Paint-streaked laughter

The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the school grounds. A warm breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the distant hum of laughter and chatter. But for Xavier, the noise of the world faded into the background.

All he could focus on was the warmth of Kamsi's hand in his, their fingers loosely intertwined as they walked. It was a small thing, really. But lately, even the smallest things with her felt… different.

Kamsi glanced up at him, her brows knitting together slightly. "So, news about your dad is all over school. You okay?"

Xavier exhaled, tightening his grip on her hand for just a second. The weight of the stares, the whispers, the assumptions pressed heavy on his shoulders. Everyone suddenly had an opinion about him, about his life—about a truth he had spent so long keeping quiet.

But then, there was her.

He turned to her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "As long as you're here, I guess I am."

Kamsi let out a playful groan, her nose scrunching in mock disgust. "Oh my God, Xavier, you're such a cheeseball."

Xavier raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Wait… did you just call me Xavier?"

Kamsi blinked, suddenly self-conscious. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her voice dropping slightly. "Uh… yes? Why?"

Xavier stilled, watching her. There was something about the way his name sounded from her lips—soft, unguarded, like it belonged to just them in this moment.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. "I like the way it sounds." His voice was lower now, more thoughtful. "My name has never sounded so sweet coming from anyone else."

Kamsi rolled her eyes, but a small, bashful smile betrayed her amusement. A soft chuckle escaped her. "Now you're making me cringe."

He laughed too, the sound deep and effortless, like he hadn't been drowning in expectations all day.

But then, Kamsi's expression shifted, her gaze searching his face. "The game's just a few days away. You ready?"

Xavier's steps slowed. His fingers, once relaxed in hers, loosened slightly before he let go, running a hand over the back of his neck. "To be honest… I'm nervous."

Kamsi stopped, her eyes widening slightly. Xavier Alister? Nervous? That wasn't something she ever thought she'd hear—not about basketball, not about anything. He owned the court. He always had.

But the way he stood now—his posture a little tenser, his confidence flickering for just a second—made him feel… human. Real.

Before she could think, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him.

Xavier froze for just a moment, caught off guard. Then, he exhaled, his arms slowly winding around her waist, pulling her in. The tension in his body melted into the comfort of her warmth.

"You're gonna do just great," Kamsi whispered against his shoulder, her voice steady, certain.

Xavier held on a second longer than he needed to. It wasn't just the words—it was her. The way she made everything feel quieter, easier, like maybe he didn't have to carry everything alone.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. And then, without thinking—without overanalyzing—he dipped his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Kamsi's breath caught.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

She should say something—anything—but her mind felt suddenly blank. Had Xavier always looked at her like this?

Her heart stuttered.

Xavier lingered, his forehead nearly brushing hers before he finally stepped back, a small, almost knowing smile playing on his lips.

Kamsi swallowed, forcing herself to shake off whatever this was. "Okay, that was dramatic," she teased, trying to cover the warmth creeping up her neck.

Xavier chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You love it."

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach still flipped traitorously.

Because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

And maybe, just maybe… so was he.

---

The classroom was bathed in a warm golden glow, the soft hum of distant chatter and the rhythmic scratching of pencils creating a tranquil background. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the light. But for Zendaya and Damon, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Zendaya sat with effortless poise, her deep brown skin illuminated by the soft overhead light. Her high cheekbones caught the glow, her full lips slightly parted in thought. Her hair, a cascade of tight black curls, was swept into a high ponytail, baby hairs delicately laid against her forehead. Dressed in a sleek black leather jacket over a fitted top, she exuded an air of quiet confidence—fierce yet effortlessly elegant.

Damon, usually quick with a teasing remark, found himself speechless for a moment, caught in the way her dark eyes gleamed with quiet intensity as she studied their project.

Then she spoke, her voice soft yet certain. "I was thinking… instead of Greek mythology, why don't we work on something more inherent?"

Damon tilted his head, intrigued. He leaned in slightly, resting his forearm on the desk. "Inherent? What do you mean?" His voice was low, a husky edge creeping in.

Zendaya's lips curved into a small smile, her confidence growing as she explained. "I mean something personal—something rooted in us. Like African heritage. For me, it's about exploring my history. I love researching it, uncovering pieces of where I come from."

As she spoke, her eyes flickered with excitement, and Damon found himself hanging onto every word. He barely noticed the project between them anymore—only the way her hands moved expressively, how passion softened the sharpness in her gaze, how she came alive when speaking about something she truly cared for.

For a moment, he forgot to respond.

"Damon?"

Her voice was gentle, but it jolted him from his trance. He blinked, straightening slightly. "Huh?"

Zendaya chuckled, tilting her head. "I asked what you think."

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, dimples peeking through. "I think it's perfect."

Her face lit up instantly, her eyes shining with excitement. "Really?"

Damon nodded, still watching her. "And, by the way… you were ridiculously cute while explaining."

Zendaya rolled her eyes, but the soft blush on her cheeks betrayed her. "Shut up."

Their focus on the project quickly dissolved into easy banter. Damon, feigning distraction, sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair, making Zendaya frown.

"Damon," she whined, pouting as she nudged his arm.

"Sorry, sorry! Just kidding!" He grinned, but before she could react, he leaned in suddenly, bumping his nose against hers.

Zendaya gasped as a cool smudge of paint from his fingertips streaked across her cheek.

"Damon!" she squealed, her eyes widening in mock outrage.

His laughter erupted, shaking his whole body, but before he could dodge, Zendaya snatched a nearby paintbrush and dragged it across his jawline, leaving a streak of blue.

For a second, they just stared at each other—challenging, breathless, waiting.

Then, chaos erupted.

Zendaya bolted from her seat, and Damon was right behind her, his laughter mixing with hers as they weaved between desks. She squealed as he reached for her, dodging at the last second, her curls bouncing with every movement. But when he finally caught her, he spun her around, arms around her waist, sending them both tumbling onto the floor, gasping between bouts of laughter.

As their laughter began to fade, their smiles lingered. Damon looked over at her, something quieter in his gaze now, something unspoken.

And in that moment, it wasn't just about the project, or the teasing, or the laughter anymore.

It was about them.