Outside, the wind had picked up, brushing through the quiet university grounds with long, ghostly fingers. Rachel paused, one gloved hand on her hip as she looked Luna over from behind her jeweled mask.
"It's late," she murmured, voice calm, smooth, unreadable. "I'll drive you."
Luna blinked, startled. "Oh—uh, no, I mean, I can catch the bus—"
"Nonsense." She was already walking toward the staff parking lot, heels clicking like a metronome against the pavement. "Come along."
So he did.
The car, sleek and black like a panther asleep in moonlight, smelled of rosewood and new leather. Rachel slid in with practiced elegance, and Luna—stiff as a board—buckled in beside her, his hands clammy against the seatbelt.
He sank into the plush passenger seat as if the guilt were a physical weight pressing him down. He couldn't meet her eyes. Couldn't look at her gloved hands on the wheel. Couldn't breathe without wondering if she could smell the wrong on him.
Rachel drove in silence, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between them. Luna's thoughts chewed themselves raw.
I'm disgusting. She's so kind. She's so—
The car rolled to a stop at the dorm's lot, the soft brake-click the last mercy of their quiet bubble.
Rachel turned her head slightly, just enough to speak. "Here we are."
Luna unbuckled with shaky fingers, opened the door—and stopped.
It hit him like a brick to the chest. The lies, the sweat, the way his knees had pressed into her canvas.
"I—" he blurted, his voice cracking like an egg dropped on tile. "We did something."
Rachel tilted her head, slow and elegant. "We?"
"Ryan and me," Luna said in a rush. "In your art room. While you were gone. I just— I'm sorry. I couldn't lie to you."
For a heartbeat, she said nothing.
Then came a laugh—not cruel, not cold, but airy, like the chiming of glass beads on a breeze.
"Oh, Luna," she said, adjusting the strap of her mask. "You're sweet."
He blinked. "You're not mad?"
She shook her head gently, amusement warming the edges of her voice. "I heard… something, when I came back. I wasn't sure if it was rats or romance, but I decided to take a walk around the block just in case."
"You heard us?"
"Mmm." Her eyes glittered behind the veil. "I thought you deserved privacy."
Luna, stunned, sat back down in the seat like he'd just been granted a royal pardon. "But your painting—"
Rachel gave a slow shrug. "Art suffers. It lives. It dies. You can't make passion without spilling something."
Then, after a pause, she added, voice lower now: "You two should be careful though. Secrets stain much worse than paint."
And with that, she gestured toward the dorm doors. "Off you go, lovely."
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