By the time the last bell rang, Max felt worn out.
Not physically — classes weren't exhausting.
Just the noise.
The stares.
The quiet that wasn't quiet.
Someone had whispered in 2-B that morning:
"Reina called him out the other day."
Someone else followed with:
"No way. Isn't her boyfriend in the council?"
And from the back row —
"Holloway's asking to die."
Max ignored it all, but ignoring didn't make it disappear. It just built pressure in his chest, tight and slow.
When the hallway emptied, he packed his bag and slipped out before David or Priya could start another round of commentary. He didn't head to the dorms. His feet, apparently with a contract of their own, turned down the west wing — toward the committee room.
He wasn't sure when this became routine.
The corridor was quiet, sun dripping through tall windows in long, orange strips. He could hear faint music from inside the room — something upbeat, muffled by cardboard and fabric.
He pushed the door open.
Reina was there alone.
Not the composed, manicured Reina from class hallways.
Not the bright committee leader with her clipboard armor.
Just… Reina.
She was kneeling on the floor, hair falling out of its ribbon, sleeves rolled to her elbows as she tried to wrestle a huge sheet of thick poster paper into a frame.
Her cardigan had slipped off one shoulder; she shoved it back up without looking.
When she noticed him, she didn't smirk first.
She didn't tease.
She blinked — surprised.
Then the smile came.
"You're early," she said. "Or I'm late. I can't tell."
"You said you'd be here."
"And you actually listened," she said, pretending to gasp. "Who know?"
He didn't bother responding. Instead, he took the poster from her hands. It was heavier than it looked.
"What is this?" he asked.
"An installation piece for the Cultural Exhibition. The art club wants a giant tapestry display, but the frame kept falling on them. You're stronger than you look, so congratulations — you're now my structural support."
He lifted it more easily than she expected, because her eyebrows rose.
"Show-off," she muttered under her breath.
She moved around him, checking the corners, tugging threads into place. Her hair brushed his arm once, light enough to be accidental, but she didn't apologize.
"You okay?" he asked suddenly.
She paused. "Why?"
"You seem… off."
Reina froze for half a second. Just half — but he caught it.
Then she exhaled through her nose, sitting back on her heels.
"I didn't sleep much," she admitted. "The council kept sending last-minute revisions. The exhibition is turning into a monster."
"That it?"
She looked up. Her eyes were sharper than her voice.
"You're direct," she said.
"You didn't answer."
A tiny smile tugged her lips — tired, not flirty this time. "Smart boy. No. That's not all."
He waited.
She frowned, tapping her nails against her knee.
"You ever feel like people expect you to be something you're not allowed to mess up?" she asked quietly.
"Like if you slip once, they'll decide the whole version of you they built was wrong?"
"…Sometimes."
She let out a soft laugh. "Figures. You have 'pressure cooker' written all over you."
He didn't reply.
She reached up and brushed hair from her face, taking a long breath before standing. When she moved to lift the other side of the frame, she stumbled — maybe from exhaustion, maybe from stepping on the ribbon she'd dropped earlier.
Max caught her by reflex.
One hand around her wrist.
The other on her waist.
Soft fabric.
Warm skin beneath it.
Reina froze.
The air between them tightened, stretched thin. Her breath stilled; the ribbon slipped from her fingers and hit the floor softly.
Her face was close enough that he could see a faint mole under her left eye he hadn't noticed before. Her lashes lowered slightly — not flirtation, not embarrassment.
Something else.
Something she wasn't used to feeling.
Max realized, too late, that he was still holding her.
He let go instantly.
"Sorry."
"You—" She cleared her throat, eyes darting away for a second before she forced them back to him.
"You have fast reflexes."
"You nearly fell."
"I wasn't going to die."
"I didn't say you were."
A beat.
Then she spoke lower, unsteady in a way he'd never heard:
"Max."
He looked at her fully then — a mistake, because it only made the moment heavier.
"This morning," she said, "I heard what people were saying. About… you and me."
He waited.
She swallowed. "I'm used to rumors. But this? You being pulled into my mess? I didn't want that."
"It's not your fault."
She huffed a tiny, humorless laugh. "No. It is. I pulled you out of class. I dragged you into all this committee nonsense. I set the spotlight on you without asking."
"You needed help."
"I don't need help," she said — too quickly, too defensively.
He raised a brow.
"…Okay. Maybe sometimes I do." She looked away. "But not like that. Not like… that fall-back-into-your-arms drama queen moment."
"It wasn't drama," Max said quietly.
She looked at him again.
"It looked real."
The silence between them brimmed with something unspoken — not romantic, not sweet. Something raw. Something that made Reina almost step forward again before she caught herself.
She opened her mouth, maybe to say something important—
The door slid open.
Ryo stood there.
Not storming in.
Not yelling.
Just standing.
And that was worse.
His eyes took in the scene—the frame on the floor, Reina too close to Max, the leftover tension in the air.
He didn't react outwardly.
But Max felt something shift, tiny but unmistakable, beneath the polite exterior.
"Reina," Ryo said calmly. "You didn't text me you were staying this late."
She straightened quickly. "I forgot. We were— working on the frame."
Ryo's eyes flicked to Max.
"Was he helping you again?"
"Yes," she answered, a little too fast. "He's been a huge help."
Ryo stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Well," he said, tone even,
"I wouldn't want to interrupt."
The words sounded polite.
They weren't.
Reina seemed to notice, because she laughed — soft, nervous.
"Ryo, stop. Nothing weird is going on."
"I didn't say anything weird was going on."
Max stiffened.
Ryo stepped closer to Max, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.
"You're… very involved these days," he said quietly.
"Committee work. Helping Reina. Staying late."
Max didn't flinch. "Someone needed to hold the frame."
Ryo smiled — a sharp, thin smile.
"I see."
Reina stepped between them quickly, pushing Ryo back a little with her hand on his chest.
"Ryo, enough. We're done for today. Let's go."
Ryo didn't look away from Max for several seconds.
Then he nodded, turning toward the door.
Reina hesitated, giving Max one last look — something apologetic, conflicted, maybe even afraid of what she felt.
"See you later, Holloway," she said softly.
They left together.
The room felt colder once they were gone.
Max stayed behind a moment longer, staring at the half-assembled display.
His palm tingled where he'd caught her.
His jaw felt tight from Ryo's stare.
He finally grabbed his bag, stepping into the hallway.
The building was quiet now, lights dimmed to twilight.
He exhaled.
Just one day, he thought.
One normal day.
But even as he walked, Max knew—
Whatever tension sparked in that room…
It wasn't disappearing.
It was counting down.