Becker's POV...

Becker, wake up, we're here!" Declan's loud voice jolts me out of an unusually peaceful slumber.

Greya is smiling next to me as I hand back her AirPod.
We pile out of the van and grab our bags from the trunk.

"I've never seen you fall asleep around anyone before," Declan says, reaching for his soccer bag.

I shrug, lying easily. "I'm sure you have." The truth is, I haven't but I felt comfortable near Greya—safe, even, for the first time ever. She moved to the back row for me, quietly observing, never pressing for answers, never prying. She protects in a way I haven't let anyone before. Around her, I can almost be myself without revealing all the cracks I spend my life hiding.

"Hey, you alright?" Ari startles me with a pat on the shoulder, and I react instinctively, my body tensing.

"Whoa," I mutter. "I was just... thinking."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the van," she teases, snatching her bag and jogging toward Greya.

I glance at the dorms as we approach. A guy and a girl come walking toward us. "Welcome to UCLA campus! I'm Nate, one of the team captains, and this is Skye, captain of the girls' team. This is where most freshmen stay, and you'll share rooms with them this weekend," Nate explains.

Skye points toward the building. "The guys are upstairs, girls downstairs, but we share a common room. Ready?"

I lag behind, scanning the campus. This—college, the soccer, the freedom—is everything I've wanted. Only worry about practice, classes... no Jack, no punches, no constant fear.

The girls wave goodbye as they head to their rooms. I catch Declan's eyes lingering on Ari and smirk.

"Oh, you got it bad," I tease.

"Shut up! I'm trying," he groans. "Plus, I don't see you doing much better when it comes to your love interest."

"Ha, ha, funny," I allow the sarcasm to slip.

We're each bunked with a freshman player. I don't know them, and I don't know if I trust myself to sleep around strangers. But I can't let that ruin my weekend. I don't usually sleep much anyway.

While all the players are in bed, I wander the empty common room, letting the quiet wash over me.

My fingers find the piano tucked in the corner. I sit on the bench and close my eyes letting my hands play a soft, calming melody.

Memories of my mother flood in—her sitting beside me, guiding my fingers across the keys, her smile wide and proud. These are the only moments I remember with her that haven't been tainted by fear or pain. I let the melody carry me, each note a fragile attempt to feel... normal.

"Wow... that was beautiful," Greya whispers, sliding onto the bench beside me. I freeze, fingers hovering above the keys.

"I... didn't mean to startle you," she adds softly, careful, patient.

"You're amazing... I didn't even know you could play like that."

Breathe, Becker. She's just sitting there, nothing more.

"B?" Her voice is cautious, almost testing. She notices the stiffness in me.

"Yeah... full of surprises," I manage, forcing a smile I hope looks natural.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting rest before tomorrow?" she asks, bright green eyes curious, slightly amused.

"I could ask the same," I reply, smirking slightly despite myself.

She shrugs, unconcerned. "I couldn't sleep."

She's being honest so I decide to be honest, letting the words out quietly. "Playing the piano... helps me relax."

Her surprise is evident. "You... play for yourself?"

"Yeah... when I can't sleep. The melody... I choose it. It calms me."

"Can you play something else?" she asks softly, letting her fingers brush across the keys, tentative.

I can't help but smile. No one since my mother has asked me to share this part of me. Although, that's my fault because most people don't know I can play. Declan and Cohen only hear the rumors.

I begin another song—something gentle, flowing, delicate, like her. She closes her eyes, swaying lightly as if performing along with me, imagining the music in her hands.

Impulsively, I reach for her hand. My palm rests atop hers, guiding her fingers across the keys. The contact sends a spark through me, a mix of fear, comfort, and longing. My pulse hammers in my ears. I can't believe I'm doing this.

Her lips curve slightly upward in approval, eyes still closed. I hesitate, afraid that I'll push too far, that I'll break the fragile trust we've started to build. Afraid of what my heart and mind can handle.

"It's... beautiful," she whispers, her voice so soft it barely rises above the music. "You're... really good, Becker."

Her words pierce something I've tried to hide. I can sing too but that's not happening here. No one has ever seen me like this—for once not as my bruised, angry, always-on-guard self. She sees me. And yet, she doesn't recoil. She doesn't judge. She sits there... letting me exist.

"I... I didn't know you'd like that," I admit, keeping my eyes on her hand. My fingers still lightly guide hers across the keys, feeling the warmth of her skin.

She opens her eyes slowly and looks at me. Something unspoken passes between us, an acknowledgment that for once, maybe we don't have to pretend. That maybe... we can start trusting each other.

"I'm worried," she murmurs, catching me off guard.

"I've never left home before."

I glance at her, astonished. "You've... never been away?"

"I... never had the opportunity," she answers quietly, eyes returning to the keys.

"Why not?" I ask, my curiosity cutting through the melody, gentle but persistent.

"I just... couldn't," she says softly.

"What made this weekend different?" I press, needing to understand.

"Fynn," she replies simply.

"He's a great friend," I tell her, hoping she'll keep talking.

"He is," is all she says.

Her hand still lingers under mine, almost unconsciously. The contact is brief, but the warmth of her skin leaves a trace on me. My chest tightens, my mind buzzing with questions I don't dare ask. There's something shifting between us—something subtle, dangerous, exhilarating.

Before I can speak again, a thin kid in flannel pajamas interrupts. "You two should probably get some sleep. Coaches aren't going to be easy tomorrow."

Greya slides off the bench carefully, avoiding further contact, then turns to me with a playful smirk. "Whoever scores the most goals tomorrow, the other buys coffee for a week!"

I laugh, feeling the familiar thrill of competition bubble up. "Deal."

The energy between us has changed—five years of teasing, rivalry, and familiarity are shifting into something new, something unfamiliar. She's no longer just the girl I've known for years; she's someone who can see me, really see me, and that terrifies and excites me all at once.