Episode 2: Getting Closer
Coco told herself she wouldn't look for him.
She repeated it like a mantra as she walked into the building that morning, coffee clutched tightly in her hand, shoulders squared, expression neutral. She told herself she wouldn't scan the room, wouldn't notice whether his chair was occupied, wouldn't feel that strange tightening in her chest she'd felt far too many times yesterday.
And yet—there he was.
Brian was already seated, one leg crossed over the other, sleeves rolled up just enough to be distracting. He was scrolling through something on his phone, looking entirely too relaxed for someone Coco had mentally labeled a problem less than twenty-four hours ago.
She looked away immediately.
Get it together, she scolded herself. He's just a person. An annoying one.
"Morning, Coco."
She froze.
Slowly, she turned her head. Brian was looking directly at her now, phone abandoned on the desk, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't cocky—not entirely. It was softer than that. Curious.
"Good morning," she replied, clipped and polite.
He tilted his head. "You sound like you're about to bite me."
"Only if you give me a reason."
Brian laughed quietly, standing and pulling out the chair beside hers without asking. "I'll behave. Promise."
She didn't believe him for a second.
---
The Problem with Proximity
The issue, Coco quickly realized, wasn't Brian himself.
It was proximity.
Being near him made her hyperaware of everything—his movements, his voice, the way he leaned in when he spoke like he was inviting her into a secret. It was distracting in the worst possible way.
Their professor wasted no time reminding them of the stakes.
"This presentation," he said, pacing slowly in front of the room, "is not just about content. It's about collaboration. I want to see chemistry. Balance. Mutual understanding."
Coco almost laughed. Chemistry? With him?
Brian leaned closer and whispered, "We're doomed."
She shot him a look. "Speak for yourself."
"Relax," he murmured. "I'm good under pressure."
"That's what worries me."
He grinned.
---
Working Together (Unfortunately Well)
They claimed a corner table in the library later that afternoon, laptops open, notebooks scattered between them. Coco came prepared—she always did. Color-coded notes. Clear structure. A vision.
Brian noticed immediately.
"You're intense," he said, not unkindly.
"You're distracting," she shot back. "Focus."
He raised both hands in surrender. "Alright. Lead the way."
That threw her off more than his teasing ever could.
"Excuse me?"
"You clearly know what you're doing," he said, eyes flicking over her notes. "I'm not here to bulldoze your system. Tell me what you need."
Coco hesitated. She hadn't expected cooperation. Or respect.
She cleared her throat. "We start with the framework. Then we divide the sections."
Brian nodded. "I'll take the comparative analysis. You handle the narrative flow."
"You don't even know what I—"
"I do," he interrupted gently. "You care about how things sound. How ideas land. It matters to you."
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard.
"How do you know that?" she asked quietly.
He shrugged. "The way you choose your words. The way you correct people—not to be right, but to be precise."
That hit too close.
She looked at him then—really looked—and for a moment, the teasing façade dropped. He looked sincere. Thoughtful.
Dangerous, she thought.
---
Words Matter
Hours passed faster than Coco expected.
They debated ideas—heatedly—but it was different now. Not combative. Constructive. Brian challenged her assumptions without dismissing them. She sharpened his arguments without belittling him.
At one point, she caught herself smiling.
She immediately stopped.
"This section doesn't work," she said abruptly, pointing at his screen.
Brian leaned closer, shoulder brushing hers. "Tell me why."
She swallowed. "It lacks emotional weight."
He frowned thoughtfully. "It's data."
"Data still tells a story," she insisted. "Words always do."
He studied her for a long moment. "You believe that."
"I know that."
Something shifted in his expression—respect, maybe. Or understanding.
"Okay," he said. "Show me."
So she did.
And he listened.
---
Lunch, and Unexpected Honesty
They ended up at the campus café without ever agreeing to go together. It just… happened. Like gravity.
Brian ordered for both of them without asking. Coco opened her mouth to protest—then stopped when she saw what he chose.
"You remembered," she said quietly.
He shrugged. "You said yesterday you hate sugar."
She didn't know what to do with that.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the hum of conversation around them filling the space. Coco hated how easy it felt. How natural.
"So," Brian said eventually, "why are you always so guarded?"
Her heart skipped.
"I'm not," she replied too quickly.
He raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Fair enough. Let me rephrase. Why do you choose your words like they might explode if you don't?"
She stared at her coffee.
"Because they can," she said softly.
He waited.
She didn't usually talk about this. Didn't usually explain herself. But something about the way he listened—really listened—made it hard not to.
"I grew up in a house where words were weapons," she said. "You learned quickly which ones to avoid. Which ones to keep to yourself."
Brian's expression softened.
"That explains a lot," he murmured.
"And you?" she asked. "Why hide behind jokes?"
He smiled faintly. "Because people don't look too closely when you're entertaining."
That silence that followed was heavier. More intimate.
Too intimate.
Coco stood abruptly. "We should get back."
Brian nodded, but his eyes lingered on her as she walked away.
---
Almost Crossing the Line
Back in the library, the air between them felt charged.
Their hands brushed reaching for the same notebook.
"Sorry," Brian said automatically.
"It's fine," Coco replied, but neither of them moved.
Her heart pounded. She could feel his warmth. Smell his cologne—something clean, understated.
For one dangerous second, she thought he might lean in.
He didn't.
Instead, he pulled back, jaw tightening slightly, like he was exercising restraint.
"Coco," he said quietly, "you should know… I'm not trying to get under your skin."
She met his gaze. "That's funny. Because you already are."
Something unreadable flashed across his face.
---
Cracks in the Armor
Later that night, Coco lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
She replayed every conversation. Every look. Every word.
This is stupid, she told herself. He's just a project partner.
But the lie tasted bitter.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
You left your notebook.
Her heart dropped.
Coco:
What notebook?
Brian:
The one with the folded page. The one you pretend isn't important.
Her breath caught.
Coco:
Don't read it.
Brian:
I didn't. I promise.
A pause.
Brian:
But someday, I hope you let me.
She stared at the screen, chest tight.
Coco:
You don't even like me.
Brian:
I never said that.
---
The Cliffhanger
The next morning, Coco found an envelope on her desk.
Inside was her notebook.
And a single line, written carefully in neat handwriting:
Some words are worth waiting for.
Her hands trembled.
For the first time, Coco wondered if the enemy she'd been so determined to fight… might be the person who understood her best.
And that thought terrified her.