Brandon sipped his coffee like he hadn't nearly caved someone's face in just a few nights ago.
He sat in the back corner of the Deadfast Club room, near the window, half-shielded by sunlight bleeding through faded blinds. His bruised knuckles—still sore beneath the bandages—rested against the table, and Ashes' fur clung stubbornly to his hoodie.
Across from him, Liv hovered like guilt in a pink jacket.
"Hey, Brandon," she said softly, clutching a thermos like a peace offering. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
He didn't look up right away. Just stared into his cup for an extra beat before glancing up with that quiet, unreadable expression he wore like armor.
"Sure."
Liv sat down awkwardly across from him. The rest of the club hadn't trickled in yet. Just Kym fiddling with the coffee maker and Manny poking through the vending machine like it might cough up something new if he stared hard enough.
"I, uh…" Liv bit her bottom lip. "I'm really sorry. For reporting you."
Brandon arched an eyebrow. Not cold, not angry—just blank.
"I really thought…" she trailed off. "You know. With your hands all bruised and Beth showing up looking like that. It was a dumb assumption. I should've asked first."
Brandon nodded once. "You thought you were helping. I get it."
Liv blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
He leaned back. "You're not the first person to jump to conclusions about me. You probably won't be the last."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Still. I didn't think you'd take it this well."
"I didn't take it well," he said casually, "I just got over it fast."
That earned him a nervous chuckle. "Right. Okay. Well… thanks. For not hating me."
Brandon shrugged. "You're not important enough for me to hate."
Liv made a face at that. "Rude."
He smirked. A small, fleeting thing—but it was there.
The others shuffled in minutes later, filling the air with that chaotic brand of energy only they could conjure. Kym carried two cups of coffee and passed one to Manny, who was recounting some wild rumor he'd heard from a freshman. Amir trailed behind them with headphones in, nodding absently to a beat no one else could hear.
Beth showed up last, hood down, bruises fading but still visible enough to remind anyone looking that something had happened.
The room quieted for a beat when she entered.
Then Deion—still pretending not to be Marcus—let out a low whistle. "Damn, Beth. You fight a bear?"
Beth smiled without humor. "Something like that."
Brandon said nothing, eyes on his phone, though he could feel all their gazes ping-ponging between them like a dumb game of Clue. Bruised boy. Bruised girl. Unspoken silence.
Eventually, someone would crack.
It was Kym who said what they were all thinking. "Okay, seriously, what's going on with you two?"
Brandon didn't look up.
Beth, however, practically lit up.
"What?" she asked innocently.
"You and Brandon," Kym said. "You've been…
weird. Weirder than usual."
"Hot weird," Manny added.
Liv gave him a sharp elbow.
Beth tilted her head, eyes glinting with that playful, dangerous edge she wore like lipstick.
"You guys caught us."
Brandon slowly turned to look at her. What?
Beth gave him a sugary-sweet smile and laced her fingers together on the table like a student giving a fake book report.
"We're dating now."
The silence was palpable. A collective blinking. Deion actually choked on his soda.
"WHAT?" Kym barked.
Beth shrugged. "I mean, we've been spending time together. He did save my life."
Brandon blinked once. Twice. Then stared at the far wall like it could explain how exactly he'd ended up in this timeline.
Manny leaned forward. "Wait, wait—hold up. Are you serious?"
Beth leaned into it. "Oh yeah. We're very serious. He brought me soup."
Liv was speechless, which was a first. Amir pulled out a single earbud and muttered, "I give it two weeks," before putting it back in.
Brandon sighed through his nose.
Beth turned to him, still smiling. "Right, babe?"
He didn't respond. Just stared at her, the corner of his lip twitching like he was debating whether to laugh or throw her out the window.
She winked.
Brandon turned back to his coffee and muttered just loud enough for her to hear:
"I should've let you die that night."
Beth grinned. "Too late. Now we're trauma bonded."
The rest of the club launched into a dozen overlapping conversations and questions, trying to make sense of this weird new dynamic. Who confessed? Were there dates?
Had they kissed?
Brandon ignored it all.
Because even if Beth had said it as a joke—some dark, flirty twist of the knife to keep them off her scent—it wasn't technically a lie.
They were something now.
Not a couple. Not friends.
But bonded. Sharpened against each other.
Watching. Testing.
Two killers playing nice in a room full of clueless classmates.
He risked a glance at her.
Beth had leaned back, legs crossed, arms folded, smug as hell. When she caught him watching, she smiled again—small this time, not teasing.
Appraising.
Careful, it said. We're not done yet.
Brandon looked away and rubbed his still-healing knuckles under the table, listening to the room dissolve into gossip and theories.
Maybe he should've let her die.
But now?
Now he wasn't sure he wanted to.