Unscripted

chapter 2

I exhaled slowly, the tension leaving my shoulders, though my heart still thudded erratically. Malachi's gaze lingered on me, teasing but calm.

"You okay?" he asked, tone softer now, almost protective.

"I am now," I said, though I could feel my cheeks heating.

Sway nudged me. "You are so flustered. Admit it!"

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "I am not!"

Malachi leaned closer, enough that our knees brushed under the table. "It's okay if you are," he murmured. The corner of his mouth tugged into that familiar smirk, but his eyes—his eyes—were serious, focused.

I froze, heart hammering. "It's not okay," I whispered, even though the words sounded weak.

"Maybe it is," he said softly, leaning back slightly, giving me space but keeping that quiet intensity in his gaze. "Sometimes it's... interesting, feeling things you didn't expect."

I looked down at my coffee, suddenly very interested in the swirls of cream, trying to hide the rush of warmth I felt from his words—and the brush of his knee against mine.

Arianna and Sway exchanged a glance, both grinning, clearly enjoying the show silently. MK just shook his head, smiling knowingly, and returned to his croissant.

And in that small, chaotic café, with rain still falling outside and past ghosts lingering near the window, I realized something terrifying:

Malachi Barton wasn't just infuriating. He was... magnetic. And I was already caught.

The café had settled into a quiet rhythm. Steam curled from the cups, the soft hum of conversation filling the space. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the streets glistening in the glow of streetlights. Inside, the warmth contrasted sharply with the chill lingering in my wet hoodie.

I tried to focus on my notebook, scribbling random notes for the project Arianna had reminded me about, but Malachi's presence made concentration nearly impossible. He wasn't hovering, but there was a subtle gravity about him, a way his gaze found mine even when I tried to hide.

Sway leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the table. "So... do you two always stare at each other like that? Because it's entertaining as heck."

I shot her a glare. "We are not staring."

Arianna, ever the observer, tilted her head. "Uh-huh. Totally not staring. Right." She smirked knowingly, reaching for a croissant. "Honestly, Barton, you seem to enjoy this more than anyone."

Malachi's lips tugged into a faint smirk. "I might," he admitted, voice low and casual. "But only because it's... interesting."

I looked down at my notebook, pretending to focus, though my ears burned. "Interesting?" I muttered under my breath.

"Yeah," he said softly, leaning just enough closer that I felt the warmth of his presence. "You... have a way of making things complicated, and I like it."

I froze. My fingers tightened around my pen, and I could feel my cheeks heating. "Complicated is not... good," I said quickly, trying to sound reasonable.

"Maybe not," he murmured, smirk tugging faintly, "but sometimes complicated is... worth it."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was impossible, infuriating, that I didn't need this—this tension, this pull—but the words stuck somewhere in my throat.

Sway clapped her hands together, breaking the silence. "Oh! You guys are definitely going to end up arguing in slow motion before anything happens, aren't you?"

I groaned, hiding my face behind my coffee cup. "You are impossible."

"Maybe," Malachi said softly, leaning back slightly, just far enough to make it seem casual. But his eyes stayed on me, tracking the subtle shift in my expression. "But sometimes impossible... keeps things interesting."

Arianna laughed, sliding her notebook closer. "I have to admit, this is far more entertaining than any of our group projects. Seriously. I'm taking mental notes."

Sway leaned over and jabbed my side lightly. "See? I told you. Barton + Freya = chaos. But in a fun, messy way."

I couldn't argue. Not really. Somehow, amidst the laughter, the teasing, and the subtle brush of warmth from Malachi's presence, I realized something I hadn't allowed myself to admit yet: this slow, impossible tension was... thrilling.

Malachi sipped his coffee, eyes flicking toward me occasionally, watching me process something I wasn't ready to name. I caught myself glancing at him just as often, though I tried to hide it.

The rain outside softened to a gentle mist, the soft patter against the windows mirroring the quiet rhythm building between us. No words were necessary, no declarations or confessions. The tension hung in the air, electric and delicate, leaving me acutely aware of every glance, every movement, every subtle interaction.

And for the first time that evening, I allowed myself a thought I had tried to push away: maybe, just maybe, this messy, unpredictable, unscripted chaos with Malachi Barton wasn't entirely a bad thing.

The café felt warmer now, the earlier tension softened into something quieter, more personal. Steam rose from my cup, but the warmth wasn't just from the coffee—it was from the subtle energy hovering between Malachi and me.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, eyes still occasionally flicking to mine. There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it was softer now, less teasing, more... attentive. I hated how much that attention made my chest tighten.

Sway nudged me with her elbow, grinning. "Look at you, staring at him like a total disaster. I'm officially documenting this."

"I am not staring," I muttered, though my ears burned.

Arianna leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "Oh, come on, Freya. You're enjoying it. Admit it."

I groaned and hid my face in my hands, but even from under my fingers, I could feel Malachi's gaze. He didn't say anything, just watched me with that impossible mix of patience and amusement.

MK, seated across from us, shook his head with a small smile. "You two are ridiculous," he said. "It's like watching a slow-motion collision."

"Exactly," Sway said, bouncing slightly. "Every glance, every word—it's so dramatic."

I peeked at Malachi from behind my fingers. He smirked faintly, leaning a little closer under the guise of picking up his cup. The movement was almost imperceptible, but it made my stomach flutter in a way that was entirely unfair.

"You know," he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear, "this is... interesting. You, me... this little dynamic."

I swallowed hard, words failing me for the first time tonight. "Interesting..." I repeated softly, unsure whether I meant it in approval or irritation.

"Don't overthink it," he murmured, leaning back slightly, still close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Just... see where it goes."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Instead, I sipped my coffee, feeling the heat spread through me, and realized with a mix of dread and excitement that tonight—the rain, the friends, the chaos, Malachi—was only the beginning.

The chatter of the café surrounded us, light and ordinary, but beneath it, the tension hummed quietly, impossible to ignore. It wasn't a confession. It wasn't a declaration. It was just... this—the slow, careful pull of two people circling each other, testing the waters, daring the other to take the first step.

And somehow, I knew neither of us was going to back down.

The rain outside softened further, mist curling against the windows, leaving the city glowing faintly in gold and silver reflections. Inside, laughter, warmth, and that quiet, unspoken tension filled the space.

I took a slow breath and realized something terrifying—and thrilling:

This was messy. This was unpredictable. This was unscripted.

And I was already hooked.