Unresolved Tension

Damon

It was a few days before the big game, and instead of being on the ice perfecting my plays or even just kicking back, here I was—hosting Valerie at my house to work on a creative writing project. Thrilling. Just the kind of thing to really get me pumped for a championship.

I slouched in my chair, tapping my pen against the table. The sound echoed in the quiet dining room, and I could practically feel Valerie's disapproval radiating across the table. She was perched on the edge of her chair, her back impossibly straight, flipping through a pristine notebook with perfectly neat handwriting.

What did I do to deserve this?

I sighed, breaking the silence. "So, remind me—what's our story about again?"

She didn't even look up from her notebook. "Passion, and what happens when you lack it," she replied flatly, her voice as matter-of-fact as a dictionary entry.

"Right," I said, dragging out the word. "So... like a self-help book with a plot?"

Her pen stopped mid-scribble. She finally looked at me, her brows furrowing. "It's about losing something that drives you, and how you find your way back to it. It's supposed to be meaningful."

"Meaningful," I echoed, leaning back in my chair. "Got it. Super deep. Definitely not a buzzkill at all."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you're not going to take this seriously, why don't you just let me write it?"

"Because it's a group project," I said, putting air quotes around the word. "And I'm not about to let Mr. Clarke think I let you do all the work."

She scoffed. "How noble of you."

I smirked. "I have my moments."

Rolling her eyes, she slid her notebook across the table. "Here. Read what I've got so far."

I picked it up, skimming through the pages. It was... intense. Words like simmering despair and shattered dreams jumped out at me. The writing was good—better than I expected, honestly—but it felt heavy. Too heavy.

"Okay," I said, setting the notebook down. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I said, leaning forward. "But it's missing something."

She crossed her arms. "Enlighten me."

"Conflict," I said. "Like, where's the drama? The stakes? You've got all this emotion, but what's actually happening in the story?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's about internal struggle. Not everything has to be a blockbuster, Damon."

"Sure," I said, shrugging. "But a little action wouldn't hurt. Like, what if the main character doesn't want their passion back? What if they're running from it, and the story's about them being forced to confront it?"

Valerie stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "That's... not the worst idea."

"Wow," I said, grinning. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Don't," she said quickly, but there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips.

Before I could push my luck, my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen. Rachel. Again.

Valerie's gaze flicked to the phone and back to me. "Aren't you going to get that?"

"It's not important," I said, flipping the phone over.

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she pulled her notebook back and started jotting something down.

"What are you doing now?" I asked.

"Working," she said curtly. "Unlike you."

"I'm brainstorming," I said, gesturing vaguely at the air.

"Sure you are," she muttered, but I could see the corner of her mouth twitching.

The silence settled again, but this time it felt less tense. We fell into a rhythm, bouncing ideas back and forth. And while I'd never admit it out loud, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Still, I wasn't looking forward to the next round of this project—or the inevitable chaos that came with having Valerie around.

Valerie

Studying with Damon was like trying to teach a cat to fetch—pointless and frustrating. He'd spent the first half-hour alternating between sighing dramatically and tapping his pen against the table, which was about as productive as you'd imagine.

Still, somehow, we finally settled on a plot and started writing it out. Progress, if you could call it that.

"So," Damon said after a while, his tone too casual to be anything but suspicious. "You and Johnson, huh?" He was leaning on the counter now, his face propped up on his palm, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I didn't even look up from my notebook, but I felt a faint smile tugging at my lips. "So, you and Rachel, huh?" I countered, keeping my voice light but pointed.

He scoffed, leaning back like I'd just told the funniest joke he'd heard all week. "Fair. But no, I didn't exactly leave a relationship to start another."

That made me pause. I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. "That so? Interesting."

He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push. Instead, I stayed silent, scribbling down another sentence in our draft.

"I'm tutoring him," I said after a moment, breaking the quiet.

"Hm?" Damon looked up from his phone, clearly distracted.

"You asked about Johnson," I clarified, keeping my tone steady. "I said I'm tutoring him."

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Right. Makes sense."

I expected him to let it go, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, studying me with a sharpness I wasn't used to. "So, why'd you bring up Rachel?"

I shrugged, pretending to focus on my notebook. "Why'd you bring up Johnson?"

Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Touché."

There was something unspoken hanging in the air between us, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to address it—or if I even knew what it was. Instead, I focused on the paper in front of me, my pen moving steadily across the page.

Damon eventually leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "You know, this whole creative writing thing isn't as bad as I thought," he said, breaking the tension.

"Don't get too excited," I mused as I continued writing. "We're not done yet."

He grinned. "Don't worry, Val. I'll carry us across the finish line."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. Typical Damon—impossible, infuriating, and somehow still... tolerable. For now.

Damon

The night had finally come to an end. I stood in the doorway of my living room, watching Valerie pack up her things. The air between us had been oddly relaxed, no tension, no forced conversation—just the kind of quiet I could live with.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, her voice casual as she slung her bag over her shoulder, glancing at me with one of those unreadable looks she liked to give.

I blinked, not expecting her to bring it up already. "Yeah," I answered before I could even think about it. My mind was already elsewhere, not really focusing on the actual studying anymore.

"Okay," she replied, her tone soft but with an edge of finality, like she wasn't sure how to read the fact that I'd agreed so quickly.

With that, she headed for the door, and I watched her go. There was something strange about the way she moved, almost like she was trying to leave quickly but not quite wanting to at the same time. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to bother me much—this whole study session hadn't been as bad as I'd imagined.

I glanced at the empty space where her chair had been. The place felt a little quieter now, a little emptier, and for some reason, that bothered me more than I cared to admit.

After a moment of lingering on that thought, I turned and headed to the kitchen. I began gathering my scattered notebooks and papers from the counters, trying to force my mind back to the things I should be focusing on. The game was coming up, and I needed to be sharp. Yet, something about the way Valerie had been tonight stuck with me.

She wasn't as difficult to work with as I thought she'd be, and maybe that was the problem. I wasn't used to it.

I shoved the last of my papers into the drawer, shutting it with a bit more force than necessary, as if I could shove all these weird thoughts along with them. I tried to shake off the feeling that I was being pulled in two different directions, one part of me still wondering what had made her seem so different tonight, and the other part of me reminding myself that I didn't have time for this.

I was going to be distracted enough with the game coming up. I didn't need to complicate things further.

***

I sat on the edge of my bed, the silence of the room pressing in on me, my thoughts a tangled mess. They kept circling back to Valerie—her sharp eyes, the way she'd bantered with me during our study session, how she'd seemed so... different than I remembered. It wasn't just that she was more focused, more serious than I had imagined. There was something else—something I couldn't quite place.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair. I needed to clear my head. I needed to stop thinking about her, at least for a few minutes. I stood up, shaking the unease that had settled over me. My eyes darted toward the window, the cold night air visible against the glass, and an idea sparked.

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the back door, stepping outside into the crisp night. The backyard was dark, the only light coming from the moon casting a faint glow over the snow. I walked toward the rink, the sound of my boots crunching against the frost-covered ground the only noise around me.

The rink was quiet, still—an almost perfect mirror to my restless mind. It was smaller than the official rinks I practiced on, but it had been my sanctuary since I was a kid. I loved the way the blades of my skates would slice through the ice, the rhythm of it calming me, helping me focus.

I laced up my skates with deliberate precision, each motion pulling me further from the thoughts of Valerie and back into the familiarity of the ice. Once I was ready, I pushed myself forward, gliding smoothly into the center of the rink. The cold air bit at my skin as I skated, the world outside disappearing with each powerful stride. I felt the tension in my shoulders slowly begin to loosen, my body moving in a way that was natural, effortless.

But even as the skating helped me find a moment of peace, Valerie's face kept creeping into my thoughts. The way she spoke. The way she had looked at me when she mentioned Johnson. The way she seemed unaffected, like she was in control, like she was untouchable.

I pushed myself harder, faster, as if I could outrun the thoughts that were flooding my mind. But they followed me, always there in the back of my head, a nagging reminder that things were changing. And I didn't know if I was ready for it.

I took a sharp turn, the blades of my skates digging into the ice as I sped around the rink again. I tried to lose myself in the motion, in the feeling of the cold air rushing past me, but it was like I couldn't shake the image of her.

Valerie.

What was it about her that kept me so... tangled up? Maybe I was just overthinking it. Maybe it was just the pressure of the game, of everything going on in my life right now, that was making me second guess everything.

But then again, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe something else was pulling me in—something I wasn't ready to face.

I skated in a circle again, my mind still churning, unsure whether I was running from something or just trying to keep up with the inevitable. Either way, the cold air and the steady rhythm of the ice weren't enough to silence the questions that lingered just below the surface.