Between the Lines

Chapter 12- Patterns

Soda finally looked up. His expression wasn't angry-it was worse. It was resigned. Protective. Like he'd decided something and hated it.

"People are talkin'," he said. "About you. About me. About why you're hangin' around here."

Emily's voice sharpened. "So what? Let them."

Soda shook his head. "It ain't that easy for you."

Emily stood slowly, face flushing with irritation. "Don't decide what's easy for me."

Soda's jaw clenched. "Emily, I'm tryin' to-"

"To what?" she cut in. "Protect me?"

Soda didn't deny it.

Emily's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I don't need you to protect me from gossip."

Soda's voice dropped. "From more than gossip."

That stopped her.

Emily blinked, tension crackling in the air.

Soda exhaled sharply, like he regretted saying it. "If the wrong people start talkin', they'll make it a problem."

Emily's throat tightened. "Who?"

Soda didn't say Socs out loud.

He didn't have to.

Emily held his gaze, heart pounding. "So your solution is what? You push me away first?"

Soda's eyes flickered, guilt slipping through. "I'm not pushin' you away."

"You just said I shouldn't be here," Emily snapped.

Soda's voice softened. "I'm sayin' I don't want them to hurt you."

The word hurt landed heavy.

Emily swallowed hard, anger and something softer tangling together in her chest.

"You don't get to make decisions for me," she said, quieter now. "I have enough people doing that already."

Soda stared at her, conflicted. "Then what do you want?"

Emily's breath caught.

That was the question, wasn't it?

What did she want?

The easy answer was "to finish the project." The safe answer was "to go back to normal." The acceptable answer was "nothing."

But standing there, in the warm light of the Curtis living room, with Soda looking at her like he cared too much and hated himself for it, Emily couldn't bring herself to say any of those.

So she chose the only true thing she could say without breaking.

"I want you to stop assuming the worst of me," she whispered.

Soda's expression shifted-something in him easing, just slightly.

"I ain't," he said quietly.

Emily's eyes flashed. "You are. You keep acting like I'm one rumor away from falling apart."

Soda swallowed. "Maybe because I've seen how fast people turn."

Emily didn't have an answer for that.

They stood there for a long moment, silence thick between them.

Then Soda moved first-not closer, not touching. Just enough to soften the distance.

"Okay," he said quietly. "If you wanna be here, you can be here."

Emily's shoulders loosened a fraction. "Good."

Soda's mouth twitched. "But... if it gets bad, you tell me."

Emily tilted her head. "Why?"

Soda's gaze held hers, honest and steady. "Because I'd rather know than be blindsided."

Emily's heart thudded hard.

She forced herself to look away first, grabbing her notebook and dropping back onto the couch like she hadn't just felt her world tilt slightly.

"Fine," she said, voice clipped. "Sit down. We work."

Soda sat beside her-careful, still not too close.

But closer than before.

Their papers spread across the couch. Their knees almost touched. When Emily leaned forward to point out a line, Soda's shoulder brushed hers-light, brief.

Neither of them moved away.

The contact lingered like a held breath.

Emily kept her eyes on the paper, but her voice softened despite her best efforts. "This part needs to flow better."

Soda nodded, gaze flicking to her face for half a second too long. "Yeah. It does."

And for a moment, the house felt very quiet.

Not because the record player stopped. Not because the world outside disappeared.

But because something between them settled into place-something unspoken, something dangerous, something that made the air feel warmer than it should've.

Emily's pencil twirled once between her fingers.

Soda watched it like he couldn't help himself.

Then Emily looked up, catching him.

Soda looked away quickly.

Emily should've snapped. Should've rebuilt the wall.

Instead, she said softly, almost to herself, "This is a problem."

Soda's voice came out just as quiet. "Yeah."

Emily swallowed. "We still have to finish."

Soda nodded. "We'll finish."

They bent back over the paper, working again-hands brushing now and then, glances lingering, the tension tightening like a thread pulled too far.

And outside, the late autumn sun faded into night, leaving the Curtis house warm and glowing against the dark.