he said.
The words landed strange. Not insulting. Just... honest.
"I'm not," she said. "I'm exactly the size I am."
His mouth did something. Not quite a smile. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
He didn't answer. He just kept looking at her, and she felt her spine straighten under the weight of it, felt a flush start to crawl up her neck that she couldn't blame on the coffee.
"Hayden," Ben said. His voice was quiet, almost tired. "Sit down."
Hayden sat.
He took the seat beside her.
The booth was old, the vinyl cracked, and there wasn't much room — his shoulder brushed hers as he settled in, and she caught the smell of him. Gasoline. Worn leather. Something warm underneath, like cedar or smoke. He didn't pull away. Neither did she.
Liam came back with a mug in each hand, sliding into the seat beside Ben with a clatter of ceramic on wood. "Okay. I have coffee. I'm ready. I can do this." He took a breath. "So. Hi."
"Hi," she said.
"This is weird, right?" He was already talking again, the words spilling out. "Like, objectively weird. We've been hearing you through the wall for months, and we've watched — I mean, we've seen your streams, and it's —" He stopped. His ears were red. "It's weird. I'm making it weird."
"You're making it weird," Ben agreed.
"Shut up, you're not helping."
Alexa laughed.
The sound surprised her — a genuine laugh, low and rough, that came out before she could stop it. All three of them went still. Liam's mouth hung open. Ben's eyebrows lifted. And Hayden — Hayden's dark eyes caught hers, and something in his face shifted. Softened. Like he'd been holding his breath and she'd just given him permission to let it go.
"Sorry," she said, still smiling. "It's just — you're exactly what I expected."
"Is that good or bad?" Liam asked.
"I don't know yet."
She wrapped her hands around her coffee again, the heat seeping into her palms, grounding her. The table wobbled. She pressed down, felt the short leg give, and watched Ben reach for a sugar packet that had slid to the edge. He folded it once, twice, then tucked it under the table leg. The wobble stopped.
"Thanks," she said.
He shrugged. "Liam would've knocked the whole table over in thirty seconds if I didn't."
"That was one time," Liam said.
"It was three times."
"Okay, but the third time was your fault."
She watched them bicker — easy, familiar, the rhythm of people who'd known each other long enough to finish each other's sentences. It was almost normal. Almost like meeting friends of friends for coffee. Except she knew what they'd seen. Knew the version of herself they'd watched on a screen, spread out and moaning, taking tips and doing whatever the chat asked. Knew that when Liam's eyes dropped to her collarbone for half a second before snapping back up, he wasn't just looking at her skin. He was seeing it the way she'd shown it.
The flush that crawled up his neck was almost purple. He looked younger than twenty-two. She felt something twist in her chest — not fear, not shame. Something closer to power.
"So," she said, and their voices cut off at once, three sets of eyes snapping to her. "You've watched my streams."
Liam opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Ben.
Ben set his mug down. "Yeah."
"For how long?"
A pause. Ben's blue eyes held hers. "A few months."
"Which ones?"
Liam made a strangled sound. "Jesus Christ."
"I'm asking," she said, and her voice came out steady, steady in a way that surprised her, "because I want to know what you've seen. What you know. What I'm walking into here." She looked at each of them in turn. "You found me. You sent that tip. You know where I sleep. So I think I'm allowed to ask."
The table went quiet.
Ben was the one who answered. His voice was low, careful. "All of them."
She blinked.
"Not — not every single one," he said, and for the first time, she saw something crack in his composure. A slight flush across his cheekbones. "But we've been watching for a while. Since before we knew it was you. We just... liked the streams. Liked you. And then one night we heard you through the wall, and it clicked."
"Liam figured it out," Hayden said. His voice was rough, like he didn't use it much. "He recognized your voice."
"I felt like an asshole," Liam said quickly. "Like, a huge asshole. We all did. That's why we sent the tip — we wanted to apologize, but we didn't know how to do it without —" He gestured vaguely. "Without being the guys who send creepy tips to their neighbor."
"So you sent a creepy tip."
"We panicked!"
She laughed again. Softer this time. "I can tell."
The coffee was cooling. She took a sip, let it settle in her chest, and looked at Hayden. He hadn't said much. He hadn't looked away from her once.
"What about you?" she asked.
His jaw tightened. "What about me?"
"You've been quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"That's not an answer."
Something flickered in his dark eyes. Not anger. Something rawer. "I've been watching you for months," he said. The words came out slow, deliberate, like he was choosing each one. "I know what your voice sounds like when you're pretending to enjoy something. I know what it sounds like when you're not pretending. I know you play guitar — you're better than Liam."
"Hey—"
"I know you swim," Hayden continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've heard you come in late, heard you drop your keys, heard you laugh at something Marleny says when you think no one's listening. I've been listening to you through a wall for months, and I thought I knew you. And then you played that song last night, and I realized I didn't know anything."
The table was silent.
Alexa's hands were still wrapped around her coffee. She couldn't feel the heat anymore. She could feel her pulse, though, beating in her throat like a second heart.
"You played back," she said.
His eyes didn't leave hers. "Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because you asked."
She didn't know what to do with that. It was too honest, too raw, too much for a coffee shop with a wobbling table and a rattling fan. She looked down at her hands, at the silver ring on her middle finger, at the way her knuckles had gone white around the mug.
"I don't know what to do with this," she said, and her voice came out smaller than she meant it to.
"You don't have to do anything," Ben said. "We just wanted to meet you. In person. To say we're sorry for —" He paused. "For finding out the way we did. For watching without you knowing. For making it weird."
"It's already weird," Liam said. "Let's not pretend it's not weird."
"You're not helping."
"I'm being honest."
Alexa looked between them. Three boys who had seen every inch of her on a screen, now fumbling with sugar packets and napkins because she was real. Because she was here. Because they could look at her, touch her if they wanted, and that possibility was sitting in the air between them like a live wire.
"What happens now?" she asked.
Ben's blue eyes met hers. "That's up to you."
"We're not going to tell anyone," Liam said. "I know that's probably what you're worried about. We talked about it. We're not going to say anything. This stays between us."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you keep it secret?"
Liam looked at Ben. Ben looked at Hayden. Hayden was still watching her, his dark eyes unreadable, his shoulder warm against hers in the cramped booth.
"Because you're our neighbor," Liam said finally. "And we don't want to be the guys who ruined your life."
She believed him.
She didn't know why, but she believed him. Maybe it was the way his ears were still red, or the way Ben's hands were still wrapped around his mug like he was holding himself still, or the way Hayden hadn't moved an inch since he sat down — like he was afraid that if he did, she'd disappear.
She took a breath.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Liam's face lit up. "Okay as in —"
"Okay as in I believe you. For now." She looked at each of them. "But if I find out you told anyone —"
"You won't," Ben said.
"You don't know that."
"I do." His blue eyes held hers, steady and sure. "Because if I find out someone told, I'll handle it myself."
The quiet certainty in his voice made something shift in her chest. She didn't know if she trusted him. But she believed he meant it.
The door opened. A group of students spilled in, laughing, loud, and the moment shattered. Liam turned to look. Ben reached for his coffee. Hayden stayed still, his arm brushing hers, his breath even.
"We should probably go," Ben said. "Let you get on with your day."
"You don't have to," she said, and the words came out before she could stop them.
Ben paused. Liam's eyebrows shot up. Hayden's breath caught — she felt it, the slight hitch in his ribs where they pressed against her arm.
"I mean," she said, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks now, "we're already here. And I don't have class until three. So if you wanted to stay..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
Liam was already grinning. "We can stay."
"Liam—" Ben started.
"She said we could stay. We're staying."
Alexa laughed, and it was easier this time. Less surprised. More like something she was choosing.
Hayden's hand moved under the table. Just a fraction of an inch. His pinky brushed her knee, light, hesitant, a question she wasn't sure she knew how to answer.
She didn't pull away.
She looked at him. His dark eyes were waiting, patient, hungry in a way that made her breath catch.
"Okay," she said, and she didn't know what she was agreeing to. "Okay."
Hayden's mouth moved. Not quite a smile. But close.
Liam was already talking again — something about the coffee, about a playlist, about how they should do this again sometime — and Ben was watching her with those careful blue eyes, reading the room, reading her, and she felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with the streams.
The coffee was cold now. She didn't care.
She was still here.
They were still here.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to hide.
His pinky pulled back. A fraction of an inch, a retreat, and she felt the absence like a cold patch on her skin. Then his whole hand settled on her knee. Warm. Heavy. Deliberate.
Her breath stopped.
Liam was still talking — something about a playlist, about showing her their setup, about how they should all hang out in the common room sometime — and Ben was watching her with those careful blue eyes, but she couldn't hear any of it. Couldn't feel anything except the weight of Hayden's palm through her jeans, the spread of his fingers, the way his thumb rested against the inside of her knee like it belonged there.
She looked at him.
His dark eyes were on her face, watching for her reaction, waiting for her to pull away. His jaw was set. His breathing was shallow — she could see it in the rise and fall of his chest beneath the flannel. He was braced for rejection.
She didn't pull away.
His thumb moved. A slow stroke across the fabric of her jeans, barely a movement, barely a question. But it was a question — the same one his pinky had asked, but louder now. Bolder. A hand instead of a fingertip. A claim instead of a test.
"—and then Ben said we couldn't use his truck because he'd just detailed it, which is insane, because that truck hasn't been detailed since—"
"Liam." Ben's voice cut through, quiet and flat. "Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're not. You're panicking. It's fine."
"I'm not panicking. I'm being social."
Alexa heard them like she was underwater. The words came through distorted, distant, while every nerve in her body was focused on the spot where Hayden's hand rested on her knee. The heat of it. The weight. The way his thumb was drawing slow, idle circles now, like he was memorizing the shape of her joint through the denim.
She should say something. Should acknowledge it. Should pull away or move closer or do something instead of sitting here frozen, her pulse hammering in her throat, her palms flat against the cold ceramic of her coffee mug.
She didn't do any of those things.
She spread her knees.
Just a fraction. Just enough. An invitation hidden inside stillness, hidden inside the way she shifted in her seat, hidden inside the creak of the old vinyl. If Liam or Ben noticed, they didn't say anything. But Hayden noticed. His hand slid an inch higher, his palm settling on the soft inside of her thigh, and she felt the heat of him through the denim like a brand.
She picked up her coffee. Took a sip. Cold. She set it down again.
"You should come over," Liam said.
The words landed in the middle of the table, and she felt Hayden's hand tense against her thigh.
"Liam," Ben said, his voice carrying a warning.
"I mean it. Not in a weird way. In a — we have a setup. A good one. Sound system, decent lighting, we could help you with your streams if you wanted. Better production value. I've got a microphone that would make your audio—"
"Liam."
"I'm being helpful!"
Alexa laughed. The sound came out breathless, a little unsteady, and she felt Hayden's thumb pause against her thigh before resuming its slow circle.
"You want me to stream from your room," she said.
"I mean, not during anything. But yeah. Why not? We already know. You don't have to hide from us."
She looked at Ben. His blue eyes were unreadable, his mug held in both hands like a shield. He didn't say no. He didn't say yes. He was waiting, watching, reading her the same way he'd been reading her since they sat down.
"Maybe," she said. It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no. It was a word she could take back later.
Hayden's hand squeezed her thigh. Just once. A pulse of pressure that said I heard you and I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere all at once.
She looked at him again. His dark eyes caught hers, and something passed between them — a current she couldn't name, a question that didn't have words, a promise she wasn't sure either of them knew how to keep.
"Your hand is on my leg," she said. Quiet. For him only.
"I know."
"You've been quiet this whole time."
"I told you. I'm always quiet."
"That's not an answer."
His thumb stopped moving. His hand was still on her thigh, warm and heavy, but still. Waiting.
"I don't know what to say," he said, and his voice was rough, low, scraped clean of pretense. "I've been waiting to meet you for months. And now you're here. And I don't want to say the wrong thing."
"So you're saying nothing."
"I'm saying it with my hand."
She felt the heat crawl up her neck again. Couldn't stop it. Didn't want to.
"That's not nothing," she said.
"I know."
Liam had started talking again — something about a show they'd played last semester, about a venue that had overbooked them, about a drummer who'd shown up drunk. Ben was nodding along, his eyes still on her and Hayden, reading the space between them like a set of instructions.
She should pull away. Should put distance between them, make this normal again, turn back into the girl who was just meeting her neighbors for coffee.
She didn't.
She turned her hand over on the table. Palm up. An invitation.
Hayden's eyes dropped to it. Something flickered across his face — surprise, hunger, a crack in that careful composure — and then his other hand moved from his lap to the table, his fingers finding hers, sliding into the space between her knuckles like he'd been doing it his whole life.
His hand was rough. Calloused. Guitar strings and work and the kind of patience that left marks. His thumb pressed against her palm, and she felt the pulse in his wrist, fast and unsteady, matching her own.
"Okay," Liam said, and she looked up to find him staring at their joined hands with a grin that was half surprise, half something softer. "Okay. So that's happening."
"Liam," Ben said.
"I'm not saying it's bad. I'm just saying it's happening."
Alexa felt her face go red. She tried to pull her hand back, but Hayden held on — not tight, not forceful, just there. A gentle pressure that said stay.
She stayed.
"I should probably go," she said, but she didn't move. Didn't stand up. Didn't let go of his hand.
"You said you didn't have class until three," Liam said.
"I know."
"It's eleven-thirty."
"I know."
"So you've got time."
She looked at Hayden. His dark eyes were on her, patient, waiting, his thumb tracing slow lines across the back of her hand. She looked at Ben, who was watching her with something like approval in his steady blue gaze. She looked at Liam, who was grinning like he'd just won something.
"Yeah," she said. "I've got time."
Hayden's thumb pressed harder. A single point of pressure, warm and deliberate, and she felt it in her chest like a held breath.
Liam leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes bright. "Tell us about the streams."
She blinked. "What?"
"The streams. How you got into it. What you like about it. The —" He gestured vaguely. "The whole thing. I'm curious."
"Liam," Ben said again, but there was no heat in it.
"What? We already know. She knows we know. We're past the awkward part, right? We're in the — the getting-to-know-you part. Where we ask questions."
Alexa looked down at the table. At her cold coffee. At Hayden's hand wrapped around hers. At the sugar packet Ben had folded under the table leg.
"I needed money," she said. The words came out simple, flat, honest in a way that surprised her. "I had debt. A lot of it. Tuition, rent, all the normal stuff. And I didn't want to ask my parents for help, because they'd already given me everything they had, and I couldn't —" She stopped. Swallowed. "I couldn't make them worry about me more than they already did."
No one spoke.
"So I found a site. Set up an account. Bought a camera from a pawn shop and figured out the lighting with desk lamps and a bedsheet." She laughed, quiet, self-deprecating. "My first stream had three viewers and I was so nervous I forgot to unmute my microphone for the first ten minutes."
"What made you keep going?" Ben asked. His voice was soft, curious, free of judgment.
She thought about it. "The first time someone tipped me. It was five dollars, and I almost cried. Because it was real. It was money I could use. And then the next week it was twenty, and the week after that it was fifty, and I realized I could actually —" She stopped. "I could actually do this. I could fix things."
"Fix things," Hayden said. Not a question. An echo.
"Yeah." She looked at him. "I know it's not — I know it's not what most people would do. But it worked. It's still working. And I'm good at it."
"You are," he said. Simple. Certain. Like it was a fact he'd known for a long time.
She felt something shift in her chest. A loosening. A warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee.
"You're not weirded out?" she asked. "That your neighbor is —"
"No."
"You don't have to say it that fast."
"I'm not saying it fast because I'm lying. I'm saying it fast because it's true."
His hand tightened around hers. Squeezed once. Let go. But he didn't pull away — just held her hand loose and warm on the table between them.
Liam made a sound. Something between a sigh and a laugh. "This is the most romantic thing I've ever witnessed, and I'm not even the one involved."
"Shut up," Ben said, but he was almost smiling.
"I'm serious. Look at them. They're holding hands in a coffee shop. That's — that's a meet-cute. That's a scene in a movie."
"It's not a meet-cute," Alexa said, but she was smiling now, her cheeks aching with it.
"It absolutely is."
"We've known each other for an hour."
"And he's already got his hand on your leg under the table."
She went red. Hayden's hand went still.
"Liam," Ben said, and this time there was real warning in his voice.
"What? I'm observant. I notice things. The table's small."
Hayden's jaw was tight. He didn't pull his hand away, but he didn't move it either. He was waiting — for her to flinch, for her to pull back, for the moment to shatter.
She didn't flinch.
"He's not wrong," she said, and the words came out steadier than she expected. "About the table being small."
Hayden's eyes met hers. Something in them shifted — relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or something hungrier that he was trying to keep contained.
"Small table," he said. Quiet. A confirmation.
"Very small."
"Should probably leave the table then."
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
Liam made a sound of pure exasperation. "You two are impossible. I'm getting another coffee." He stood, grabbing his empty mug, and headed for the counter. Ben watched him go, then turned back to them.
"He means well," Ben said. "He's just —"
"Loud?" Alexa offered.
"Excitable."
"Same thing."
Ben's mouth curved. A real smile, small and rare. "Yeah. Same thing."
He stood too. "I'm going to make sure he doesn't spill anything on himself. We'll be back in a minute." He walked toward the counter, and she watched him go — tall and solid, his hands in his hoodie pockets, his shoulders relaxed in a way that said he trusted Hayden alone with her.
They were alone.
The coffee shop hummed around them — the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of the students who'd come in earlier, the rattle of the fan that never quite stayed on rhythm. The table wobbled slightly where the sugar packet sat. The vinyl creaked when she shifted.
Hayden's hand was still on hers.
"Small table," she said again.
"Very small."
"We could leave the table."
"We could."
She looked at him. Really looked. The dark curl of his hair, the set of his jaw, the way his eyes stayed on her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"I don't want to," she said.
Something cracked in his composure. A flicker of surprise, of hope, of something raw that he tried to hide behind a slow blink. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His thumb traced the edge of her knuckles. Back and forth. A rhythm she could feel in her chest.
"Good," he said. "Me neither."
Ben set his mug down. The ceramic made a soft thunk against the wood, and the sound cut through the quiet that had settled between them. He didn't look at Liam, who was still at the counter, didn't look at Hayden, whose hand was still wrapped around hers on the table. He looked at her. Flat. Curious. Testing.
"Have you ever streamed from anywhere besides your room?"
The question landed strange. Not because it was invasive — they'd already crossed that line hours ago — but because of the way he asked it. Like he already knew the answer. Like he was checking a box.
She thought about it. "No. Never."
"Why not?"
"Because my room is safe. I know where everything is. I know the angles, the lighting, the sound. I know when Marleny's going to walk in and when she's not." She paused. "And because I don't trust anyone enough to stream from their place."
Ben's blue eyes held hers. "But you trust us?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say you didn't."
She felt Hayden's thumb press against the back of her hand. A steady pressure. Grounding.
"I don't know what I trust yet," she said. "I know you kept my secret for a night. I know you showed up this morning. I know you're not looking at me like I'm something to be embarrassed about." She looked at Hayden, then back at Ben. "That's more than I expected. But it's not trust."
Ben nodded. Slow. Like he was taking the measure of her words and finding them fair.
"Fair," he said. "What would it take?"
"What would it take for you to trust someone with your room? With your space? With the place where you're most yourself?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. She could see the answer in the careful set of his shoulders, the way his hands stayed wrapped around his mug even though it was empty. He wouldn't trust anyone either.
Hayden's voice came low, rough. "What if it wasn't about trust?"
She turned to him. His dark eyes were close, too close, and she could see the flecks of gold in the brown, the way his pupils had widened in the dim light of the shop.
"What do you mean?"
"What if it was about wanting something new?" He didn't look away. "You've been in your room for months. Same walls. Same lights. Same bed. Maybe you don't need to trust us. Maybe you just need to want to try something different."
Her breath caught. His hand was still on hers, warm and rough, and his words had landed somewhere deep in her chest, somewhere she hadn't let anyone touch in a long time.
"That's dangerous logic," she said.
"I know."
"You could be trying to get me into your room for other reasons."
"I am."
She blinked. The honesty hit her like a wall, and she felt the heat crawl up her neck, felt the pulse in her throat go double-time. "At least you're honest."
"I told you. I don't know how to say the wrong thing, so I say the truth."
She laughed. A short, breathless sound. "That's terrifying."
"I know."
Ben cleared his throat. "I'm still here."
"I know," Hayden said, and his voice carried the ghost of a smile.
Alexa looked at Ben. His blue eyes were patient, waiting, but there was something in them now — a glint of amusement, maybe, or approval. Like he was watching a scene unfold and finding it better than he'd expected.
"I've thought about it," she said, and both of them turned to her. "Streaming from somewhere else. The acoustics in your room are different — I can hear it when you play guitar through the wall. The reverb's better. The bass carries." She looked at Hayden. "Your setup must be decent."
"It's good," he said. "Liam's got a mic that would make your voice sound like —" He stopped. Swallowed. "Like you're in the room with someone."
The words hung in the air. She felt them wrap around her, felt the image they painted — her voice, her breath, her moans, piped through a microphone that made her sound like she was right there, pressed against the listener's ear.
"That's a specific description," she said.
"I've thought about it."
"You've thought about me streaming from your room."
"I've thought about a lot of things."
She should look away. Should break the tension, make a joke, pull the conversation back to safe ground. But she didn't. She held his gaze, let the current between them build, let the silence fill with everything neither of them was saying.
Liam's voice cut through from somewhere behind Ben. "Okay, I got us all refills — and a muffin, because I was hungry, and also because the girl at the counter said they make them fresh and I've been burned before by old muffins, you know? Like, stale muffins are a crime against—" He set the mugs down, saw them looking at each other, and stopped. "Oh. Did I interrupt something?"
"No," Alexa said, and her voice came out steady. She pulled her hand gently from Hayden's — no rejection in it, just a shift — and wrapped both hands around the fresh mug Liam had set in front of her. The heat seeped into her palms. "We were talking about streaming."
"Oh, sick. Did you decide to come over?"
"Liam," Ben said.
"What? I'm asking. It's a normal question."
She took a sip of the coffee. Hot. Better than the last one. "I'm thinking about it."
Liam's face split into a grin. "That's not a no."
"It's not a yes."
"It's a maybe. I'll take a maybe." He slid into the booth beside Ben, grabbed his own mug, and took a long drink. "Okay. So. Hypothetically. If you did come over. What would you need? Like, equipment-wise. We've got the mic, we've got decent lighting — Ben's got a ring light he uses for his weird Zoom meetings—"
"They're not weird."
"—and we've got a good backdrop. The wall with the posters is actually really solid for depth of field."
Alexa stared at him. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about being helpful," he said. "There's a difference."
Ben snorted. "There really isn't, with you."
"Shut up."
She laughed. It came out easier this time, warmer, and she felt the knot in her chest loosen a fraction. These were just three guys. Three guys who'd seen her naked on a screen, who'd heard her through a wall, who'd sent a tip that could have been creepy but turned out to be an apology. They were sitting in a coffee shop, talking about microphones and lighting like she was any other creator, any other artist, any other person trying to figure out her craft.
It felt almost normal.
"If I came over," she said, and all three of them went still, "I'd want to test the acoustics first. See how my voice carries. Figure out where to put the camera so I'm not fighting shadows."
Liam was nodding. "That makes sense. We could do a sound check tonight, if you want."
She looked at Ben. His blue eyes were unreadable, but he gave her a small nod. She looked at Hayden. His dark eyes were on her, patient, waiting, his hand resting on the table where hers had been.
"Maybe," she said. "I'll let you know."
"That's more than a maybe," Liam said. "That's a soft yes. I'm counting it."
"Count whatever you want."
She took another sip of her coffee. The bitterness settled on her tongue, grounded her. The fan rattled above them. The students at the next table laughed at something on a phone. The world kept moving, and she was still here, wedged into a cracked vinyl booth with three boys who had seen everything and hadn't flinched.
Hayden's hand found hers again under the table. His pinky hooked around hers, light, barely there, a question instead of a claim. She let it stay.
"What time?" Ben asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"For the sound check. What time works for you?"
She thought about it. Marleny would want to know. Would probably insist on coming with her, or at least demand a video call the whole time. But Marleny wasn't here. Marleny was in their dorm, probably pacing, probably checking her phone every thirty seconds.
"Seven," she said. "After dinner. I'll text Marleny, let her know where I am."
Ben nodded. "Seven works."
Liam was practically vibrating. "This is happening. This is actually happening. I'm going to clean my side of the room."
"You have a side?" Ben asked.
"Barely. But I'll make one."
She laughed again, and it felt good. Felt like she was taking something back, claiming a piece of control she'd thought she'd lost last night when she saw that tip message.
Hayden's pinky tightened around hers. Just a fraction. Just enough.
She looked at him. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read — something between wonder and hunger, something that made her stomach flip.
"Seven," he said. Quiet. Like he was testing the word in his mouth.
"Seven," she confirmed.
His mouth moved. Not quite a smile. But close.