Third-Person Limited - Kendra, then Dominic, then Kendra
By the time Friday rolled around, Kendra had the number carved into her brain:
Seven.
Seven days until her next check-up.
Seven days until she found out if these stupid, heavy cast would finally get cut off.
Seven days until… she didn't know what.
She refused to call it "freedom."
She refused to call it "the end."
She refused to call it anything.
At breakfast, Sofia slid a sticky note across the table with a dramatic flourish.
On it, in bubble letters:
ONE WEEK TILL BONE JUDGMENT DAY
With a little doodle of two broken wrists flexing.
"You're insufferable," Kendra told her.
"You love me," Sofia replied, biting into her toast.
Erica pointed at her spoon like a microphone. "How are you feeling about it, for real?" she asked. "Excited? Scared? Ready to fight the doctor?"
"Yes," Kendra said.
Jeah snorted. "That's not how multiple choice works."
"It is now," Kendra said.
She took a sip of juice, trying to ignore the way her stomach kept doing weird flips.
Because yeah, she was excited.
She wanted her hands back.
She wanted to shower without plastic armor, dress without assistance, and eat without help.
She also knew what came with that:
No more official punishment.No more Joint Service.No more guaranteed Dominic, three times a week, in small rooms with tasks and excuses.
Her chest tightened.
She stabbed her scrambled eggs with unnecessary aggression.
"Easy," Jennie said softly. "The eggs are already lost."
Office – The Announcement
"Afternoon, my favorite chaos duo," Miss Hall said, looking up from her computer as they walked into the office.
"Bold of you to assume we're your only chaos duo," Kendra replied.
Dominic held the door with his hip and set Kendra's bag down by the wall. "We're on time," he pointed out. "That should count for something."
"It does," Miss Hall said. "Miracles are my love language."
The office looked the same as always—overloaded inbox, stacks of forms, a whiteboard with reminders in five colors—but something in her expression was different.
Warmer.
Sadder.
Kendra narrowed her eyes.
"No filing room today?" she asked. "No packet assembly? No shredding ancient secrets?"
Miss Hall smiled. "Not today," she said. "Today is a special occasion."
"That sounds like work in disguise," Kendra muttered.
"Actually," Miss Hall said, leaning back in her chair, "today is your last official day of Joint Service."
Silence.
It took a full three seconds for the words to register.
"Our… what?" Kendra said.
Miss Hall folded her hands. "Your hours are done," she explained. "Principal Garrison signed off on it this morning. Between how much you've helped me and the fact that you haven't suplexed anyone lately, we can safely say the punishment part has been satisfied."
Kendra blinked.
"Oh," she said.
Her brain expected relief.
She got something closer to… static.
Dominic stood very still beside her.
"Meaning," Miss Hall continued, "after today, you're both free to go home after last period like normal students. No more mandatory after-school office slavery."
"Woo," Kendra said weakly.
"That sounded so convincing," Miss Hall said dryly.
"I just—" Kendra shifted her weight, cast resting on the edge of the counter. "That's it? We're done?"
"Well, I won't stop you from coming back if you want to help sometimes," Miss Hall added. "But it won't be a requirement. No more official mark on your record. Consider your debt paid."
Kendra's shoulders dropped a fraction.
She'd been waiting to hear that since the day this started.
Now that it was here, it felt… weird.
Like stepping off a treadmill and realizing the ground wasn't moving anymore.
"Congrats," she told Dominic, aiming for casual. "You're free of me."
He glanced down at her; something complicated in his eyes.
"That's… not exactly how I'd put it," he said.
Miss Hall watched them closely.
She didn't comment on the way they stood just a little too close, or the way Kendra's shoulder almost brushed Dominic's arm when she shifted.
She just smiled.
"Before I let you go," she said, reaching into a drawer, "I do have one last very serious responsibility for you."
She pulled out two laminated cards and slid them across the desk with mock gravity.
Each one read:
OFFICIAL CHAOS INTERN
With their names scribbled underneath in messy handwriting and a tiny cartoon file cabinet.
Kendra stared.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen," she said.
"I love it," Dominic said at the same time.
Kendra snorted. "You would."
Miss Hall shrugged. "You earned them," she said. "Very few students get promoted from Menace to Intern."
"You had that ready?" Dominic asked.
"Oh, absolutely," she said. "My gut told me you'd survive this. Barely."
Kendra picked hers up with her cast, the lamination scraping faintly against the plaster.
"You're not going to… miss us?" she asked, trying to sound teasing and hearing something else in her own voice.
"Of course I'll miss you," Miss Hall said. "I'll actually have to do my own filing again. And I won't have front-row tickets to your very slow character development."
Dominic coughed.
Kendra squinted at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
"It means," Miss Hall said, eyes kind, "when you walked into my office the first day, I thought, 'Oh no, these two are going to kill each other.'"
"We might still," Kendra said.
"And now," Miss Hall went on, "I think, 'Oh no, these two are going to break each other's hearts if they're not careful.'"
Heat shot up the back of Kendra's neck.
"We're not—" she started.
"We're—" Dominic tried at the same time.
Miss Hall raised both hands. "Relax," she said. "I'm not your mother. And I'm not oblivious. I've taught too long not to recognize… whatever this is."
"Whatever is?" Kendra said, "A little too quick.
Miss Hall tilted her head. "The fact that you don't flinch when he stands that close anymore," she said gently. "The way he watches your hands every time you bump them. The way you bicker like you're trying to convince yourselves you still hate each other."
Kendra opened her mouth.
No words came out.
Dominic shifted, shoulders tense.
"If I thought either of you were being careless with the other," Miss Hall continued, "I'd march you back to my file room and give you a very long speech about respect and boundaries."
"Please don't," Dominic muttered.
"But I've seen the way you've grown," she said. "Both of you. You got hurt, Kendra. And you let people help you. That's huge. And you, Mr. Garrison, learned how to apologize like a human and not a walking ego. Also, huge."
He made a face but didn't argue.
"So," she said. "Here's my advice, since no one asked."
"Oh God," Kendra muttered.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Miss Hall said simply. "Don't use each other as band-aids for guilt or fear. And when this—" she nodded at the casts— "is finally over, ask yourselves if you still want to stand next to each other when you don't have to. If the answer is yes, then work from there."
The room felt too small again.
Too quiet.
Too honest.
"Is there going to be a test on this?" Kendra asked because she didn't know what else to do.
Miss Hall smiled. "Life is the test," she said. "You'll be graded emotionally."
"Failing already," Kendra muttered.
"Same," Dominic agreed under his breath.
Miss Hall clapped her hands once. "Alright," she said briskly. "Enough wisdom. I'm scaring myself. You've got about thirty minutes left. Do me a favor and take that box—" she pointed to one half-filled with leftover Joint Service materials, old forms, random sticky notes "—to the supply closet in the back. Then you're free."
"We can handle that," Dominic said.
"I believe in you," Miss Hall said. "Try not to quit halfway through and elope."
"Miss Hall!" Kendra yelped.
She just laughed and waved them out.
Supply Closet – Edges of Change
The supply closet was a narrow little space past the copy room, stacked floor-to-ceiling with paper, binders, and general institutional chaos.
Dominic balanced the box on one arm and nudged the door open with his shoulder.
"Watch your step," he warned. "There's a rogue three-hole punch in here that wants blood."
Kendra stepped in behind him, cast brushing the door frame.
The light flickered on, humming faintly.
He set the box down on a lower shelf, turned, and found her standing in the middle of the cramped room, looking strangely out of place among the staplers and toner.
"You, okay?" he asked.
"Define okay," she said.
"Not actively on fire," he offered.
"Barely," she replied.
He leaned back against the opposite shelf, crossing his arms.
"This bothers you," he said quietly. "Joint Service ending."
"It doesn't," she lied.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, it does," she snapped. "Happy?"
He didn't look happy.
He looked… sad.
Which was, frankly, worse.
"I get it," he said. "It's… been a thing. A… whatever. Built-in time."
"Built-in punishment," she said.
"And built-in loophole," he added.
She frowned. "What?"
"Excuse," he clarified. "As long as this was 'punishment,' no one could question why I was always with you. Why was I helping? Why was I here?"
Her face heated.
"They still questioned it," she said. "They just thought I was blackmailing you."
He huffed a laugh.
"Maybe a little," he allowed.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"When this ends," he said softly, "I still want to be with you."
Her heart did that weird squeeze that made it hard to breathe.
She looked away, pretending to study a stack of paper towels.
"You say that now," she muttered.
"I mean it now," he replied. "And I meant it last week. And the week before. Pretty sure I meant it the day I realized you were going to throw dipping sauce on Karina, and I liked you better for it.
"Your taste is broken," she told him.
"Probably," he said. "But it's not changing."
Silence stretched.
The hum of the light above felt very loud.
"You know this gets harder when the casts come off, right?" she said finally.
"In what way?" he asked.
"Right now, you have a built-in job," she said. "Caretaker. Pack mule. Whatever. When they cut these off"—she lifted her arms— "I don't need you to zip my hoodies or cut my food anymore. You won't have a reason to hover."
He pushed off the shelf, stepping closer in the cramped space.
The word hover made him wince.
"Hovering is optional," he said. "Wanting to be near you isn't."
Her pulse skipped.
"Say that again, but slower," she said before she could stop herself.
He smiled.
"I like being with you," he said. "I want to keep being with you. Casts or no casts. Service or no service. Doctor's orders or not."
Her chest tightened in a way that felt dangerously like hope.
"Even if I go back to carrying my own bag?" she asked.
"I will fight your bag for dominance," he said. "I'm stronger. I'll win."
"You're ridiculous," she muttered.
"Probably," he agreed.
He reached up, then stopped himself.
"Can I…?" he asked, nodding toward where a bit of her hair had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her cheek.
She rolled her eyes. "You're already in my personal space," she said. "Might as well commit."
He smiled and gently tucked the stray curl behind her ear, fingers barely brushing her skin.
She shivered.
His hand dropped immediately.
"Sorry," he said quietly.
"For what?" she asked. "You didn't break anything."
"Yet," he muttered.
"Don't jinx it," she said.
The room felt warmer now.
Closer.
The box sat forgotten on the shelf.
He took a breath.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you want to still hang out after school? Even if we don't have to?"
She stared at him.
"You're asking me on a date," she accused.
"I'm asking if you want to be in the same room as me without adult supervision," he said. "We can call it a study session. Or a non-service service. Or whatever makes you less likely to panic."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
"Why?" she asked, knowing the answer and needing to hear it anyway.
"Because I like you," he said. "Because I like kissing you. Because I like hearing you insult me. Because I like it when you let me carry things for you and when you don't. Because when Miss Hall said this was our last day, my first thought wasn't 'Finally, I'm free,' it was, 'How do I make sure I still see her every day?'"
Her heart thudded so hard she was vaguely concerned he could hear it over the light.
"That was more words than you've said at once in months," she murmured.
"Don't get used to it," he said.
"What if I already am?" she asked.
He huffed a breath.
"Then you're as doomed as I am," he replied.
He leaned in a fraction, watching her carefully.
"Kendra," he said.
"Yeah?" she breathed.
"Is this still… okay?" he asked. "Us. This. The kissing. The helping. The… everything."
Her instinct was to deflect.
To joke.
To push him away before he could push her.
But Miss Hall's words were still echoing in her head.
Ask yourselves if you still want to stand next to each other when you don't have to.
She swallowed.
"I don't know what this is," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm doing. I still don't trust a lot of things. Including myself. Including you, some days. But… I don't hate it."
He blinked.
Her cheeks burned.
"I mean—" she rushed on, "I hate parts of it. I hate that you're annoying and tall and can reach things I can't. I hate that you made me cry. I hate that you broke me. I hate that you were the one outside the bathroom door and not someone safer. I hate that I wanted that."
She stopped, breathless.
"But?" he prompted quietly.
"But," she said, voice smaller, "I like that you keep showing up. And that's when I tell you no, you actually listen. And that's when I say yes…"
She trailed off.
His eyes darkened.
"Kendra," he whispered.
"Don't make me say it," she muttered.
"You don't have to," he said.
He closed the last bit of distance, slow as always, giving her two full heartbeats to change her mind.
She didn't.
When his mouth met hers, it felt less like a surprise and more like an answer.
Her back pressed lightly against the shelf; his hand braced beside her head; his other hovered near her waist, respectful, steady, warm.
The kiss was soft and certain.
Like he was grounding her.
Like he was grounding himself.
She kissed him back, casts hanging uselessly, heart racing as she'd sprinted upstairs.
When they parted, their foreheads touched.
"I'm not good at this," she said, a little breathless. "Any of it."
"I know," he said. "Me neither."
"You're worse than me," she added.
"Probably," he agreed.
She huffed out a laugh against his mouth.
Outside, footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.
Miss Hall's voice drifted closer.
"Kids? You lost in there?"
They pulled apart so fast the shelf rattled.
"We're good!" Kendra yelled, voice cracking.
"Box is safely delivered!" Dominic added.
"Perfect!" Miss Hall called. "Don't marry the copier; it's unreliable."
Kendra groaned quietly.
"Why is she like this?" she whispered.
"Because she's right," he murmured.
She shoved his shoulder lightly with her cast. "Shut up."
He smiled.
Kendra – Countdown
They walked back to the office side by side.
Miss Hall gave them each a quick hug—brief, one-armed, careful of casts and reputations.
"I'm proud of you," she said. "Both of you. Try not to end up back here for detention, okay?"
"No promises," Kendra said automatically.
"I'll keep her out of trouble," Dominic said at the same time.
Miss Hall laughed. "That I want to see," she said.
They left the office and stepped into the late-afternoon light.
The halls were mostly empty now.
Their footsteps echoed.
"This feels weird," Kendra said.
"What does?" he asked.
"Leaving," she said. "On time. Together. Without paperwork attached."
He bumped her lightly with his shoulder. "Scared you might miss me or something?" he teased.
"In your dreams," she said.
They walked in silence for a moment.
At the doors, she paused.
"Seven days," she said quietly.
He didn't ask what she meant.
"I'll be there," he said.
"At the doctor?" she scoffed. "Are you planning on holding my hand during the X-ray?"
"Maybe," he said. "If you want."
She looked at him.
At the boy who had tripped her.
At the boy who had caught her.
The boy who kissed her in the file room and helped her out of bathtubs and carried her bag without making a show of it.
The boy who made promises carefully now.
"Okay," she said, surprising herself. "Yeah. Be there."
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Don't make me repeat it," she grumbled.
He opened the door for her.
She stepped through.
As they walked down the front steps side by side, the numbers in her head shifted.
Seven days until the doctor.
An unknown number of days until the cast came off.
An unknown number of days until whatever this was between them either strengthened—
Or cracked.
But for the first time since she'd hit the ground, the countdown didn't feel like marching toward an end.
It felt like standing on the edge of something.
Not a fall this time.
A jump.
And even though she would never say it out loud—
If she had to jump?
She was weirdly, annoyingly, dangerously glad that Dominic Garrison was the one walking beside her when she took that step.