Chapter 36
Summer's POV
"I don't care about my uniform." I tightened my grip, my fingers aching with the effort. "You helped me so much with the physics notes, with everything, and I just—I want to help you too. Please let me help you."
We were so close now, both of us kneeling by this disgusting bucket in the back of the school cafeteria, and I could see every detail of his face—the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his breathing had gone shallow and quick, the way he was looking at me like I'd just done something completely incomprehensible.
"Why?" The word was barely a whisper. "Why would you do this?"
"Because you matter to me," I said simply, and watched something break behind his eyes.
For a long moment, we just stared at each other, the rag dripping between us, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Then Kieran's throat worked, and he looked away.
"...Fine," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. "Do whatever you want."
It wasn't exactly permission, but it wasn't a rejection either. I'd take it.
I went back to wringing out the rag, putting all my weight into it, twisting until my fingers turned red and my palms started to ache. Water splashed onto my skirt, soaking into the hem, and I could feel the dampness seeping through my white socks. I didn't care. I just kept twisting until finally, finally, the rag stopped dripping.
"Here." I stood up, slightly breathless, and handed it to him. "Completely dry. See?"
Kieran took it slowly, his fingers brushing mine for just a second—just long enough for me to feel the calluses on his palm, the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his hand that might have been exhaustion or might have been something else entirely.
"Thank you," he said, and it was the first time I'd ever heard him say those words. The first time he'd actually let himself accept something from me without immediately trying to pay me back or push me away.
My heart did something complicated in my chest.
"Can I help with the tables?" I asked. "Twenty minutes isn't much time."
He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind his gray eyes. Then he nodded, just once, and handed me a second rag from the stack.
We worked together in silence, moving from table to table in the faculty dining area, wiping down every surface until they gleamed. I was clumsy and slow, missing spots that Kieran had to go back and fix, but he didn't complain. He just worked alongside me, our elbows occasionally bumping, our movements falling into an unconscious rhythm.
Every time we reached for the same corner of a table, every time our hands got close, I felt my pulse spike. This was ridiculous. We were literally just cleaning tables. But somehow it felt more intimate than anything I'd ever done with Evan, more real than all those carefully staged moments in practice rooms and cafes.
This was Kieran's actual life. The part he'd been trying to hide from me. And he was letting me see it, letting me be part of it, even if only for twenty minutes in a fluorescent-lit cafeteria.
When we finished, my hands were pruned and aching, my uniform skirt had water stains all down the front, and my white socks were gray with dirty water around the edges. I looked like I'd been through a small disaster.
I'd never felt happier.
"Is this okay?" I asked, gesturing at the spotless tables. "Will Mr. Harrison approve?"
Kieran's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Yeah. This is good."
He pulled a clean blue towel from his apron pocket and handed it to me. "For your hands."
Our fingers touched again as I took it, and I swear I felt that touch all the way to my toes. Kieran's ears went red and he immediately looked away, busying himself with putting away the cleaning supplies.
"You shouldn't have done this," he said, his back to me. "Shouldn't have gotten your hands dirty for me."
"But I wanted to." I dried my fingers carefully, watching him. "Not just because you helped me with physics. Because I don't want you to have to do all of this alone. I want to see everything, Kieran. Not just the perfect test scores and the physics genius. I want to see this too—the hard parts, the unfair parts, all of it."
He turned around slowly, and the look on his face was something between wonder and pain and fear.
"I want to be here," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper now. "With you. However you'll let me."
Kieran opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway—Mr. Harrison returning to inspect the tables. We both heard it at the same time.
"You need to go," Kieran said urgently. "If he finds you here—"
"I know." I handed him back the towel, our fingers tangling for just a second longer than necessary. "I'll go."
I started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at him. He was standing there in his worn apron, holding the towel I'd just used, looking at me like I was some kind of impossible equation he couldn't quite solve.
"Tomorrow," I said. "Lunch period. I'll come back."
"Summer—"
"I'll be careful," I promised. "I won't let him see me. But I'm coming back."
Kieran stared at me for a long moment. Then, so quietly I almost didn't hear it: "...Do whatever you want."
But his ears were bright red, and his hand was shaking slightly where he gripped the towel, and I knew—I knew—that beneath all that careful control, beneath all those walls he'd built up, he wanted me to come back just as much as I wanted to be here.
I slipped out through the staff door just as Mr. Harrison's voice echoed through the kitchen, already barking orders at someone else. My heart was racing, my hands still smelled like dish soap, and my uniform was a disaster.
I didn't care.
For the first time since I'd been reborn, since I'd woken up in my seventeen-year-old body with all my terrible memories intact, I felt like I was actually doing something. Not just watching from the sidelines, not just trying to prevent disasters I'd already lived through.
I was here. With Kieran. In the mess and the struggle and the unfair, unglamorous reality of his life.
And tomorrow, I'd be here again.