ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

11. 𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙔

011, 𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙔

.⋆𐙚 🍒

I USED TO REHEARSE CONVERSATIONS IN MY HEAD BEFORE I HAD THEM.

I still do, occasionally—though now it feels more like muscle memory than a bad habit. A leftover reflex.

What to say.

When to laugh.

Where to look so people think you're listening—just enough, but never too much.

How to take up space in the most forgettable way possible: visible enough to avoid concern, invisible enough to avoid scrutiny.

Once, I thought if I composed myself carefully enough, I'd never be out of place—like a song that never hit a wrong note. A symphony of predictability. But somewhere between verse and chorus, the harmony fractured. My rhythms scattered. My tempo faltered.

And now I'm playing by ear, unsure if I'm composing something new... or simply unraveling, one offbeat at a time.

I noticed it first last night—sitting in that empty parking lot with Eren, long before the others showed up. Street lamps flickered overhead like they couldn't decide whether to stay or go. The hum of the night stretched thin around us, blanketing the car in something quiet and golden and strangely safe.

There was no music. No curated playlist to fill the silences. No performance.

Just two strangers tied to one another because of a mistake.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn't feel the need to rehearse. I didn't second-guess what I was saying as I said it. I didn't reach for the version of myself that knew how to be liked, or palatable, or forgettable.

I spoke.

And he listened.

Not with that hollow kind of nod people give when they're waiting for their turn to talk. But fully. Attentively. As if every word I said meant something. Like I meant something.

And it was so absurdly easy. Easy in a way that made me suspicious at first. Easy in the way that made me forget I was supposed to be performing.

Not the polished version of myself, not the sarcastic detachment or the carefully balanced aloofness— but the real thing. The raw, unfinished version of me who still hadn't figured out where all her pieces were supposed to go. The one who laughed too hard at her own jokes and still couldn't always look people in the eye when she was being honest.

What happens when someone sees you like that— unfinished and raw— and doesn't look away?

What if they lean in?
What if they stay?

I'm not used to it. I'm used to holding my breath and preparing for the collapse. To dodging falling beams and pretending I didn't want anyone to build something safe around me in the first place.

But now, with Eren I could feel something unfamiliar forming between us.

Something that feels like the beginning of a song I've never heard, but somehow already know the words to.

The Grill was loud.

Conversations layered over the clinking of glasses, laughter bouncing off the cracked vinyl booths, the low thumb of bass from some old speaker tucked behind the bar. It was barely five, but the place was already packed, a haze of heat and chatter rising from like steam from the floorboards. Students pressed into tables, crowded in corners, slouched on barstools with half-finished essays opened up on their laptops and half committed shots lined up beside them like a reward— or maybe punishment.