Page 59 of Starstruck

but yes, i’m free.

meet me at 9:00am at the entrance to washington square park?

9:00am? on a saturday?

you know what? maybe I can just buy a stick and ward away any unwanted female attention with that. consider yourself excused from fake girlfriend duties. t'ra.

you’ll also ward away every other person too, you lunatic.

sounds peaceful.

oh please, i catch you smiling all the time when your around us all.

stalker.

see you tomorrow at 12:00pm

9:30am

1:00pm

that's not how this works.

4:00pm next friday

tristan

3:00pm on sunday.

well now you’re just bargaining with yourself.

i’m sending you a link to where to buy sticks because maybe you are a lunatic.

i’myou’relunatic, babe

goodnight, weirdo

see you tomorrow at 9 <3

.

chapter eighteen

he's just like the rest of them

“Is here okay?” Tristan asks, his voice a murmur against the lowrumble of thunder rolling in over the city.

“Here’s fine.” I nod, looking around at the small patch of grass we’dclaimed amidst the growing morning crowds in Washington Square Park.

Despite the distant whispers of conversations and the approachingstorm, everything felt strangely peaceful—like the air was holding its breath, waiting. I couldn’t explain it really, but as Tristan spread out the blanket, his movements deliberate, my thoughts wandered. He smoothed it out, leaning over just enough for the faint outline of muscle to show beneath his sweater, distracting me for a moment longer than I’d like to admit.

He let out a quiet groan as he settled in, the sound sending a flicker of something through me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, shaking it off, before pulling my backpack off my shoulder. I focused on the task at hand, fishing out my laptop, trying to steady my mind while the air remained charged with something I still couldn’t name.

“Okay, what did you want to start with? Or should I just tell you what I suck at and then we can go from there?” I ask as I lift the screen, but as my eyes fall onto him, that mopey look he’s had stuck to his face all morning is still stuck there.

I let the lid fall closed and blew out a breath, shifting on my crossed legs, my white skirtbunching awkwardly under my shoes. “What’s the matter?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but the weight of his gaze pulls at me. When his eyes meet mine, the warmth that usually swam within them frozen over. He looks... hollow, as though the world had just collapsed around him.

My breath catches, a sudden rush of dread rising. “Has someone...died?”

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