Number one and only. [Nicholas &team]

Chapter 26 - In Strokes and Shadows

The hallways were dark, except for the faint glow leaking out from the art room at the far end. Ava slowed her steps, her sneakers silent on the polished floor, heart beating faster with every approach. She had stayed late for basketball practice, but something—some unspoken pull—had drawn her here instead of straight home.
The smell of oil paint and turpentine hit her first when she reached the door. Inside, Nicholas stood at the easel, brush in hand, his back to her, the overhead lamp spilling warm light onto his shoulders.
She didn’t make a sound, but he must have sensed her—he always did.
“You’re still here,” he said without turning around. His voice was soft, unhurried.
“I could say the same about you,” she replied, stepping inside. “It’s almost eight.”
Nicholas finally glanced over his shoulder. His hair was messy, dark curls falling into his eyes, and there was a faint streak of blue paint on his cheek. “Deadlines don’t wait.”
She moved closer, her eyes catching the canvas—her breath stilled.
It was her. Not in uniform, not in motion, not captured mid-dribble like the dozens of photos the school had taken. This was different. The girl in the portrait looked softer, almost… untouchable. The brushstrokes carried a warmth she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in herself.
“You—” She swallowed. “You’re painting me.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, setting his brush down. “You’ve been in my head for weeks.”
Something twisted inside her chest. “Nicho, that’s—”
He stepped closer, eyes searching hers. “Don’t run from this.”
Her pulse was too loud in her ears. The way he looked at her—like she was a masterpiece already finished—made her knees feel weak.
They stood there, the silence stretching and tightening between them until it felt like it would snap. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she felt herself lean forward before she could think.
His hand brushed against her arm—warm, careful, like he was testing if she’d let him.
The air shifted. Her breath hitched.
And then—
The metallic click of the door latch broke the moment. They both stepped back instantly as a janitor peeked inside, muttering something about locking up soon before disappearing again.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Nicho’s jaw tightened. Ava looked away, suddenly aware of the flush in her cheeks.
“I should go,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He picked his brush back up, but didn’t touch the canvas. “Goodnight, Ava.”

The next morning, her phone buzzed nonstop before she even got to first period.
At first, she ignored it, shoving it deeper into her bag. But when her teammate shoved her phone into her hand with wide eyes, she froze.
On the screen was an Instagram post—grainy, taken through the art room window, but unmistakable. Her and Nicho. Standing too close, eyes locked, the world outside blurred away. The caption was nothing more than three fire emojis, but the comments…
“Since when???” “Omg they’re cute tho.” “She moves fast.”
Her stomach dropped.
By lunch, she found him leaning against the wall outside the cafeteria, hands in his pockets. He looked calm. Too calm.
“You saw it?” she asked, shoving the phone toward him.
“I don’t care what they post,” Nicholas said flatly.
“Well, I do.” She stepped closer, anger rising. “You’re not the one getting whispered about in the hallway. You’re not the one—”
“I’m the one who painted you,” he cut in, his tone sharp. “Do you get that? I didn’t do it for them. I did it because—” He stopped himself, his chest rising with each breath. “Forget it.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “You think this is romantic? It’s a mess, Nicho. You’re a mess.”
He flinched—just barely—but recovered quickly. “Better a mess than someone too scared to feel anything.”
She stared at him, her throat tight, before turning on her heel and walking away.
This time, she didn’t look back.