Reid nods. “It’s a long shot, so why start anything? My parents are pushing the traditional route hard. My dad says he won’t partially finance a useless art degree. It’s like my parents forget there are people behind the art they love to consume. People like me. It’s not even about the money. I’d have loans either way. It’s more like…” Reid trails off again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Me either.

Reid venting in the middle of the night is the opposite of normal. I mean, I’ve known things with his parents were tense re: conservatory. I’ve always appreciated Rebecca and Leonard’s pragmatism. But listening to Reid talk about experiencing it… I’m not sure I do anymore. It’s, like, no wonder he’s so intense about music.

He has something to prove.

“Anyway, you’re lucky,” Reid continues, filling the silence. “Your parents are the best. I don’t know what I’d do without your dad.”

And there it is. Why I don’t lean into clarinet conversations. I wait for the flood of angst and animosity to come. The typical reaction to push away that I am so accustomed to. But it doesn’t. Maybe I’m overtired. Maybe The Lion King epiphany had more of an impact than I thought. Maybe it’s just nice talking to Reid without having to think about how it could be used against me.

“Yeah, I am. But you are too.”

There’s a pause.

It’s late.

I should say goodnight.

“Well—”

Reid cuts me off. “Can I ask you something? Now that I bared my soul.”

My heart beats in double time. “Maybe.”

“We collaborated,” Reid says. “Like, all week.”

“That’s not a question.”

“I know.” Reid runs his hand through his hair and bites his lower lip. “Sorry. I’m still processing. I don’t know. I’m still me. You’re still you. Except, you’re serious. It’s more than the truce and it’s more than saving your club. What changed? Besides ‘Hakuna Matata.’ ”

I process Reid’s question and the earnestness in his voice.

It takes everything in me to not panic disconnect. Because this feels intimate. Our faces may be on screens, but they’re closer than they’ve ever been. Every expression is on display—the quirk of Reid’s eyebrow, the intensity in the way his eyes hold mine.

There is nowhere to hide.

Nothing to stop me from admitting to myself that Reid’s face is… not a bad-looking face.

Objectively.

Oh my God.

I have never wished harder for the ability to delete a thought.

So I pivot to a distraction. The truth.

“I overheard my parents talking a few weeks ago. About potential layoffs.”

Even in the dark, I see the color drain from Reid’s face. “Shit.”