Chapter 7: Color, Chaos, and City Lights
The morning sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished wood floors of Jace's kitchen. I stood barefoot at the island, sipping orange juice out of a glass that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
Jace appeared in the doorway with a smirk and two duffle bags over his shoulder.
"Busy day planned," he said.
"Doing what?"
He tossed one of the bags on the counter. When I unzipped it, I found spray paint cans—reds, blues, silvers, matte blacks, and a few fluorescent ones that looked like they belonged in a graffiti war.
I looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "We tagging the school?"
"Garage wall," he said. "Blank space. No rules."
The garage was massive, clean, and practically begging to be ruined. One whole back wall stood bare—pristine white, untouched. A blank canvas the size of a small billboard.
He handed me a silver can. "Go wild."
"I don't usually paint this big."
"No one's judging," he said. "It's just us."
I shook the can and sprayed a small silver star in the corner. Then another. Slowly, I let my hand wander. Patterns emerged. A sky. My sky.
Jace worked beside me, outlining the sharp profile of a wolf. His lines were confident, instinctive. Focused.
And then—I felt it. A cold flick of paint on my arm.
I turned slowly.
He was watching me with the most innocent expression. A streak of blue on the tip of his finger.
"You didn't," I said.
"Accidents happen," he replied, completely unconvincing.
I dipped my fingers in red and swiped a line across his cheek.
That was it. The war began.
He flicked green onto my shirt. I splattered gold across his chest. He lunged forward, catching my wrist in one hand and brushing a wet streak of purple across my stomach.
"Jace!" I yelped.
"Art is pain," he grinned.
"You are dead."
We chased each other in circles, tripping over old paint cans and laughing like we were twelve. My face hurt from smiling. My arms were covered in color. He looked ridiculous, and still somehow… beautiful.
At one point, he caught me.
I spun into him. He held my wrist gently. Our chests rose and fell in sync. His eyes locked onto mine.
Paint-streaked. Breathless. Closer than we'd ever been.
He didn't kiss me.
But he didn't look away.
After we washed up and changed—him in black, me in soft grey—we slipped out into the city just before dusk. Jace said he knew a place.
We skipped the malls and bright commercial streets. Instead, we wandered through quieter corners—places with ivy on the walls and music in the air. The kind of places where people smiled with their eyes and artists sketched strangers on paper napkins.
A bookstore caught my eye. It smelled like old paper and tea leaves. I drifted toward the poetry shelf and opened a book with a worn spine.
"The stars didn't mean to watch us fall in love. But they did."
I didn't say it aloud.
But I felt it settle in my chest like an echo.
We passed an outdoor fair. There were lights strung like constellations above the booths and laughter everywhere. Jace bought us bubble tea—peach for me, black sugar for him—and we drifted toward a quieter alley where music played through hidden speakers.
An art exhibit spilled into the space—paintings, sculptures, words carved into wood. One canvas just said:
STAY.
Jace stared at it for a long time. Then, like he'd made a decision, he turned to me.
"One more stop."
It was a small booth tucked at the end of the fair, run by a woman with silver rings and soft, smiling eyes. Her display sparkled with pendants—glass, stone, delicate chains.
One necklace caught my eye. A tiny silver crescent moon with a little star hanging beside it.
"It's beautiful," I murmured.
Before I could move, Jace spoke.
"I'll take it," he said.
I whirled. "Jace, no—you don't have to—"
"Too late," he said, already handing over his card.
When the woman handed him the box, he stepped close. Too close.
"Turn around," he said gently.
I hesitated, then did.
His fingers brushed the back of my neck as he clasped the necklace in place. My breath caught. The cool silver kissed my skin.
When I turned back around, he was still looking at me. Not smiling. Not smirking.
Just looking.
"Why this one?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
"Because it reminded me of you," he said. "Quiet. Bright. Kind of impossible to look away from."
I didn't know how to answer.
So I said nothing.
But I knew.
Somehow, I already knew.