Page 66

under my skin

KIERAN

T he apartment’s quiet, save for the high-pitched whine of MotoGP through the speakers.

On-screen, bikes lean into corners like they’re defying gravity, tyres skimming asphalt, sparks flying as footpegs kiss the tarmac.

The race commentator drones in the background, half-cut by static and adrenaline.

Theo’s sprawled next to me on the sofa, one leg thrown carelessly over the armrest, the other resting on the coffee table—like a human pretzel. He’s shirtless, naturally, a half-empty bag of Wotsits tucked against his side, orange dust staining his fingers.

Luca’s locked away editing in his room. Ryder disappeared hours ago with a shrug and no explanation—standard. And I’m here, watching the world blur past in high definition, but barely registering any of it.

I’ve barely taken in ten minutes of the race. Not because it’s dull—it’s chaos in high definition. But because my head’s somewhere else entirely.

She’s under my skin.

Has been for days now. Midnight texts that grow flirtier with each passing night, phone calls stretching long beyond reason, conversations about everything and nothing at all. Sometimes we just sit in silence, listening to each other breathe, like being in the same moment is enough.

And somehow, it is.

But it’s becoming more real with each passing second, pushing me closer to something that feels dangerous and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

And that voice in the back of my head, the one that’s always been good at fucking things up, starts whispering again.

What if this doesn’t last?

What if you’re not enough?

What if you let her down?

I've only had glimpses of what Ellie and I could really be. A few fleeting, stolen moments. But it’s already enough to ruin me for anything less. I want all of her. Not just the good moments, not just memories I’ll carry like trophies.

I’d spend forever learning her silences, reading the secrets she carries but never shares. I’d show up for every messy, complicated moment, even when she insists she can handle it all alone.

I want her storms as much as her softness. Her laughter mid-sentence, the apologies she doesn’t need to make, the way she looks away when something truly matters. All of it.

But now, with all that want, comes something to lose.

Ellie was always just out of reach. Close enough to ache for, never close enough to hold. But now she’s here. In my world. In every thought that threads through the quiet. And suddenly, it’s not just about wanting her. It’s about keeping her.

That’s what rattles me, the weight of it all, the chance I’ll mess it up. And the fear? It’s never been louder.

A sudden roar from the TV—someone overtaking on a tight corner—snaps me out of my head. I glance down and realise I’ve been squeezing a bottle cap so tight it’s left a deep red indent in my palm.

“You good, mate?” Theo asks, flicking his gaze toward me, clearly sensing my spiralling thoughts.

His voice is casual, but when I glance over, he’s watching me. That quiet knowing in his eyes. The one he gets when he’s clocked I’m not really here.

“Yeah,” I reply automatically. Then pause, sighing. “No.”

Theo doesn’t press. Just leans forward slightly, reaches for his beer, and mutters the word that carries more weight than it should. “ Talk .”

I roll my eyes, because of course. That one word, no judgement, no bullshit. All cards are on the table.

He shifts, facing me properly now with that calm patience. “Ellie?”

“Who else?” I scrub a hand over my face.

He tosses a Wotsit into his mouth, crunching thoughtfully. “Figured. You've had that lovesick puppy look for weeks.”

I give a dry laugh, stealing a Wotsit from his bowl. “Mate, it’s bad. She’s constantly in my head.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing,” Theo says lightly, offering the bowl between us like a peace offering. “You deserve something good.”

“Yeah. I know…” I trail off, frowning at the bottle in my hands. “But what if I screw it up?”

“You’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

Theo leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, expression sobering. “Is this about Ellie, or are we talking about Freya?”

I pause. Hearing her name spoken aloud after all this time still stings more than I expected. “Bit of both,” I admit softly, glancing down at my beer. “I fucked things up royally back then.”

The TV hums with the distant roar of engines, the commentator’s voice rising with tension—but it all blurs into background noise. We sit in the stillness of that name for a second.

“You remember how it ended,” I say. “We barely made it to a year.”

“You were twenty-two, mate,” Theo says gently. “You barely knew how to tie your shoes, let alone hold down a serious relationship. None of us did.”

I let out a low breath. “I was selfish. She needed someone who was… there. Not just showing up between rehearsals and last-minute shows and all-night writing sessions. I wanted to be that for her, but I was always chasing the next thing. And eventually, she got tired of waiting.”

Theo nods but doesn’t interrupt.

“And when it all fell apart, I told myself it was because love didn’t fit in this kind of life. That I couldn’t have both. Not properly.”

“But you’re not that guy anymore.”

“I know,” I say, but it comes out flat. “At least, I want to believe that.”

“You think Ellie makes you feel like that guy again?”

“No!” I say quickly. “God no, it’s not her. It’s me. It’s the old stuff. The pressure. The fear. The way I start thinking too far ahead and suddenly I’m convinced I’ll mess it all up before it even starts.”

Theo tilts his head, watching me. “So don’t think too far ahead.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. You get in your head when you’re ten steps down a road that doesn’t even exist yet. What does Ellie need right now?”

I hesitate. “Someone present. Someone who listens.”

“Exactly.” Theo sits back with a satisfied nod. “Right now, you’re giving her exactly that. The future stuff? Deal with it when you get there. You're inventing hurdles that aren’t there.”

“But that’s the problem,” I mutter. “What if I can’t give her what she needs long-term? Right now, I’m here. I can show up. But what happens when we’re back on the road? When we’re halfway across the country and she needs more than late-night calls and half-written songs?”

“You’re assuming she’ll need something you can’t give,” he says. “But maybe what she needs is what you’re already doing. Being there. Being honest. Showing up now, instead of making promises you don’t understand yet.”

I look over at him. “When did you become all wise and philosophical?”

“Somewhere between your third existential crisis and my weekly therapy appointments,” he smirks, cracking his knuckles. “Seriously, man, Ellie grounds you. Anyone can see it. You’re steadier, happier. Even Ryder noticed, and he barely looks up from his phone.”

“I know that,” I say quietly. “It’s just... hard to trust that I won’t become the version of me I used to be. I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

“You won’t be,” he says simply. “Not unless you let fear call the shots.”

That line hits hard. Solid and sharp.

Then, more gently: “You’re in love with her.”

I let out a breath, heavier than I mean to. “I think I could be.” I run a hand through my hair, exhale again. “Is that crazy?”

Theo takes a long sip of his beer, then tips his head like he’s really thinking it through. “No,” he says. “It’s not crazy. It’s honest. Maybe stop worrying about screwing up and just enjoy being here for once.”

“That easy, huh?”

He shrugs casually, smirking. “Never said it was easy, mate, but it sure beats overthinking yourself into misery. You deserve something real.”

He picks up the remote and hits pause, catching a bike mid-turn at the apex — rider crouched low, knee grazing the red-and-white curb, caught in perfect, perilous balance. The room stills with it.

“Kieran,” he says, voice steady, “stop worrying about fucking it up, and just be in it. One step at a time.”

I stare at the blank space between us.

Then nod.

He’s right. I know he’s right. And still, somewhere deep in my chest, that fear lingers. But it’s quieter now. Smaller. Manageable.

“Well, that’s enough deep shit for one night,” Theo says, stretching with a groan. “You want another beer?”

I huff a laugh—the tension bleeding out of my shoulders. “Yeah. Think I’ve earned one.”

“Damn right you have. Talking about feelings and shit. Very brave.”

He’s already halfway to the kitchen when I flip him off behind his back, grinning.

He tosses me a beer across the counter. I catch it and pop the cap. Theo cracks his open and sinks back onto the sofa beside me.

The screen flickers back to life. Engines scream. Tyres bite into the track. Another rider dives inside, desperate for position.

“You know—I really do like her,” he says.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “She’s cool. Real. Got that no-bullshit thing going on, but she’s warm with it. You don’t get that combo often.” He pauses. “And she makes you less... guarded. Like your shoulders drop two inches when she’s in the room.”

I stare at the bottle in my hand, rolling it between my palms.

I smile into my beer. “Yeah. She’s kind of everything.”

“Then hold onto it. Trust yourself this time.”

I let the words settle. They don’t scare me the way they did before. They feel… earned. Like they belong to a part of me I haven’t had access to in years. A part that wants more than just noise and distraction and keeping things safe.

I stare at the ceiling like it might hold the answer. “She was a moment back then. One I didn’t think I’d get back.” I glance over at him. “And now she’s here again... I can’t let her go.”

Theo doesn’t respond right away. Just nods slowly, then says, “Well. You’re definitely in it.”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I think I’ve been in it for a while.”