Tina's phone buzzed against the concrete lip of the pool, and she felt the vibration through her ribs before she heard it. She pushed up from the water, her bare breasts breaking the surface first, water streaming down her stomach, her nipples tightening in the evening air. Her ass moved with each step as she crossed the wet patio, her cut-off shorts where she'd left them on the lounger. She picked up the phone. A text from her mom: Here. Outside.

She pulled on her bikini top, the damp fabric clinging to her skin, then stepped into her shorts. They were still warm from lying in the sun. From lying next to his clothes. She lifted them to her face without thinking—they smelled like chlorine and heat and something underneath that was just him. Her cheeks flushed. She dropped the shorts and pulled them up over her hips.

She walked back to the edge of the pool. Tyler was still in the water, his friends splashing each other nearby, but his eyes found her the moment she stopped at the edge. "I have to go," she said. "My mom's here."

Tyler nodded, water beading on his shoulders, on the scar through his eyebrow. He started moving toward the steps. "I—I'll walk you."

"You don't have to." She said it because she was supposed to, not because she meant it.

"I want to."

Her heart stumbled. She watched him climb out, water sluicing down his chest, his abs tightening as he stood. He grabbed a towel and dried off quickly, then pulled on his t-shirt. It clung to his damp skin. She wanted to press her palm flat against his chest and feel his heartbeat under the wet fabric.

They walked through the side gate together, the music from the party fading behind them. The street was quiet. Her mom's car was parked at the curb, headlights off, engine humming.

Tina stopped at the gate. Turned to face him. "Thanks for today."

"Yeah." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I—I mean. Thanks for coming."

"I wanted to." She held his gaze. "I always want to."

His ears went red. He looked down at his sneakers. "Text me when you get home? So I know you're safe."

"I will." She took a step backward, then another. "Goodnight, Tyler."

"Goodnight, Tina"

She got in the car. Her mom raised an eyebrow as she buckled her seatbelt. "You're smiling."

"No I'm not."

"You're definitely smiling."

Tina pressed her lips together, but the smile broke through anyway. "Just drop me off, Mom."

Her mom laughed and pulled away from the curb.

At home, Tina went straight to her room. She peeled off her damp bikini and shorts and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over her skin. Steam filled the bathroom. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to the pool, to his hand in hers, to the way he'd looked at her when she told him she couldn't swim. Worried. Protective. Like she mattered.

Her hand moved down her stomach. She bit her lip. The water beat against her back as she touched herself, thinking about his voice, his stammer, the way his eyes had softened when he'd helped her down the steps. She imagined his hands on her waist. His mouth on her neck. Her breath quickened. She pressed her forehead against the cool tile and let the heat build until it broke, her body trembling, his name a whisper against the steam.

She stayed in the shower until the water ran cold.

That night, she slept naked. The sheets cool against her skin. She dreamed of him.

Sunday morning, she woke to sunlight cutting through her blinds and her phone buzzing on the nightstand. She rolled over, squinting at the screen. Three missed texts from Tyler.

Hey.

My friend's having a trivia night tonight at his place.

I know it's last minute but I was wondering if you wanted to come?

Her heart surged. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and typed back before she could second-guess herself: I would love to.

His reply came almost immediately: Really?

She laughed out loud. Really really.

Okay. Cool. I mean. Yeah. I'll text you the address.

What time?

7?

I'll be there.

She stared at the phone. He'd invited her. He'd thought of her. She pressed the phone to her chest and lay back on the bed, grinning at the ceiling.

She spent the rest of the day trying on outfits. Too much. Not enough. Too obvious. She finally settled on a long-sleeve shirt so tight it looked painted on, the thin white fabric clinging to every curve. No bra. Her nipples pressed against the material, dark circles visible through the weave. Her jeans were even worse—low-waisted, ripped across both thighs and down the back, her black thong riding above the waistband, the denim barely containing her ass. The rips showed strips of golden-brown skin. She turned in front of the mirror. Her pussy was almost visible through the low cut of the jeans. Almost. She left it that way.

Her mom dropped her off at the address. The same modest house. The cracked driveway. The sun was setting, painting the neighborhood in gold and orange. Tina got out of the car, her heart hammering, and there he was, walking down the front path before she'd even closed the car door.

He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans. His hair was still damp, like he'd just showered. He looked nervous. He looked perfect.

"Hey," she said.

"H—hey." He stopped a few feet from her. His eyes swept over her once, then dropped to the ground. His ears were already red. "You came."

"I told you I would."

He nodded. Shoved his hands in his pockets. "I—um. It's just trivia. Nothing crazy. My friends are kinda loud but they're cool."

"I'm sure they are." She stepped closer. "Lead the way."

He turned and walked toward the house, and she followed, watching the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way his hands stayed jammed in his pockets. He held the front door open for her.

Inside, the living room had been rearranged. Couches pushed against the walls. A long table in the center covered in snacks and index cards and pens. A few guys she recognized from the pool were already there, plus some faces she didn't know. They looked up when she walked in. A few of them did a double take.

"Everyone, this is Tina," Tyler said, his voice steadier than she expected. "She goes to our school. She's—" He paused. "She's with me."

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She's with me.

One of his friends—a guy with glasses and a gap-toothed smile—waved from the couch. "Hey! You're the one from the pool."

Tina laughed. "That was me."

"She can't swim," Tyler added quietly, and there was something soft in his voice, almost protective.

"I can't swim," Tina confirmed, and she held his gaze when she said it.

His friend raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions. "Cool. Well, grab a seat. We're about to start round one. Teams of two."

Tyler looked at her. "You want to be my partner?"

"Yes." She said it too fast. She didn't care.

They sat on the floor together, their backs against the couch, shoulders almost touching. Tina pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, aware of how her jeans stretched across her thighs, how the rips gaped open when she moved. Tyler's friend passed out index cards and pens. The questions started. Geography. History. Pop culture. Tyler knew most of them, and when he didn't, he leaned toward her and asked, "What do you think?" in that quiet voice, and she felt his breath on her shoulder.

She didn't know the answers. She didn't care. She just wanted him to keep leaning close.

At some point, his hand brushed her knee reaching for a pen. He pulled back fast. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She kept her voice light. "You don't have to apologize."

He looked at her. Really looked. His eyes traced her face, her lips, the curve of her throat. "You look really nice tonight," he said, and then his ears went red and he looked away. "I mean. You always look nice. But. Tonight. Yeah."

Tina felt her whole body flush. "Thank you."

He nodded, focused on the next question, but she saw the corner of his mouth lift.

The trivia went on for two hours. Their team came in third. Tyler's friend with the gap-toothed smile presented them with a bag of chips as a prize, and Tyler handed it to her without hesitation. "You earned it."

"We earned it."

He shook his head. "You got the music round. I don't know anything about music."

"You knew the Beatles one."

"That's because my mom plays them all the time."

She smiled. "Your mom has good taste."

He smiled back, small and shy, and she wanted to bottle the moment and keep it forever.

Around ten, people started leaving. Tyler walked her to the door. The night air was cool against her skin, and she shivered despite the tight long-sleeve shirt. He noticed.

"You want my hoodie?"

"I'm okay."

"You're shivering."

"I'm fine." She turned to face him. "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too." He looked at his shoes. Then back at her. "I—I was scared you wouldn't come."

"Why would you be scared?"

"Because." He swallowed. "I don't know why you keep hanging out with me. You're. You're you. And I'm." He gestured at himself. "This."

Tyler was still looking at his shoes, his shoulders curved inward like he was bracing for something. The porch light cast a yellow glow over them, and somewhere down the street a car door slammed.

"Hey." She said it softly, and he looked up. She held his gaze. "I like you, Tyler. I want to be friends with you. That's what this is."

His mouth opened. Closed. He blinked, and something in his face shifted—surprise, maybe, or relief. His ears went red. "O-okay," he said, and he smiled, embarrassed and shy and so genuine it made her chest ache. "Y-yeah. O-okay."

She let herself smile back. "Good."

She squeezed his hand—quick, before she could second-guess it—and his fingers twitched under hers. He didn't pull away. "I'll text you when I get home."

"Cool. Yeah. Cool." He stammered it, and she loved how stupid it sounded.

When she got in the car, her mom raised an eyebrow. Tina shook her head, fighting the grin spreading across her face. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

That night, in the shower, she let the hot water run over her shoulders and closed her eyes. She thought about his hand under hers. The way he'd said okay. The small, fragile smile. She pressed her palm against the cold tile and let out a breath she'd been holding for days.

In bed, she lay naked under the thin sheet, the ceiling fan stirring the air above her. She touched herself slowly, deliberately, thinking about nothing but the sound of his voice. The way he'd looked at her when he said she looked nice. The way he hadn't pulled his hand away. She came with her lips pressed together, quiet, the image of his face behind her eyelids.

She woke up early. The house was silent. Sunday. No school.

Her phone was on the nightstand. She reached for it, the screen lighting up and illuminating her face in the dim room.

She spent the morning scrolling through her Instagram feed. Photos of her at parties, at the pool, posed in front of her mirror. Crop tops. Thongs. Strategic emojis over her nipples, over the apex of her thighs. Cute little quotes layered over the images: Sun's out, Good vibes only, Treat yourself. Hundreds of likes. Dozens of comments from guys she'd never meet. Fire emojis. Heart eyes. She scrolled past them without stopping.

She found the search bar. Her thumb hovered over it.

She typed his name.

T_Volkov

His profile picture was a blurry shot of a cat. Nine posts. She clicked on it and held her breath.

A photo of a book. A meme about a coding joke she didn't understand. A picture of him and his gap-toothed friend at the pool, their arms around each other, both of them grinning. His smile was wide and unguarded, and something in her chest cracked open looking at it.

She pressed the Follow button.

The screen flickered. Requested.

She dropped the phone onto her stomach. Her heart was beating too fast. The word stared back at her, blue and waiting.

She stared at the screen. Requested. The word glowed blue under his profile picture—the blurry cat, nine posts, a name she'd typed so many times it felt like a confession. She dropped her phone onto her stomach and pressed her palms into her eyes.

Five minutes. She gave it five minutes before she checked again. She counted the seconds in her head, her bare legs restless under the sheets. The ceiling fan clicked in its rotation. The house was silent.

She lasted two minutes.

The screen lit up. T_Volkov accepted your follow request.

Her heart stopped. Then started again, too fast. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and stared at the notification like it might disappear if she blinked.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

T_Volkov: Hey

T_Volkov: How's your day going

She read the messages three times. Four. He'd messaged first. He'd accepted her follow and messaged her first. She pressed her thighs together and forced herself to breathe.

Tina: hey you

Tina: it's going okay. kinda bored actually

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. She watched them like they were the most interesting thing she'd seen all week.

T_Volkov: Same

T_Volkov: What are you up to

She bit her lip. This was her chance. She could feel it—the window open, the air shifting. She typed slowly, carefully, deleting and rewriting until the words felt right.

Tina: honestly? trying to study chem but i'm useless

Tina: wish i had a tutor lol

She hit send before she could overthink it. Then she waited.

The dots appeared. Her breath held.

T_Volkov: I could come over

T_Volkov: If you want

T_Volkov: I'm not doing anything

She let out a sound—something between a laugh and a gasp—and typed back before he could change his mind.

Tina: YES

Tina: i mean yeah that would be great

Tina: i'll send you my address

She threw the phone onto the bed and scrambled out of the sheets. The clock on her nightstand read 2:17. She had maybe twenty minutes. She flew into the bathroom, turning the shower knob as far as it would go, and stepped under the spray before it was even warm.

She washed her hair, her body, shaved her legs in a hurry, nicking her ankle and not caring. The water ran over her skin and she closed her eyes, letting herself feel the weight of what was about to happen. He was coming here. To her house. To her room.

She stepped out, dripping onto the rug, and wrapped a towel around herself. Her reflection stared back at her—damp hair clinging to her shoulders, skin flushed from the heat. She looked different. Softer. Like someone waiting to be seen.

In her room, she pulled open her closet and ran her fingers over the hanging fabric. Crop tops. Dresses. The sheer things she wore to parties, to the pool, to anywhere she knew eyes would follow. None of it felt right. None of it felt like him.

She reached for his hoodie.

It was still folded on the chair where she'd left it. She pulled it over her head, the fabric falling past her hips, the sleeves swallowing her hands. It smelled faintly of him—laundry detergent and something warm underneath. She zipped it halfway, leaving the collar open, revealing the curve of her collarbone.

For bottoms, she found the shortest sleeping shorts she owned. Black. Elastic waist. They barely covered the curve of her ass, and when she turned, the hem rode up. No bra. The hoodie was thick enough. She hoped.

Her phone buzzed. T_Volkov: I'm here

She flew down the stairs.

Her mother was in the living room, book in hand, and looked up as Tina passed. "Expecting company?"

"Tyler's here. We're studying." Tina yanked the front door open before her mother could ask another question.

He stood on the porch in the same hoodie he'd worn yesterday, his hands shoved into his pockets, a backpack slung over one shoulder. The afternoon light caught the scar through his eyebrow, and his ears were already pink.

"H-hi." He offered a small, uncertain smile.

"Hey." She stepped back to let him in, and he crossed the threshold, his eyes scanning the high ceilings, the marble floors, the wide staircase. She watched him take it in and felt a flush creep up her neck. "Come on. My room's upstairs."

She led the way, hyperaware of his presence behind her. The hoodie. The shorts. The way the fabric moved against her skin. She glanced back and caught him looking at the stairs, at the walls, anywhere but at her.

Her room was at the end of the hall. She pushed the door open and stepped aside.

His eyes went wide.

The queen bed dominated the center of the room, covered in a leopard print comforter and a pile of faux fur throws. String lights hung along the walls, unlit. Her vanity was cluttered with makeup and perfume. And the closet—she'd forgotten to close the closet.

Her lingerie hung in plain view. Thongs in every color. Sheer bralettes. Lace. Black and red and pale pink, all on display.

"Shit—" She crossed the room and yanked the sliding door shut, her face burning. "Sorry. I—I cleaned up but I forgot to—"

"It's okay." His voice was quiet. His ears were crimson.

She turned, forcing a laugh. "I swear I'm not usually this messy."

He gave a small nod, his hands still in his pockets. "Your room is really nice."

She let out a breath. "Thanks. You can... sit. Anywhere. The bed's fine. I'll grab my chem stuff."

He lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, his backpack sliding off his shoulder onto the leopard print. The bed was so big compared to his narrow twin. He looked small on it, tentative, like he was afraid to take up space.

She gathered her textbook and notes from her desk and climbed onto the bed across from him, cross-legged. The hoodie rode up her thighs, and she tugged it down without thinking.

He opened his backpack and pulled out his own textbook, a worn copy with sticky notes marking the pages. "Okay. S-so. What were you working on?"

She flipped to a random page and pointed. "This. I don't get it at all."

He leaned forward, his shoulder brushing hers as he looked at the page. The contact was brief, accidental, but her skin tingled where he'd touched. He started explaining, his voice soft and halting, and she tried to focus on the words and not on the way his hands moved when he talked.

The next hour passed in fragments. She asked questions. He answered, patient and thorough, never making her feel stupid for not understanding. She watched his fingers trace the diagrams, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking, the way his eyes lit up when she finally grasped a concept.

She was learning. Actually learning. And she hadn't expected that.

Around the hour mark, she stretched her arms over her head and let out a long breath. The hoodie lifted, exposing a strip of her stomach. She saw his eyes flick down, then away. "Can we take a break?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Okay."

She flopped onto her back, the comforter soft under her, and stared at the ceiling. The string lights caught her eye. She never turned them on during the day. They felt like a night thing. A mood thing.

"I have a question."

His voice was quieter than usual. She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on a spot on the comforter.

"Yeah?" she said.

He took a breath. "Your... your Instagram. I saw it. After you followed me."

Her stomach dropped. She stayed very still.

"The photos," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "With the emojis. Over your—" He stopped, swallowed. "Why do you post those?"

She stared at him. The question hung in the air between them, fragile and dangerous. She felt her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips. A dozen deflections rose in her mind—It's just for fun. It's my brand. Everyone does it.

But this was Tyler. And he'd asked. And he was looking at her with something that wasn't judgment. It was confusion. And maybe a little bit of hurt.

She sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. The hoodie fell forward, covering her legs. She wrapped her arms around them and looked at the wall.

"I don't know," she said. "It's... it's easier."

He didn't say anything. He waited.

"Being looked at," she continued, her voice smaller than she meant it to be. "I know how to do that. I've been doing it since I was like fifteen. You wear the right clothes, you pose the right way, and people look at you. And that's—" She stopped. Forced herself to keep going. "That's safe. Because if they're looking at my body, they're not looking at me."

The silence stretched. She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn't meet it.

"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "The real thing. The quiet thing. Being with someone who actually—" She stopped again. Her throat was tight.

She heard him shift on the bed. Felt the mattress dip as he moved closer. She braced herself for his hand on her shoulder, on her knee. But it didn't come.

"I like this," he said softly. "The real you."

She looked up.

He was watching her with that same open, unguarded expression she'd seen in the pool photo. Like he wasn't afraid of her. Like he wanted to understand.

Her chest ached. She didn't know what to say. So she just looked at him, letting him see her, letting the silence hold everything they hadn't spoken yet.

He was looking at her. Not at her hoodie, not at her bare legs, not at her body. At her.

And she didn't look away.

Tina let out a slow breath. The silence had stretched long enough that she could feel it in her chest, a quiet pressure. She kept her eyes on his. "Can I show you something?" Her voice barely carried. "The photos. The ones I didn't post."

He blinked. His hands were still resting on his knees, and she watched his fingers curl slightly, gripping the fabric of his jeans. "O-okay," he said. The word came out soft, uncertain, but his eyes didn't leave hers.

She reached for her phone on the bed beside her. Her hand wasn't steady. She unlocked it, the screen lighting up her face, and her thumb found the hidden folder without thinking. The one with the passcode she'd never given anyone. Twenty-three photos. She scrolled past the ones from last summer, past the ones she'd almost posted but deleted, past the ones that were just her body in different angles, different lighting. She stopped on one near the end.

It was her face. Early morning. No filter. No makeup. Her hair was a mess, tangled and pushed back from her forehead. The sun was catching the dust motes in the air, turning them into tiny golden specks suspended around her. Her eyes looked tired, and soft, and real.

She held the phone out to him.

He took it. His fingers brushed hers, rough and warm, and she felt the contact like a static shock that traveled up her arm and settled somewhere behind her ribs. He looked down at the screen, and she watched his face. His brow furrowed slightly. His lips parted. He didn't speak for a long time.

"Who is this?" he asked, finally. His voice was quiet. Almost reverent.

She blinked. "It's me."

"I know." He looked up from the phone, his eyes finding hers. "But who is *this*? She looks…" He trailed off, searching for the word.

"Real," she finished for him. Her voice cracked on the word. "That's why I didn't post it. It's not the version of me anyone wants to see."

He looked back at the screen. His thumb hovered over the image, not quite touching it. "I do," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "I w-want to see her."

The air left her lungs. She couldn't speak. She could only watch as he looked at the photo of her, seeing the part of herself she kept hidden. Seeing her, not the performance.

He scrolled slowly. The next photo was her hands holding a chipped coffee mug, the steam curling up, her nails bare and short. A photo of her feet propped on a dashboard, the landscape blurring past in streaks of green and gray. A photo of her shadow on the pavement, long and stretched and solitary, the sun at her back. Each one was a piece of her she'd never shown anyone. Each one was a confession she didn't know she was making.

He stopped on the final photo. It was her, same morning light, same no makeup, but she was looking at the camera. Looking at *him*. Her expression was open, unguarded, caught in a moment of quiet waiting. She remembered taking it. She'd been thinking about him. About the way he looked at her in the cafeteria, like she was just a person, not a thing to be consumed. She'd taken the photo to remember what that felt like. To be seen.

He held the phone in both hands, his gaze fixed on the screen. The string lights above them cast warm shadows across his face. When he looked up, his eyes were bright, almost wet.

"Tina," he said. Her name.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The two words landed somewhere deep in her chest, in the space between her ribs where she kept all the things she didn't know how to say. She didn't know what to do with them. So she just nodded, and let him keep looking.