The Space Between Them and Now

Lunchtime (The Trio Reunites)

It was lunchtime, but the cafeteria felt different. The noise was the same, the smell of greasy fries just as aggressive — but something in the atmosphere felt lighter. Not quite peace. Not yet. But maybe the first breath after coming up from deep water.

Skie stood by the vending machines, clutching her tray. She saw them before they saw her — Conner seated at the end of the table, head low over his lunch, Dylan beside him, fingers tapping anxiously against his juice box.

She hesitated.

Then walked over.

The silence between them as she sat was louder than the lunch crowd. But this time… it didn't sting... too much.

"Hey," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

They both looked up. Dylan gave a small smile. Conner's eyes softened.

"Hey," they echoed back.

It wasn't perfect. But it was a beginning.

They ate in silence for a while. Then slowly, like muscle memory, the old rhythms returned. Dylan nudged Conner about the amount of ketchup he was using. Skie rolled her eyes at Dylan's weird food combos. Conner cracked a joke that wasn't funny — and they both laughed anyway.

No one mentioned the past. Not yet. But their laughter sounded like forgiveness.

Like togetherness. 

Later that day, Skie and Dylan lay on her bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling.

"I didn't think we'd ever sit like this again," Skie whispered.

"Me neither," Dylan said.

Dylan wanted to tell Skie so badly about the previous night. Wanted to tell her how Aaron came over. How he dodged all his questions. And how he cried so hard he couldnt sleep it off. 

He wanted to tell her everything, cause if one thing, he knew that she was ready to hear him.

But how could he tell her that the boy that made him cry was no other than her brother. 

He was afraid of the effect this could have on there already strain relationship.

So he kept it inside as he watched her talk about Conner and what her new found feeling is doing to her and how she was trying so hard to bury it.

All Dylan could do was listen.

Skie took a long pause after she hard spoken for a while, before saying:

"I used to think if I loved someone hard enough, it'd fix everything. But it doesn't work like that, does it?" she said.

"Nope," Dylan said. "But showing up? That counts for something."

Skie smiled faintly. "I'm glad you showed up."

He looked at her. "You too."

That evening, Conner sat on the porch steps, football in hand, spiraling it back and forth between his palms. His dad came outside, beer in hand, settling in beside him.

They didn't speak at first.

Then:

"She was my best friend," Conner said.

"Skie?" his dad asked.

He nodded. "And Dylan too. I don't know when I stopped showing up for them."

His dad took a long sip. "You think I wanted to be the kind of dad who doesn't ask what's going on in his kid's life?"

Conner didn't answer.

"I didn't know how to talk to my own father. Figured it would just be easier if I didn't try with you and your brother either. And look where that got us. Where it got me."

Conner looked at him, surprised by the sudden honesty.

His dad stared ahead, voice low. "Fix what you can. Don't end up like me."

Dylan sat with his sketchbook again. This time, he drew nothing. Just let the pencil hover.

Then his phone buzzed.

AARON: "Can we talk? No pressure. Just… whenever you're ready."

His chest ached. But not the shattering kind. A different ache. A gentle one.

He didn't reply.

But he didn't delete the message either.

Dylan had the urge to rendezvous at his favourite spot, and I guess so did the others.

The stars were just starting to appear when the three of them found themselves — almost accidentally — back on an abandoned building, on its rooftop.

No one said who suggested it. No one needed to.

They sat in their old spots.

Skie picked at her shoelaces.

Conner leaned back, watching the sky.

Dylan hugged his knees, silent.

Then:

"Remember when we used to come up here just to scream stupid stuff into the sky?" Conner asked.

"Yeah," Skie said. "You'd yell about pop quizzes and gym class."

"And Dylan screamed about how unfair it was that Skittles changed the green flavor."

"I stand by that," Dylan muttered.

They all laughed. This time, the laughter felt like glue. Like maybe the cracks weren't disappearing — but being held together, at least.

Skie looked at them, eyes shimmering. "Can we promise to be honest from now on? Like, even if it's messy?"

Conner reached out a pinky. "Promise."

Dylan linked his. "Same."

Skie added hers.

Three fingers. Three hearts. Wounded, but still beating.

And for the first time in a long time, they watched the stars in silence — not the heavy kind this time, but the kind that heals.