The sky had that soft golden hue that always made Elena a little nostalgic, even if she couldn't quite say for what. It spilled over the edges of campus buildings, stretched wide across the trees, and made the streetlights blink on too early, like the night was just eager to begin.
She was already waiting outside by the time the black BMW pulled up.
Polished. Clean. Perfect, like always.
Just like him.
But there was something comforting in that consistency—like showing up mattered to him.
That she mattered.
Alexander stepped out of the driver's side, hoodie tugged over his head, hair still slightly damp from whatever post-garage rinse he gave himself. He looked up and gave her that smile—not wide, not practiced. Just his.
"Hey," he said, pulling open the passenger door for her.
"Hey yourself," she replied, sliding in.
The interior smelled faintly of leather, something citrusy, and—him.
She tried not to think about how she noticed that.
The drive was easy.
Not much talking, but not tense.
He had a playlist going—lo-fi, soft, familiar—and every once in a while she'd glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear selector, fingers tapping against his thigh in rhythm to the music.
When they pulled up to the drive-in lot, the sun was halfway down the horizon, streaking everything in dusky orange.
Rows of cars were already parked, most with their lights off, couples curled up under blankets in truck beds or lounging inside with open doors and pizza boxes.
He found them a spot near the back corner—semi-private, just far enough from the concession stand.
"I can get the snacks," she offered, halfway out the door.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I already grabbed some on the way—kept it basic. Popcorn, soda, gummy worms. Civilized movie fare."
She grinned. "Very thoughtful of you."
"You think I was gonna mess this up after the car spent two hours in the spa?"
She laughed, easing back into the seat as he passed her a still-warm paper bag. "God forbid she feel neglected."
The movie was something light. A re-run of a late-2000s rom-com she barely remembered seeing when she was younger. Something about mistaken identities and love letters gone wrong.
It was cheesy in all the right places.
Heartfelt in the few that counted.
But more than the movie—what she felt most was him.
His presence next to her. The way his fingers barely grazed hers in the popcorn bag. The way his shoulder was just close enough to notice. The way he laughed—not often, but when he did, it was real.
And every now and then, he'd glance her way, like checking that she was still enjoying herself.
Like her joy mattered.
And that was something.
That was everything.
By the time the credits rolled, and the night was fully blanketed in stars, neither of them moved to break the silence.
Elena rested her head lightly against the window, watching the glow of other car lights starting to fade as people pulled away.
Alexander just sat there a second longer before starting the engine, letting the low hum of it fill the cabin.
They didn't talk much on the ride back.
Not because there was nothing to say—
But because the quiet between them wasn't awkward anymore.
It was comfortable.
Lived in.
Earned.
When he pulled up outside her dorm, the dashboard clock read 10:54 PM.
She turned to him, half in shadow, half lit by the soft blue of the car's interior.
"Thanks for tonight," she said.
He nodded, hands still on the wheel. "Yeah. It was… good."
She hesitated.
Then leaned slightly forward.
"There's, uh… just one last thing."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
She reached out—gently—and brushed her fingers along his cheekbone, just beneath his eye.
"There was a popcorn kernel," she said, voice lower now. Softer.
He blinked. "There was?"
She smiled.
"No," she admitted.
And before he could say anything else—
She leaned in.
Pressed a light, warm kiss to the side of his face.
Near the scar on his eyebrow.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just… sincere.
Real.
And when she pulled back, she didn't look away.
She held his gaze for a second longer.
Long enough for him to feel the shape of her affection settling into something undeniable.
"Goodnight, Alexander," she said.
Then she opened the door, stepped out, and disappeared into the dorm stairwell before he could think of anything to say back.
And in the car, still staring at the empty seat where she'd just been—
Alexander smiled.
Just barely.
But it was enough.