Not Love, Not Hate.

The living room eventually empties of tension, but I don't want to stay in it.

I mumble something to Lucas—"I'm gonna get air" or "back in a bit," I'm not sure—and slip outside before the weight of everything decides to settle on me again.

The porch is quiet. Crickets hum in the distance, and the moon hangs like it's eavesdropping. The stars are unusually clear tonight, scattered across the sky like someone flung glitter and let it land wherever it wanted.

I sit on the front step. Just breathe.

The wood's cool under my legs, and the breeze brushes over me like it's trying to smooth out the leftover wrinkles in my heart. I close my eyes and tip my head back.

Footsteps creak across the porch.

I don't need to look.

"Hey," Alex says, voice low, not as smug as usual. Careful.

I scoot over slightly, more instinct than invitation. He takes the hint and sits next to me, leaving a space between us. Not wide, not close. Just enough.

We don't speak for a bit. Just sit.

"You okay?" he asks eventually.

I shrug. "Define okay."

"That bad, huh."

"I've had better months."

He chuckles. It's quiet, breathy. "Yeah. Same."

Silence again. But this one feels gentler. Less like we're avoiding something, more like we're letting it breathe.

"I talked to Lucas," I say.

He doesn't respond right away, just shifts slightly. "How'd that go?"

"He's trying."

"That's something."

I nod. My fingers fidget in my lap.

"Camila told me," I say finally, not looking at him. "About Dani. About the ex. About how things went down with your parents."

His breath catches. Just enough for me to hear.

"Guess I should've expected that," he mutters.

"You don't have to explain anything," I say quickly. "I just—I wanted to tell you I know. So you don't have to carry it like a secret anymore."

Alex is quiet for a long time. Then he says, "It wasn't just that I had a boyfriend. It was how messy everything got after. The rumors. The way it turned ugly so fast. I didn't know how to come back from that."

"You didn't deserve that," I say softly.

"Didn't matter." He laughs, bitter. "Still happened."

I look over at him. The porch light casts just enough glow to catch the angle of his jaw, the tired curve of his mouth. He looks so calm, but I can see the storm under his skin.

"I don't know what to do with this," I admit. "With you. With everything."

Alex turns his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—one second you're calling me kid, the next you're kissing me. Then you act like it didn't happen. Then you say you look at me and shouldn't, but you do. I can't tell if you're pulling me closer or pushing me away."

He doesn't answer right away.

"I'm doing both," he says, voice low. "I'm not proud of it. I just—I don't trust myself. Not with you."

"Why not?"

"Because you make me want things I'm scared of," he says. "Things I don't know how to handle without messing them up."

I swallow hard.

The breeze picks up. A few leaves rustle. A dog barks somewhere down the street.

"I don't know what I feel right now," I say, staring at the stars. "Everything's tangled. I don't know if I'm mad at you or just mad at the universe. But I needed to say that."

He nods, just once. Doesn't try to fix it. Doesn't try to explain anything away.

"Thanks for telling me," he says.

We don't touch. We don't move. We just sit there as the sky keeps spinning, quietly broken, quietly whole.

Not love. Not hate.Not yet.

Just two boys under the same stars, not quite ready to name what's burning between them.