The Ones Who Fell First

Skie rehearsed it over and over.

"I'm sorry."

"I never should've said what I said."

"You didn't deserve that."

She held onto those words like they were her last chance to make something right.

She wore the hoodie Conner had once lent her when it rained during sophomore year. It still smelled faintly like mint and old spice — memories stitched into every thread. She spotted him twice that week, but he never looked up. If he saw her coming down the hallway, he'd duck into a classroom or suddenly turn around and walk the other way.

Skie wasn't stupid. She knew avoidance when she saw it.

But what she didn't know… was that Conner wasn't avoiding her out of hate.

He was trying to protect himself.

Or maybe just the version of himself that still had pride left.

Because every time he looked at Skie — the girl who knew the lyrics to his favorite songs, the one who held his hand when his mom died, who sat in his room that one summer and helped him believe the world wasn't as cold — he felt like kneeling.

Begging.

Like a boy made of glass shards pretending to be whole.

The thing was, he never stopped loving her. And he never will.

Not when she pushed him away. Not when her words burned through him like fire. Not even now.

And that scared him more than anything.

The Party

Charlie's pool party was loud enough to crack the moon.

Red solo cups, basslines that made the walls hum, girls in glitter swimsuits doing cannonballs off the diving board. Fire pits. Snapchats. Perfume mixing with chlorine and hormones.

Dylan had arrived late. Hoodie zipped to his chin, nerves coiled tight like guitar strings.

Aaron had texted him "come through, I'll be there."

So he came.

He'd practiced it a thousand times in the mirror.

"Hey… I think I like you."

"No, not think. I do. I like you."

Simple. Direct. Honest.

And terrifying.

She hadn't expected to see Conner here.

But there he was.

By the edge of the pool. Shirt off. Laughing. Holding a drink.

And then she saw the girl.

Curvy. Loud. From a rival school. The one who trash-talked her during last year event.

And she was kissing him.

Like he was already hers.

Skie froze.

Something in her cracked — not all at once, but slowly, like ice fracturing under pressure.

She didn't cry. Not yet. She just stood there, invisible in the crowd, watching the boy she once called home kiss someone else like she never existed.

Dylan's Moment Shattered

He saw Aaron near the shed behind the pool house — laughing, one arm resting against the wall like something out of a movie.

Ruby Casein was with him.

The Ruby. Track queen. All long legs and danger.

Before Dylan could step forward, Ruby grabbed Aaron's shirt and pulled him into wild a kiss.

Not just a kiss.

A hungry, too-familiar, full-body kind of kiss.

Dylan stopped.

His heart did too.

Everything around him went muffled. Like the world had turned down the volume just for him to hear his own breath catch, his own chest tighten, his eyes sting.

He turned and walked away.

Fast. Not looking back. Not until his feet hit the cool tile at the entrance.

----------

Skie was storming out. Dylan was folding in on himself.

They collided at the front door — bodies bumping, pain radiating between them like a shared wound.

Skie looked up first.

Then Dylan.

Neither spoke.

Tears welled up in both of them — like some unseen mirror reflecting the heartbreak they hadn't told anyone about.

"Dylan…" she whispered, voice cracking.

His mouth trembled. "I was gonna tell him. Tonight. I was ready."

Skie stared at him — at the red in his eyes, the way his hands shook. And something in her shattered too.

She reached out, slowly, and hugged him.

A full-bodied, breath-stealing, pain-sharing hug.

Under the thumping music, the glitter lights, and the roar of a party neither of them felt a part of… they held onto each other.

Two people who fell in love with the wrong ones.

Or maybe just fell too hard, too soon.

Skie whispered, "We're not okay, are we?"

Dylan swallowed. "No. But maybe we could be… together."

They didn't know what that meant.

Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time, they didn't feel alone.

And maybe… just maybe… that was enough.