The studio was quieter than usual.
Not silent — the hum of a space heater, the rustle of paper, the faint sound of Hayden tapping a rhythm against the floor with his pencil — but softer, somehow. Like the room knew they were running out of time.
Sam was working at the table, but less focused than usual. He kept pausing mid-line, erasing things that didn't need erasing. Beside him, Hayden sat on the floor in front of the costume rack, absently untangling a string of beads that had no business being that tangled.
They hadn't really talked about yesterday.
They hadn't needed to.
But also... maybe they did.
"You're quiet today," Hayden said after a long stretch of silence.
Sam glanced up. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous."
Sam smiled, barely. "Yeah."
Hayden abandoned the bead string and leaned back on his hands. "What's going on in that careful brain of yours?"
Sam hesitated. "You ever feel like time's... folding in on itself?"
Hayden blinked. "I mean, sure. Every time I accidentally fall asleep during a group rehearsal and wake up mid-monologue."
Sam gave a breathy laugh. "Not like that. I mean... these seven days. It's like we blinked and we're here. Day five. And everything's working, but it feels like it's also slipping away."
Hayden was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Yeah. I've been thinking about that too."
They didn't look at each other right away. It was easier to talk into the space between them.
"I don't want this to end," Hayden added softly.
Sam's heart jumped. He looked up, surprised — not because Hayden said it, but because he had said it first.
"Me neither," Sam replied.
The heater clicked off with a soft metallic sigh. The room felt colder without it.
"We could keep working after the showcase," Hayden said suddenly. "Like, finish the full version of the project. Maybe show it next term. Keep building it out."
Sam tilted his head. "As an excuse to keep seeing me?"
Hayden smirked, but there was something more vulnerable in his eyes. "Maybe."
Sam bit his lip. "I'd like that."
Hayden stood and walked over, pausing just behind Sam's chair. "What if we're not just building a project anymore?"
Sam looked up. "What if we never were?"
Hayden leaned in slightly, just enough to brush his fingers over the top edge of Sam's sketchbook. Not touching him — not quite — but close. Deliberately close.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you go on a date with me? After this is done. After Saturday."
Sam didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Hayden exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath for days.
Then he grinned. "Cool. No pressure, but it will be dramatically themed."
Sam laughed, and the room felt warmer again.
They didn't talk about the project for the rest of the hour. They just worked side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders, occasionally sharing a smile too long.
The sketches came easier now. The character notes practically wrote themselves. It wasn't that the tension had disappeared — it was that it had turned into something else.
Something waiting.
(Later That Evening)
The studio had emptied for the night. Most of the other students had gone home hours ago, leaving behind the faint scent of acrylic and glue and someone's abandoned thermos of chamomile tea.
Hayden was curled up on the tattered couch near the window, flipping through notes and pretending not to watch Sam, who was cleaning up the table with obsessive precision. It was late, but neither of them had made a move to leave.
Then Hayden's phone buzzed.
He glanced at it — a message from Mia, one of his old friends from theater camp. The kind of friend who existed mostly in texts and memes and chaotic 2 a.m. voice notes. The message was simple:
"Look what I found 😂 throwback to us being tragically 14. You're welcome."
There was a blurry photo attached. Hayden opened it, expecting bad wigs and worse eyeliner. And there it was: a grainy group shot from that summer they all swore they'd never talk about again — seven teens posing in front of a badly painted pirate ship backdrop, all mismatched costumes and sunburned shoulders.
He squinted, smiling faintly.
Then he froze.
Because standing slightly off-center — wide-eyed, awkward posture, wearing a paint-smeared hoodie two sizes too big — was someone he recognized.
Someone he now saw every day.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam looked up from the sink, a rag in one hand.
"Did you—this is going to sound insane, but—did you go to an international summer arts camp when you were, like, fourteen?"
Sam blinked. "Uh. Yeah? One in Switzerland. Why?"
Hayden turned his phone around slowly, like he was revealing a crime scene.
"This one?"
Sam walked over, and as soon as he saw the picture, he let out a short laugh — half embarrassed, half stunned. "Oh my god. That's me. I forgot this photo even existed."
Hayden stared between the picture and the very-much-not-fourteen version of Sam standing in front of him. "You were in my group. You were the kid who painted the whole backdrop with your headphones on and refused to talk to anyone."
"I was shy," Sam defended, laughing. "Also your group kept singing Les Mis at breakfast."
"As we should have," Hayden said, mock offended. "That camp was formative. I got my first stage kiss during that production of Peter Pan."
"I was painting the ship during that scene," Sam said, remembering. "And you dropped a sword on my foot."
Hayden's eyes widened. "You're the foot kid?!"
Sam nearly doubled over laughing. "Please never say that again."
Hayden was still staring at the photo. "I can't believe we were in the same place. I mean—seven years ago. On the other side of the world."
Sam sat beside him on the couch, still smiling. "Maybe we were always supposed to meet again."
Hayden looked at him.
Really looked.
And suddenly, that blurry summer memory felt less like a coincidence and more like a breadcrumb in some cosmic trail that had finally led them here.
"Guess I've always had a thing for artists with paint on their sleeves," Hayden said lightly, brushing a fleck of graphite from Sam's arm.
Sam's voice was soft. "And I guess I've always had a thing for chaotic stage boys who drop props on people."
They sat in the quiet for a moment, side by side, history folding in on itself.
And for the first time, neither of them felt like time was running out.
.....
The city was quiet in that specific, in-between way — late enough that the traffic had slowed, but early enough that the bars were still humming. The streetlights painted soft gold across the sidewalk as Hayden and Sam walked side by side, hands brushing every few steps, like magnets still figuring out their poles.
They talked, but only a little.
Most of what needed to be said had already been said in sketches and glances and the strange, shared discovery of a summer long ago. Now, the silence between them felt earned. Comfortable.
Sam's apartment building came into view — a narrow brick structure with too many stairs and a temperamental mailbox. He stopped at the bottom step, turning slightly to face Hayden.
"I'm glad you texted me that photo," he said.
Hayden smiled. "Technically, Mia texted me. But I'll take the credit."
"You always do," Sam teased.
"Of course. It's part of the charm."
They stood there for a moment, neither making the first move to leave. The streetlight caught in Sam's hair, and Hayden felt a quiet ache at the idea of walking away — even just for the night.
But he didn't say that.
He just stepped forward, close enough that their coats brushed, and reached up gently.
"Goodnight, Sam," he murmured.
Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Sam's forehead — a pause, a promise, a thread pulled gently taut.
Sam closed his eyes.
When Hayden pulled back, Sam looked at him like the world had gone very still. "See you tomorrow?"
"You better," Hayden said. "We've got a show to steal."
He took a step back. Then another. Smiling, hands in his pockets, walking backward a few steps before turning toward the street.
Sam watched him go until he turned the corner, disappearing into the soft dark.
Then he climbed the stairs to his apartment with a feeling that didn't quite have a name yet — but whatever it was, it was blooming quietly, stubbornly, in the center of his chest.
And Saturday was just one sleep away.