THE SPACES BETWEEN US; CDS BOOK 2

Projected Connections

The hum of fluorescent lights in the engineering lab had a strangely soothing rhythm. Daniel balanced a pencil behind his ear, a notebook open to a page crowded with hand-drawn schematics and calculations.

Sweat prickled at his temples, not from the effort itself, but from the constant tick of deadlines gnawing at him. First-year engineering was relentless, and the workload was enough to make anyone lose track of time—or themselves.

His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket. He ignored
it. Not because he didn't care, but because the last few weeks had taught him that a single notification could spiral into an unnecessary distraction.

He glanced at his desk partner, Marco, who was meticulously checking the dimensions of a beam model they had been assigned.

Marco's concentration was absolute, and Daniel couldn't help but admire his precision. Calm, collected, almost annoyingly thorough.

It hadn't always been like this.

Flashback

The first week of classes had been chaotic: jam-packed schedules, orientation sessions, and a lab that felt more like a maze than a classroom. Daniel had been fumbling with a complicated CAD program, muttering under his breath while trying to follow the instructor's instructions.

"Need a hand?" a voice had asked. Daniel looked up to see a tall, composed student, dark-haired and unflinching, hovering over the workstation. That was Marco.

"I... uh, yeah." Daniel admitted, grateful but wary.

He wasn't usually the type to accept help so quickly, but something about Marco's calm efficiency made the choice easy.

"I'm Marco," the other student said, offering a hand. "Looks like this program's giving you a headache."

Daniel shook it, a little embarrassed. "Daniel. And yeah... it's a lot."
Marco had a way of explaining things that made the complicated seem simple, breaking problems into steps Daniel hadn't considered.

Within an hour, Daniel had gone from struggling to nearly understanding the program's nuances. It had been the first of many collaborations—and the first subtle awareness that Marco was more than just a competent classmate.

Present

"Double-check the measurements on the load calculations," Marco said, his tone casual but firm.

"We don't want a repeat of last week." Daniel leaned over the paper, nodding. "Right, right. Last time I misread the stress points. Won't happen again."

They worked in near silence for another hour, only the scratching of pencils, the soft tapping of keyboards, and the occasional muttered correction breaking the quiet.

Daniel appreciated the rhythm—the focused collaboration—and couldn't deny that he enjoyed Marco's presence.

There was something grounding about it, the way Marco organized chaos, the way he noticed mistakes before they happened.

By the time they finished, both were exhausted.

Daniel pushed his chair back and ran a hand through his hair. "Finally done."

Marco leaned back too, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "You did most of the tricky parts. I'd say we make a good team."

Daniel laughed lightly. "I guess so. Don't let it go to your head, though."

For a moment, the lab felt lighter. The stress of deadlines, of first-year pressures, of constantly being behind in homework—vanished just slightly. It was small, but the relief was almost intoxicating.

———

Later that evening, a few classmates dragged Daniel and Marco to a small campus café. They had done well on their project, and everyone felt like the weight of weeks of labor had lifted, if only for a few hours.

Daniel couldn't help but relax, sinking into the chatter and laughter around him. He laughed at jokes he didn't fully get, clinked glasses with his teammates, and let himself be swept into the ease of the moment.

Marco leaned in slightly as they toasted. "You deserved this." he said quietly, just for Daniel.

Daniel blinked, caught off guard. He smiled, cheeks warm. "Thanks... I guess I just needed a break."

"Me too," Marco admitted, almost shyly. "Feels good to... celebrate something we actually survived."

For a few minutes, Daniel let himself forget the long nights, the stress, the miles separating him from Pete.

He let himself exist entirely in this small bubble of accomplishment and camaraderie.

It was nice. Dangerous, even, because the ache of distance and longing he usually carried was muted—just for a little while. He almost didn't notice the phone buzzing again, tucked in his pocket.

Daniel fished the phone out, realizing a small stack of notifications had accumulated. Several were texts from Pete. He opened the first, reading:

"Hey... just wondering how your day went. Miss you."

Another:
"Daniel... you're okay, right? Please answer."

Daniel's chest tightened for a brief moment. He knew he should respond. He really did. But the warm, loud, celebratory atmosphere pulled him back.

His friends were joking, laughing, clinking glasses, Marco leaning in to comment on some clever structural solution they had found.

He set the phone back down, unread. "I'll reply in a minute," he told himself. "Just... in a minute."

The moment stretched longer than intended. A small, guilty voice whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of the boy waiting on the other side of the country—Pete, probably pacing, probably worried.

But Daniel didn't move. The laughter, the small sense of accomplishment, the fleeting joy... it was too much a relief from the grind of engineering to ruin with guilt.

Pete's messages continued, unseen, a quiet pulse of anxiety waiting for an answer that wouldn't come until later.

By the time the celebration wound down, Daniel's fatigue returned with full force. The adrenaline had faded, leaving a hollow ache of responsibility and distraction.

He glanced at his phone again, realizing he had forgotten to reply to Pete entirely. There were even several missed calls from him.

The realization hit him like a sudden weight:
He's been waiting for me... and I forgot.

Daniel frowned, a knot forming in his chest. He knew Pete was anxious. He knew he always tried to reach him. And now, he had let that trust slip, not maliciously, but because he had allowed himself to be caught in a moment he couldn't resist.

He swore silently to reply immediately once he got back to his dorm, to make up for the delay, to reassure Pete that nothing—work, celebration, or even Marco—would ever replace the space Pete had in his life. But for now, in the bustle of celebration and the comfort of shared success, he let himself breathe—and let the messages wait, just a little longer.

But the reply never happened as the exhaustion got to him. He collapsed in his bed and slept.

He will understand.

He said on the back of his mind.

———