Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 25

We finished around a little past nine. The auditorium was quiet now, the echo of laughter and tape being torn replaced by the low hum of the maintenance fan and the soft tap of Corey’s shoes as he danced around with leftover streamer ribbon like he was in a parade. James offered to drive me home. No one questioned it. It felt natural, like brushing your teeth before bed.

The car ride was calm, the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. His fingers reached for mine halfway down the road, and I didn’t hesitate. I laced them with his, gently, like I was telling him yes, I’m still here.

“I love you,” he said. Out of the blue.

I turned to him, and for a second I let it hang in the air, that small, tender sentence still rippling between us. Then I smiled.

“And I… love you.”

He grinned like a kid who just unlocked a level in a game. It made my chest ache, in that good kind of way. He told me about his mom next. How different she felt lately, less like a ghost in her own house. How she smiled at him during breakfast and actually tapped his shoulder when his dad started another one of his  morning monologyes. She even said, “Give your son a break, Gilbert. He is trying.”

The way he repeated her words, you’d think they were sacred. Then he looked at me and said, “Thank you… again. For fixing it. My house. My family. Me.”

I tried to brush it off. I always do. I’m not a fixer, I’m just someone who refuses to shut up when things are unfair. But this time… I let myself feel it. His gratitude.

I used to feel guilty about moments like this, like maybe I was acting self-righteous, like maybe my defiance was more about pride than purpose. But tonight, something shifted. Maybe it’s okay to be proud of doing the right thing. Maybe fixing something, even accidentally, is still worth feeling good about. I looked at him, this boy who once laughed too loudly and ran away from anything that asked him to stay still, and saw someone trying. Someone growing. Someone choosing softness in a world that taught him to be steel. And if I helped make space for that… I don’t have to apologize. I can just hold his hand, and smile, and let the good things live. Even for just this one time.

As we pulled up in front of my house, the headlights cut through the darkness like soft beams of memory. The neighborhood was quiet, painted in deep blue shadows and distant porch lights. James shifted the gear to park, and Hailee Steinfeld’s “Starving” played low in the background, her voice dancing like a breeze between us. He leaned over and unbuckled my seatbelt for me. Gentle. Intentional. But before he could lean back into his seat, I caught his collar and pulled him in.

I kissed him.

Soft. Unrushed. Like I was trying to memorize him, the way his lips moved with mine, the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his breath. The taste of something familiar but always new. I pulled away slightly, but he didn’t let me go. His hand cradled the back of my head, pulling me in again, this time deeper. His kiss was firmer, hungry but reverent, like he needed to know I was real and here and his. When we finally parted, both of us were breathless. Our foreheads rested against each other. We were quiet for a moment, our only soundtrack the fading chorus of the song.

“Goodnight, Mojo Jojo,” I whispered, teasing.

He opened his mouth like he might bite me, then laughed. “Goodnight, Buttercup.”

I stepped out, still grinning, and closed the door. He watched me for a beat longer, then drove away, his taillights flickering like embers as they disappeared into the night. I stood there for a while. Letting the cool air settle around me. Letting the moment bloom and linger.