It turns out the schedule mishap was not limited to Wednesday. In fact, the auditorium was double-booked all week. By day three, it still wasn't normal.

It wasn't worse, exactly. Just... persistently awkward in a way that made everything feel slightly off-balance, like a chair with one uneven leg.

Noah stood onstage, his Much Ado About Nothing script in hand, watching as the basketball team filtered into the auditorium again.

Same entrance. Same energy. Like they belonged there now or something. It's the same way they acted in the Wolf Den –what the students called the student lounge. All the athletes acted like they owned the place, but it was the basketball team's personal playground.

"They're early," Marcus muttered beside him.

"They're always early," Liv said, not looking up from her clipboard. She twirled a curl around her pen. "Unlike some people."

"I was on time," Marcus said. "I had to grab my hoodie from my locker, geesh."

"You were three minutes late."

"That's basically on time!" Marcus huffed.

"That's not how time works."

Noah tuned them out, eyes flicking—briefly, casually—toward the fake court.

Ethan was already there. Of course he was. Prompt like a captain should be.

He didn't joke around like the others when he walked in. Didn't take up space the same way. He just... moved into it, like he had a purpose and intended to follow through on it.

It was annoyingly noticeable. As was his extra-tight workout shirt and sweaty arms, Noah noticed.

"Places," Liv called. "We're running Act One transitions today. Quick changes, timing, no stopping unless something actually catches fire."

Marcus perked up. "Define 'actually.'"

"Marcus."

"Right. No fires. Tragic."

The first 15 minutes went... fine.

Noah hit his marks, ran his lines, stayed focused. The noise below was still there—the steady rhythm of practice—but he was starting to adjust, letting it fade into background instead of fighting it.

It almost worked.

Until it didn't.

"Yo, what is this?" One of the basketball players called, loud enough to carry.

Noah didn't look down.

Didn't react.

Rule number one: don't break character.

"It's called a play," Marcus shot back instantly, not missing a beat in his scene. "You should try watching one sometime. Discover a little culture."

A couple of the theater kids snickered.

"Real funny," the guy said. "Y'all just be yelling at each other for fun?"

"It's called acting," Marcus said. "You should try that too."

"Why?" Jordan cut in, dribbling lazily. "We've already got an audience. They're called fans."

That got a bigger laugh—from the team this time.

Noah felt it, sharp and immediate, like something pressing under his ribs.

"Eyes up, people!" Liv called calmly. "Keep going."

Noah forced himself back into the scene, pushing his voice just a little louder.

"And you think that makes it better?" he said, stepping forward. "You think pretending it doesn't matter somehow makes it disappear?"

Below the stage, someone mimicked dramatically, "You think it makes it better?"

More laughter. Noah's jaw tightened.

"Hey," Ethan's voice cut in, not loud, but it carried.

The laughter dipped slightly.

"Cut it out," he said. "And focus."

Jordan spun the ball once, then caught it. "We're just messing around."

"Yeah," Ethan said. "And it's messing with practice."

With varying levels of enthusiasm, the team quieted down. Not silent—but quieter. Noah blinked. That was... unexpected.

"Thank you, Captain Walker," Liv said, without looking up.

Ethan didn't respond; he just turned back to the drill.

They got through the rest of the scene without interruption (mostly). Noah stayed focused, but something had shifted.

Every time the ball hit the floor, every time sneakers squeaked, he found himself noticing patterns—movements, rhythms, the way certain players worked together. The way Ethan moved.

It wasn't just that Ethan was good. It was that he was aware—of space, of timing, of the people around him. He adjusted constantly, small shifts that kept everything flowing.

It reminded Noah—annoyingly—of choreography. And it was impressive.

"Focus," Liv said again.

Noah blinked rapidly, pretending not to hear Liv, and dragged his attention back to where it belonged.

They took a short break halfway through rehearsal.

Noah dropped into a seat at the edge of the stage, grabbing his stickered water bottle. He flipped through his script, sighing, and dragging a palm over his face. He scribbled little notes in the margins.

Marcus flopped down beside him. "So," he said, not even pretending to be subtle, "your boyfriend told his team to behave."

Noah choked slightly on his water. "He is not my—"

"I'm just saying," Marcus continued, undeterred. "That was very heroic. Very enemies-to-lovers coded."

"We are not—there is no—" Noah gestured vaguely. "Just stop talking."

Marcus grinned. "You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

"You're absolutely blushing."

"I am hydrated," Noah said, taking a swig of water again. "It's different."

"Sure."

Noah shoved him lightly. "Focus on your own dramatic life."

"Oh, I am," Marcus said. "And right now, it includes you having unresolved tension with a certain basketball player."

"There is no tension."

"Mm," Marcus said. "Agree to disagree."

On the court, Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, half-listening as Jordan talked.

"...I'm telling you, man, it's weird," Jordan was saying. "Like, why do they gotta be so loud about it?"

Ethan glanced toward the stage.

Noah was sitting on the edge, talking animatedly with Marcus, hands moving as he spoke. His expression was open, unguarded in a way Ethan hadn't seen when they were actually interacting.

"...you even listening?" Jordan said.

"Yeah," Ethan said automatically, snapping back to the moment.

Jordan followed his gaze, then smirked slightly. "What?"

"Nothing," Ethan said, looking down.

"Nothing?" Jordan echoed. "You've been looking over there all practice."

"I haven't."

"Dude," Jordan said, laughing. "You definitely have. You got a thing for the quirky blonde with the clipboard?"

Ethan looked away. "Just making sure they're not in the way."

"Right," Jordan said, clearly not buying it. "Because they're such a threat."

Ethan didn't respond.

Jordan bumped his shoulder lightly. "Relax, man. I'm just messing with you."

"Focus on practice," Ethan said.

Jordan held up his hands. "Yes, sir." But the smirk didn't go away.

"Back to places!" Liv called.

Noah stood, stretching his arms briefly before stepping back into position.

"Try not to fall in love mid-scene," Marcus murmured in his ear as he passed.

Noah elbowed him. "Try not to fall off the stage."

"Unlikely. I'm too graceful," Marcus said.

"You tripped over a chair yesterday."

"That chair came out of nowhere!" Marcus hissed.

"It's been there all week," Noah grinned.

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it. "Irrelevant."

The next run went smoother.

Not silent—the basketball team was still there, still moving—but the earlier edge had dulled. The mocking had faded into occasional comments, then into nothing at all.

At one point, Noah stepped into a particularly intense moment in the scene, voice low but sharp.

"You don't get to decide what matters to me," he said.

The words hung there.

And for a second, there was no sound from the court.

No dribbling. No sneakers. Nothing.

Noah didn't look down, but he felt it. Stillness. The stillness of a rapt audience.

By the end of rehearsal, Noah was exhausted, but in a good way. The kind that came from pushing through something difficult and actually making it work.

"Alright," Liv said. "That's a wrap. Good progress today. Everyone have a good weekend. And don't forget to submit your final sizes for costumes!"

"Finally," Marcus groaned. "I can feel my soul leaving my body."

"That's just your personality," Noah said.

"Rude."

"Accurate," Liv added.

They started packing up, the usual post-rehearsal chaos settling in. Stage crew was rearranging the lighting panel and set design was painting extra trees behind the curtain.

Noah slung his bag over his shoulder, then hesitated. He hopped down from the stage and walked towards the dribbling.

The distance between stage and fake court wasn't far, but it felt strange to be crossing some proverbial line.

Ethan noticed, and he straightened slightly as Noah approached, his basketball tucked under one arm.

"Hey," Noah said.

"Hey," Ethan replied.

Noah shifted his weight. Ethan was taller than him, but it's like he hadn't noticed this before. "Thanks. For earlier."

Ethan shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "They were being annoying."

"Still," Noah said. "You didn't have to say anything."

Ethan glanced at his team, then back at Noah. "It was messing with both of us."

Both. Not you.

Noah noticed that. "...Yeah," he said.

"You were better today," Ethan said.

Noah blinked. "You're reviewing my performance now?"

Ethan's mouth twitched slightly. "You asked–"

"I did," Noah admitted. "I didn't expect follow-up notes."

"Don't let it go to your head," Ethan grinned. He chugged some water.

"Oh, it already has," Noah said. "I'm unbearable now."

"I can tell."

Noah smiled—quick, easy.

And for a second, something settled into place between them. Then it dissipated.

"Well, at least the Wolves get their precious gym back next week," Noah said. His eyes darted past Ethan to the team.

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. I almost forgot. I got so used to playing in here."

"Well, if you miss it, you can come back to visit," Noah joked.

"Yeah." Ethan nodded, half smiling.

Noah turned, heading back toward the stage.

And when he looked over his shoulder, Ethan was already watching him.