T H E O G R A Y

I NEED TO GET STEADY.

My fingers tremble slightly as I place the acid-filled pipette over the beaker, the clear liquid forming a delicate drop at the tip. One wrong move, and I'd screw up this entire experiment.

Focus.

But my mind refuses. It keeps drifting back to this morning. Back to the faint, unexpected scent of vanilla that still lingered in my senses.

Sophie.

Even now, the thought of it sends a weird, unsettling jolt through me. I don't know why I noticed it-why it stuck. Maybe because it was the first thing I registered when I woke up, and for once, I didn't wake up before the sun.

That never happens.

Even when I've been wasted-so drunk I could barely function-I've always snapped awake before sunrise, my body refusing to let me slip too far under. But today was different.

And then Sophie had to open her mouth.

"Because you wanted to stay there."

The memory of her words claws through me, making my grip tighten around the pipette. I must have been stupid drunk. That's the only explanation.

Because there's no damn way-

I swallow hard, forcing myself to exhale slowly. It doesn't matter. I was hammered. She probably just said that to mess with me.

But what choice did I have last night?

Yesterday had been fucked up.

Mum's sudden mood shift. Her words-sharp, cutting, like she wanted to tear something apart just to see what was inside. And Dad, watching it all unfold with that same detached amusement, like he was nothing more than a spectator.

Like he was waiting.

Like he was enjoying it.

And when it finally tipped over, when Mum completely lost it, he'd just sat back, ready to call the police on the woman he once claimed to love.

I shouldn't care. It's not new. It's just another chapter in their twisted history.

But for some reason, it hit differently last night. Maybe because I had let myself believe-for a split second-that things weren't going to go this way.

Maybe that's why I drank until I couldn't think.

Maybe that's why I let Sophie-

No.

I clench my jaw, trying to shove it all back down, but it's too late. The moment is already burned into me, no matter how much I want to pretend it didn't happen.

And now? Now I have to sit here, pretend like none of it matters, and somehow finish this goddamn experiment without making a mess.

Steady, Theo.

But even as I tell myself that, my hands are still shaking.

A hand suddenly snatches the pipette from my grip before I even register what's happening.

I blink, snapping out of my thoughts as I look up to see one of my group members staring at me with barely concealed irritation. The rest of them aren't any better-watching me like I've lost my mind, like they're trying to decide if it's even worth asking what the hell is wrong with me.

I don't blame them. I've been zoning out for God knows how long.

I don't bother taking the pipette back. There's no point. Instead, I lean back in my seat, letting them do the work while I pick up my pen and start writing down observations. At least this way, I'm contributing something.

I need to.

Because if I keep slacking, my GPA is going to drop, and I can't afford that. It's already hanging on a 3.5-barely keeping me in the clear. If it dips any lower, I'm screwed.

Hockey is the only thing keeping me sane, and the deal I made with Coach is simple: keep my grades up, and I stay on the team.

Most of the guys in the locker room don't have to deal with this shit. They're majoring in Political Science or Mass Communication-something easier, something that doesn't require endless labs and equations and trying to remember which compound will kill you if you mix it wrong.

But I chose Biochemistry.

Not because I liked it. Not because I had some grand plan for a future in medicine or research. No.

I did it to piss off my father.

I still remember the look on his face when I told him. That moment of barely controlled rage, the way his jaw tightened as if he was forcing himself not to say something he'd regret.

It was satisfying then. But now?

Now I'm drowning in this shit, and the only reason I'm keeping my head above water is that, thank fuck, I'm not an idiot.

I rub a hand down my face, forcing myself to focus on the numbers in front of me. One more hour. One more hour of this, and then I can get back to the only thing that makes sense-hockey.

But even as I try to concentrate, my mind betrays me.

Vanilla.

Sophie.

Her voice in my head.

"Because you wanted to stay there."

I grit my teeth.

I need to get my shit together.

I shouldn't be so annoyed with Sophie.

If anything, I should be annoyed with myself.

What the hell happened yesterday that made her actually listen to me? Made her stay so long that her scent mixed with mine, tangled together in a way that I still can't shake off? It's been hours, and I swear I can still smell vanilla every time I exhale. It's messing with my head.

"Theo?"

A voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I glance up to see a girl with brown hair and glasses staring at me expectantly.

"The numbers."

Right.

I slide the paper over without a word, and the group immediately starts copying what I wrote. Since no one's complaining, I must have gotten it right.

Good. At least I'm not completely useless today.

An hour passes, each minute stretching longer than it should, and the second the professor dismisses us, I'm already halfway out of my seat.

I need out.

The scent of chemicals-formaldehyde, acetone, whatever the hell else is lingering in the air-burns my nostrils, making my head pound. I'm used to it by now, but today, it's too much. It feels like my lungs are rejecting it, like my body wants nothing but clean air, open space-

I push the door open and step into the hallway, inhaling deep. I stretch my arms over my head, rolling my shoulders. Normally, a dull, annoying ache settles in my lower back-the same spot next to my waist that always acts up after a night of drinking. But today?

Nothing.

Weird.

As I walk down the hall, weaving through students, I notice something else. My head, which should be pounding after everything I drank last night, feels... okay. Not perfect, but better. Less like a hammer is chipping away at my skull.

And since Sophie didn't wake me up in the middle of the night...

No nightmares.

What the hell is going on?

I shake off the thought and step into my next class. The room isn't packed, so I head straight for the back, drop into a chair, and pull out my phone.

No new messages.

Except for Logan.

"Survive today? You drank like a fucking maniac last night."

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. Yeah, I know.

Other than that, my phone is silent. No texts from anyone else. And then it hits me-

I never dropped Sophie off at school today.

"Fuck."

I mutter the word under my breath and drop my head onto the desk, not caring if anyone hears.

Again. I do it again.

After everything, after apologizing, I still mess up. But in my defense, I freaked out. Waking up in a woman's bed and realizing it didn't lead to her being naked next to me? Yeah, that threw me for a loop.

What throws me off even more?

I feel calm. Rested.

And weirder than that-I want to sleep with her again.

Not in a sexual way. I just need to know if it's really her that makes me sleep so well. Maybe it's just the alcohol. Maybe it has nothing to do with Sophie at all.

But I have to be sure.

The real problem?

How the fuck am I supposed to tell her I want to try sleeping together again after the stunt I pulled this morning?

It would be easier if she was actually into me. If she melted when I flirted, if she laughed at my jokes, if she reacted the way other girls do. But no.

With Sophie, it's like I'm a mosquito buzzing in her ear. And she has a damn repellent against me.

I I tap my fingers against my phone, staring at the empty chat screen like I can will a reply into existence.

Nothing.

It's better if I talk to her about this first, right? Maybe get her in a good mood before asking something so fucking weird. "Hey, Sophie, I slept too well in your bed. Let's do it again, just for scientific purposes." Yeah. That wouldn't sound creepy at all.

I sigh and type out a message instead.

"Where are you?"

Sent.

Now I wait.

The classroom fills up, and soon the professor starts talking, but I barely hear a thing. My brain is stuck on one thing-waiting for that buzz, that tiny vibration in my palm that says she replied.

But it never comes.

Minutes drag into an hour, then another thirty minutes, and still-nothing.

Just as the class ends and people start packing up, my phone finally buzzes.

"Sorry, I was in class."

I exhale, replying quickly.

"It's cool. Where are you?"

Another pause. Then-

"About to get lunch."

Lunch.

Maybe... maybe I should buy her lunch first. Set the mood right, get her on my good side before I even bring this up.

Yeah. That sounds like a plan.

I stand up, shoving my books into my bag, and ask around until someone points me toward the photography department. It takes a little wandering, but eventually, I find it.

Through the glass window of a classroom, I spot Sophie.

She's standing near a table, camera in hand, brows furrowed in concentration. Looks like she's trying to take a picture of the damn table.

A smirk pulls at my lips.

I step inside, making my way over. And just because I'm me, I decide to mess with her a little.

I stop right in front of her, blocking her view.

"Hey."

Big mistake.

The second my voice registers, she jumps-camera still in her hands-and swings it forward, straight into my head.

Crack.

Everything spins.

Then-blackness.

Right before I hit the ground, I hear her gasp.

"Oh, shit."