Smile at Someone else

Mix didn't sleep.

Not really.

He lay in bed long after Arm had whispered his name. It came out soft and cracked, like it meant something. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. Either way, Mix couldn't stay in that room. Not with the silence thick as fog and that one-word note still sitting on Arm's desk like a wound no one dared to touch.

So he left.

By the time sunlight dragged itself halfway across the sky, Mix had already showered, dressed, packed his bag, and walked three laps around campus. No destination. No purpose. Just movement.

The club fair gave him cover. Tables lined the quad, signs flapping in the breeze, flyers pushed into hands, voices too loud for their own good. He hated noise. But today, he needed it. He needed the camouflage.

The Literature Society table was mostly empty. One girl, distracted and overworked, glanced up and waved.

"You're Mix, right? You signed up last week. Can you help cover until Tarn shows? He said he'd be here early but…"

She trailed off, gave a shrug that said whatever. Mix nodded.

"Sure."

He sat behind the table and disappeared into stillness.

Fifteen minutes later, Tarn arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," came the voice, smooth and practiced. "The Theatre kids pulled me into some improv game again. Nearly escaped with my dignity."

Mix looked up.

Black sweater sleeves shoved to the elbow. A smirk that knew how to wait. Confident, not cocky. Tarn looked like someone who always got invited, even when he hadn't signed up.

He saw Mix and smiled wider.

"You're not a flyer guy," Tarn said. "You're more of a pretend-to-read-while-secretly-judging-everyone type."

Mix blinked. That was… accurate.

Tarn chuckled. "I like that. I'm Tarn."

"Mix."

"I know. Gun told me."

Mix frowned slightly. "Gun?"

"Yeah. Said you were quiet. Didn't say you had good cheekbones."

Mix froze. Eyes narrowing.

Tarn passed a flyer to a student without missing a beat. "Sorry. I tend to say whatever I'm thinking. You'll get used to it."

Mix didn't run. Didn't fold into himself. He sat there. Breathing steady.

"You're late," he said.

Tarn tilted his head. "Guilty."

"You owe me coffee."

Tarn smiled, slower this time. "I can fix that."

---

A few booths away, Arm had stopped walking.

He hadn't meant to look. Gun had dragged him to the fair just to keep him from sulking in their room. But the moment he saw Mix behind that table, he couldn't not look.

And now, he regretted it.

Because Mix was smiling.

At someone else.

At someone confident. Someone charming. Someone who made Mix lean forward instead of shutting down.

Arm swallowed hard and looked away.

Gun was already watching him. "Don't do it."

"I'm fine."

"You look like someone dropkicked your feelings."

Arm didn't answer. He kept staring at the pavement. "That's Tarn, right?"

"Yeah."

"He always flirt like that?"

Gun shrugged. "Only with people he likes."

That didn't help.

Arm exhaled sharply and started walking. "Let's go."

Gun didn't move. "Are you really okay watching that happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Arm didn't answer.

Mix's laugh floated back to them through the breeze.

It didn't sound like the kind of laugh you gave to someone temporary.

---

The café patio was louder than usual, the kind of loud that filled silence before it could settle. Gun waved Mix over like they hadn't already made eye contact. Peat sat beside him, hands wrapped around a coffee cup. Jack and Bave sat opposite, locked in a heated debate about whether ghosts had regional accents. Arm was at the far end. Quiet.

Mix hesitated.

Tarn nudged his arm. "You'll survive."

Mix sat down.

It didn't feel like exile this time. Not quite home either. But it was something. Orbit. Gravity. A space he hadn't held before.

Gun cleared his throat like he lived for drama. "Official roll call. Bave, queen of eyeliner and hot takes. Jack, her introverted genius boyfriend. Peat, my emotional support system. Arm, my childhood best friend and current roommate to this beautiful guy right here—Mix."

Tarn raised a brow. "Roommates? Didn't realize it was that serious."

Mix didn't flinch. Didn't look Arm's way.

Tarn tilted his head. "Interesting."

Gun missed the edge in Tarn's tone, but Bave didn't. Her eyes narrowed like she was collecting puzzle pieces.

Peat tried to soften the moment. "What's your major, Mix?"

"Physics."

"Explains the quiet," Jack said. "Numbers over people. Makes sense."

Mix gave the barest hint of a smile.

Then Bave leaned in.

"So… question. There was that rumor in high school, right? About a certain someone having a crush on…"

"Bave," Gun warned.

"Arm," she finished sweetly.

Peat blinked. "Yikes."

Mix put his cup down. The sound was too soft to be aggressive, too controlled to be calm.

"I've said before. Rumors aren't facts."

The silence stretched thin.

Peat cleared his throat. "When I was in Year 9, someone said I was dating the French teacher."

Gun gasped. "You weren't?"

Peat smiled. "People talk. Doesn't mean they're right."

Mix nodded. A quiet thank-you in a glance.

But the tension never really left.

Tarn leaned closer, voice low. "So. About that coffee?"

Mix turned slightly. "Still owe me."

Tarn smiled like he was already planning it.

Arm looked away.

---

Back in the dorm that evening, the quiet returned. Heavy. Inevitable.

Mix dropped his bag, sat at his desk, and opened his planner. Arm didn't move from his bed, book open but unread.

The note still sat above the desk. One word.

Why?

It stared back at both of them.

Arm broke first.

"So. You and Tarn."

Mix didn't look up. "We talked."

"You don't usually talk like that."

"We're allowed to change."

"Is that what you're doing?"

Mix paused. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"You sound like there is."

Arm opened his mouth. Closed it. "Forget it."

Mix looked up, finally. "You sure?"

"I said forget it."

Mix turned back to his planner.

Arm stared at the note again, the one he still hadn't answered.

And for the first time, he didn't just feel guilty.

He felt afraid.

---