like a bag of Takis

The first time I saw her, I thought love was a punch to the chest. I was wrong. Love is much quieter than that. Love, as I've come to learn, is much harder to hold onto and much harder to walk away from.

It was a busy day. My mind was in a rush, my hands fidgety, my eyes darting everywhere, mapping faces, furniture, energy, anything I could grasp in the physical and emotional storm I had just walked into. I got gently shoved by a shoulder. A hand touched my elbow, urging me to a certain spot. A distant voice murmured directives. At least, they sounded like murmurs to my ears.

We were clustered together. Arranged unceremoniously in no specific pattern. I remember the strange feeling of being puppeteered. I was frozen, a cold sweat breaking as I felt eyes on me, feeling trapped under a gaze that had already judged me. As someone who always picks the back of every room, just to clock everyone's positions, to feel in control, I had never been as afraid as I was at that moment. 

I told myself I was cataloging threats. That's why I noted the way she stood, relaxed but aware. Why I logged the sound of her voice, low and unhurried. Why, when she glanced my way for half a second, my stomach didn't flutter. It assessed. That's what I told myself. 

Although looking back now, I wonder, wouldn't someone assessing a threat hyperanalyze their threat's words?

Later, I would learn, her words were a simple introduction. A name, a city, an interest, a goal. I remember seeing her lips move, her eyes subtly scanning the room as she spoke, her voice simple vibrations in the air. Sound waves that washed away the noise of the room, momentarily leaving nothing but her velvet tone in my mind. 

I never got used to the rush. It was a race. A survival game. A room where you look for a safe corner to hide in, only to realize it is a circle.

Her presence stuck in my mind, not as an interest, but as another opponent in this war. She moved like droplets of morning dew swept by a soft breeze, landing in the crevices of my soul, filling the little spaces with a mist that cools my simmering core.

I watched her deliberately. She was not a friend; she was just a girl who wanted the same prize I was fighting for. She was a wall. An obstacle. A hurdle I was mapping with my unwavering gaze. Until she smiled in my general direction, and my head snapped to the side, blinded by the brightness of her joy. Or maybe I was pretending to look away, not wanting to be labeled a scrutinizer in her book. 

I wondered, why did it matter what she thought of me?

The days we had jokingly called 'survival of the fittest' taught me two things: in wartime, I can have only one of two, a friend or a foe. 

At least, that’s what we were told when we joined this circus. 

That blinding smile flashed behind my eyelid. A friend. I wanted her to be a friend. I wanted to be her ally, her pillar, her unshakeable wall.

But I just stood there. Watching. She laughed at something someone else said, someone who told a joke faster, stood closer, already knew her name. I watched her turn toward them, watched her choose them, watched someone build courage faster than I could. Something twisted. Not jealousy. Just the cold understanding that her time was a currency I hadn't earned.

She didn't owe me her attention. I knew that. But watching her give it away so easily was a different kind of loss, one the Ringmasters never warned me about.

Then I opened my eyes, peeled back the layers of delusion. A new war had already begun. Two fronts now. And on both, I was losing.

I had accepted the fate I never chose. But fate is a funny thing. A turbulent, messy, unpredictable thing. 

I don't remember the final days of the game. I vividly remember the aftermath. 

Suddenly, I had a prize secured in my bag. Suddenly, I was in the limelight I wasn't sure I deserved. Six figures and I stood in a line, bathed with colorful spotlights and showered with praise. Six figures and I, the fittest who survived, given heavy crowns and heavier expectations. It was as if a weight had been lifted, and a bigger one was offloaded on our backs. 

I found myself engulfed for a minute, drowning in the scent of desperation, relief, hope, and floral perfume. Different perfumes. Each one triggered an emotion I was unaware I could feel. But one of them, the faintest one, made my chest go quiet again. Just like her voice had on that very first day.

I found her in the crowd later. She was laughing with two of the other winners, already at home in this newfound 'family'. I wanted to walk over. I wanted to say something, anything, but my feet stayed planted. The same feet that had carried me through the game refused to budge when it mattered most.

Perhaps, she felt someone watching her. She turned. She looked right at me. And smiled. Not in my general direction this time. At me. She moved. I blinked, and there she was, with her magnetic eyes and pretty smile. She opened her mouth and talked. I caught wind of words that sounded dangerously close to 'excited', 'happy', and 'famous'. 

I smiled back, for the first time since she looked at me like I might steal her gold, I smiled back. I murmured an unintelligible "Congratulations. You were... hard competition. I knew you'd make it. Talent like that."

I watched her tilt her head and smile like she knew she had the power to stop the beating of my heart. I wondered then, when did she learn to take up space inside my chest without asking permission?

She breathed in, ready to respond... 

And then we were surrounded. Celebrations. Cheers. Bodies pressing in. Familiar perfumes and old perfumes.

It hit me at that moment. The war wasn't over. It had just changed shape.

Since that day, life ran…different. A constant flood of adrenaline.

It’s like someone put me on a rollercoaster, without a seatbelt, and sent me on an endless ride. 

There wasn’t enough time for me to dwell on what would’ve been her answer. I wonder sometimes, if my honesty was the key that opened up her eyes to my existence, or if it’s simply because we are now…coworkers, so to speak. 

At least she smiled at me, right?

I’ve stood at the edge of her inner circle throughout this war. A shadow. Or a wall, depends on how you look at it. 

Maybe not the wall I wanted to be.

I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to learn her. 

‘But could I?’ I thought. 

‘Could I stand in the face of my demons and ask her how she likes her coffee?’

‘Could I challenge our shared coworkers and snag a seat next to her?’

‘Could I offer to carry her bag when we’re getting out of a car?’ 

I could…But I can’t. I could because I know she is an angel. I can’t because I’m…unprepared. 

If I asked her how she likes her coffee, she’d offer to go with me to grab all seven of us a couple of drinks. 

If I somehow found myself sitting next to her, she’d ask me questions. Get to know me. Answer my questions. Laugh at my dry jokes. 

If I offered to carry her bag, she’d refuse. She’d complain and giggle, refusing to be a burden on someone else. Even though I’d love nothing more than to carry her bag and follow her. 

In my head, I sounded pathetic. Out loud, I sounded crazy. 

But was I crazy when all I wished for was her companionship? 

Funny enough, it was much more difficult to avoid my wishful thinking when she was sitting right in front of me 24/7. 

I used to see her in shared spaces. In competitive rounds. In eliminations. Sometimes on our mutual acquaintances’ ‘close friends’ stories. 

But after the final round, after she became an integrated part of my life, I saw her everywhere. I could not escape her. 

She was everywhere. 

On my mind. 

On my phone. 

At interviews and studio recordings and practice sessions. 

At wardrobe fittings, where I admit I had my very own biased opinions about her appearances. Opinions that I would never dare say aloud. Opinions that perhaps the stylists would disagree with, but I was not to be trusted when she was involved. 

A true war I was fighting. A battle that I couldn’t win no matter how strong my army was. 

My army being my will. And my will…was very, very weak. 

I was not to be blamed. Ask anyone she had ever smiled at. 

I realized that after that fateful day, the day the tides turned, the day everything I’ve known since the beginning of this war flipped upside down, I found myself lost. 

Lost in my own rule book. Lost in my maze of connections. Lost between my heart and my mind. Between what I wanted, and what I could do.  

She consumed me. My mind a hurricane of thoughts. Every single one was about her. 

Until she’s there. Sitting next to me. Breathing the same air. That giggle echoing in my empty head. 

She shut them down. All thoughts of her, she just…turns them off. 

I didn’t know how to handle that fact. I’ve never had anyone have such a paradoxical effect on me. The same thing that runs through my mind can easily make it freeze. 

And it’s embarrassing, really. I was supposed to be more phlegmatic, serene. Speak when spoken to, answer only the question asked, not more, not less. Smile and wave. Do your job. Perform to a T. Earn your place. Day in, day out.

But then she asked me if the color of her shirt clashed with her eyeshadow and I froze, I froze, like some undignified idiot who forgot how to speak. 

I remember thinking ‘fuck, you speak three languages, literally say anything! Hell just nod!’

It took me two whole minutes. A hundred and twenty seconds. Just to end up saying "uhhh no?"

UHHH NO? WHO THE FUCK SAYS THAT!

I do. I did. When my pretty friend asked for my opinion. 

I recalled being labeled ‘The Useless Gay™’ once upon a time. Before all this glitz and glam.

But you know what? I'd do it again. The freeze. The 'uhhh no.' The dumbassery. All of it. Just to have her ask me anything at all. Just to have her laugh. At me. With me. Who cares? She’s laughing. She’s laughing and my heart is trying to leave my ribs. Probably to sit between her palms. 

Huh. 

I’ve never been this attached to a friend. Perhaps I’ve been lonely for too long. Or maybe she’s the perfect friend for me. 

The one thing I pride myself in is my ability to mentally compartmentalize. 

My life is split into cardboard boxes, each one labeled with a thick, black sharpie. 

There’s one for my family. One for my closest friends. One for my high school friends. One for my exes. One for my cat. One for my job, my band mates, my fans etcetera etcetera. 

And one more for…her. With an extra ‘FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE’ sticker on all four sides of the box. 

Why?

Well…I’m not sure. 

The contents of that box in particular are very delicate. In there is where I store anything that includes her or reminds me of her. 

I mean, there’s a cute little beige puppy plushie in the box. Don’t know where that came from. 

And like…a pink hoodie, from that time I learned how to make her favorite pasta when everything was too much. ‘A quick fix,’ she called it. 

And um…the black hair tie I gave her when her hair was getting in the way in practice. 

Oh, and the bracelet she wore in one of our shows, where we debuted a new song, and I had to twirl her. By the waist. Boy was that move a disaster to learn. 

At least we nailed it in that show. 

And every show after. 

There’s also a readymade brownie packet. A new foreign brand we sampled while we were on tour. Just her and me. In my hotel room. On my bed. Eating brownies and talking. 

She was kind enough not to leave crumbs where I sleep. 

The most recent addition is a giggle. The weirdest giggle I’ve ever heard her do. 

We were all hanging out after a recording session, snacking on instant noodles. I had a little avocado keychain sitting in my pocket, an impulse buy from a random souvenir shop. 

Somewhere in the chaos of thirteen different conversations being carried on at once, a feat only seven girls can achieve, I caught her eye. 

She was sitting to my left. Looking all perfect and flawless. Like nothing can touch her. I smiled awkwardly, my fork hanging from my fingers as I immediately glanced back to the nearest conversation for cover. 

The cover fails, because she never looked away. Three heartbeats later, and I was looking at her again. I could never resist her. God she was so perfect. Those thirteen conversations all…muted. They didn’t matter when she looked at me. Nothing ever did. 

I remembered the avocado and dug in my pocket to find it, getting a mini heart attack when my fingers found nothing but air. 

Finally, I grabbed it with shaky fingers and…as usual…grinned awkwardly at her. I extended my hand forward, and she put her palm up. I dropped it in her hand. She stared at it. 

A beat. Then two. 

Then she giggled. My God, she giggled. Loudly. Head thrown back, fork dropped, a snort somewhere in there. So boisterous that the girls stopped to stare at her, a few confused smiles and giggles joining in. 

Until she held up the avocado next to her face, and everyone burst out laughing. 

My grin went from awkward to victorious. 

It took her a solid few seconds to catch her breath. A great loss if you ask me, but then again, I am heavily biased. 

“Girl is that…me?” She said breathlessly, stroking the avocado’s curls. Because yes, I saw an avocado with curly hair and my immediate thought was ‘yes! Perfect gift! That’s how you impress a girl! Buy her an inanimate fruit that looks like her! What a loser!’

But I nodded anyway. Then stopped. Then muttered, “I mean, unless you have a brown pit that can roll.” While twirling a noodle on my own fork. 

And somehow that made the same giggle return, with an extra nose crunch and a dimple. The others laughed and teased me, but I heard absolutely nothing. I was busy internally celebrating. 

I made her giggle. 

HA. Take THAT. 

My relationship with my bandmates is…complicated. 

I’ve come to learn them. Their likes, dislikes, routines, certain tells, you know, things you learn when you live with someone for too long. 

I also learned their coffee orders. Photographic memory, they said. 

They just like being spoiled with free drinks. 

I don’t mind, really. The six of them have carved their ways into all four chambers of my heart, each settling in a corner. Perhaps one took up a little more space than the others, but that’s because she had the advantage of being there first. 

I was getting ready to leave for my hunt when I heard a tumble behind me. I turned around to find a pair of the most breathtaking eyes I had ever had the privilege to look at. The owner of said eyes was standing in front of me, smiling and slightly panting. 

“So…where are we going?” 

Excuse me? WE? 

Cue signature freeze. 

I really do live up to my title ‘The Useless Gay™’. 

Will I ever win this war? 

Unfortunately for me, it would be impolite not to respond. I had to use my words. Oh no. 

“Um…I…we?…are going for a coffee run.” Yes. Full sentence. Thank the lord. 

“Okay!” She smiled, all teeth and dimples. 

Okay??? What now? 

I guess we’re going then. 

“Um…yeah.” I nodded with finality and opened the door, stepping aside for her to walk through first because I wasn’t raised an animal. 

The coffee shop was a ten-minute walk and had almost no wait time at all. It’s one of those hidden gems you randomly find. 

And hey, I liked their decor. Very minimalist with just enough potted plants to look alive. 

We walked in silence. It wasn’t awkward per se, but it also wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable. 

Not because I was uncomfortable around her. In fact, I learned that being in her mere presence dimmed the overwhelming noise and brightened the shadows in the dark corners of my mind. 

But because I felt the need to impress her. Say something smart. Talk about something interesting. Or just form a full sentence without stuttering for once. 

Alas, all my poor brain could do was execute the following actions: A- gently place your hand on her shoulder to move her to the inner part of the sidewalk.  B- match her steps perfectly, not too fast, we are not superior. Not too slow, we are not lazy.  C- do not stare. Do not stare. Do not stare. 

I was too busy executing my three-step survival plan that I almost missed it. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She hummed. 

Well I am fucked. Anyways. 

“Uh yeah.” 

“And you promise to be honest? Like completely? I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…I was just…thinking.” She spoke so nonchalantly, I almost missed the nervous tone. Or maybe it’s the wind. 

I nodded because I couldn’t trust my vocal cords. 

She continued, “So I’ve been thinking…well actually I just wanna know your thoughts on something…”

Honestly? I respect this woman’s ability to stand my awkwardness.

I nodded again, an attempt at encouragement and deflection simultaneously. 

She hesitated, I sweated, then she broke, “Do you think I’m…trying too much? With my face and all?”

Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so glad she can’t read minds because the mental sigh of relief I let out at that moment was so LOUD. 

Then I processed her words. “What?” I spat out. I was honestly confused. What the hell was she talking about?

“I meant that…” she sighed, “the…the fans and everyone. They think I’m too…expressive with my face. Like, I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been seeing online.” 

D- Please. Please do not embarrass yourself. 

“That is bullshit.” I started. 

Oh no. 

“Who says that kind of crap. What does that even mean?” I felt hot in all the wrong places. I went on a tangent, getting a bit worked up. 

“Why would you even consider the possibility that their opinion is true? It’s just an opinion…it’s not a fact! And- and who the hell are these people to have that opinion, huh? Show me their faces, let’s see if it’s even half as attractive as yours! How abominable! How revolting! I can’t even…”

I pursed my lips, swallowing my words. I peeked at her to see her looking at me with an unreadable expression. Her lips parted. Eyes wide, scanning my face. I looked forward and “…oh. We’re here.” 

Mama loves me.

I hurriedly opened the door and let her in first, trying to direct her attention somewhere else. She blinked twice, stepping into the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop. I followed after her, the smell of ground coffee hitting the right spot in my brain. 

The lady behind the counter greeted me, probably too familiar with my existence at this point. She was nice, and her coffee was immaculate, never a wrong order, so you best bet I will greet her back with enthusiasm. 

The lady took my usual order of seven drinks with the focus of an operator working a high-stakes hacking mission. I paid because mama raised a gentlewoman. 

As we waited for the kind lady to do her magic, I quickly scanned the sweets on display and found something. I eyed the beauty to my left and weighed my options. 

“Um, Dani…would you like a pastry? I won’t tell anyone…it’ll be our little secret.” I stammered a poor attempt at being charming. 

She raised her pinky. “Promise?” 

Oh. 

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that Thai food yesterday. That was definitely the Thai food. No more Thai for me. 

I stared at her pinky. Then at mine. Then back at hers.

This was fine. This was normal. Friends pinky-promised all the time.

I hooked my pinky around hers. Her skin was warm.

"Promise," I whispered. Then immediately regretted it because my voice came out all wrong. Soft. Like I meant it. Like this moment meant something. 

She grinned. "Good. I want the chocolate one."

For some reason, that coffee run was a turning point. Ever since then, she’s been everywhere. More than she already was. Occupying space- thoughts she had no right to. Stealing my oversized hoodies, which she basically swims in because I’m already a size or two over her. Tall people's problems. Makes shopping impossible. 

She hops on the kitchen counter when I’m cooking something, expecting a spoon to be presented to her so she can taste-test my creations. 

She leans against me during breaks between running routines. I find myself fetching two water bottles instead of one, no longer worried about overstepping with the gesture. 

She teaches me Spanish words, then laughs at my poor pronunciation.

She naps on my shoulder whenever she gets the chance, in car rides, on planes, buses, waiting rooms, dressing rooms, literally any chance she gets. She says my shoulder is the perfect height for her to lean on without straining her neck, which is bullshit since I have at least three inches on her, and I have to slide down my chair a bit for her to reach. But I'll never tell her that. Who am I to complain anyway? 

She taught me her hair care routine, simply because it made her feel adored. Now, every once in a while, she plops down on my bed with a couple of fat tubs and bottles, silently demanding I pamper her. So I scrunch the night away, shaping her curls like there's no tomorrow. It's a privilege. Her words, not mine.

She sneaks into my room when she’s supposed to be asleep, just to talk about dumb things. Pointless conversations. Existential crisis. The future of us. Her past, before the fame, before life on the fast lane. 

The topic never interests me. At least, not as much as hearing her talk. I still stammer around her; that’s an everlasting curse, but I mostly listen and offer feedback when asked. 

I find myself addicted to those memories. Meticulously storing them in that mental cardboard box. Occasionally revisiting them. Just to remind myself that little old me made it. I became one of her best friends. A thought that always shakes me to my core yet keeps me grounded.

I am absolutely, irrevocably, a useless gay. 

It doesn't matter how hard I try to hide it. I will always be that. For as long as those ethereal hazel eyes remain branded onto the back of my eyelids. I also realized that reality will soon catch up with me. 

Too soon if you ask me.

It happens on a random Tuesday. We’re in the back of a cramped van, somewhere on a highway between two city stops. The rest of the girls are knocked out in a tangle of limbs and travel pillows around us. The highway streetlights flash through the tinted windows every three seconds, painting her face in alternating streaks of gold and shadow.

She is currently asleep with her head tucked in my neck and her legs thrown over my lap. Her fingers tightly gripping my arm like she's trying to pin me there, leaving it entirely numb. Ha, as if I'd even think of moving. I'd have to lose that arm first.

My mind is screaming under the pressure of having her wound tightly around me, analyzing the exact angle of her head, the rhythm of her breathing, the sheer danger of this level of proximity.

Yet, my chest is completely quiet. Her scent quieted my thoughts, leaving me in an unmatched state of zen.

This is the part no one warned me about when I made the decision to dance for a living. You can win the game, you can secure the prize, you can build the perfect unshakeable wall to keep everyone out…and then you willingly leave the front gate wide open because she asked you to style her hair.

Silly me, I thought I was being subtle. I found out the hard way that I'm not the only one who thinks I'm becoming soft.

Out of the blue, a sharp, high-pitched buzz cuts through the quiet hum of the tires.

To my right, a silhouette stirs. A phone screen lights up, casting a stark, bluish glow over a groggy face. It’s Sophia. She blinks against the glare, her thumb scrolling lazily for a few seconds before she lets out a quiet sigh and lets her head drop back against the headrest.

She turns her head toward me, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

"Still awake?" she whispers, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Yeah," I breathe back, barely moving my jaw so I don’t disturb the weight on my lap. "Can't sleep."

"Tsk, poor thing," Sophia murmurs, shifting her legs to avoid tangling with someone else’s travel pillow. "You're still buzzing, huh?" I nod once, humming in agreement. "It’s like the adrenaline from the show never actually leaves your blood."

"Yeah, that happens sometimes." Sophia shifts closer, leaning her elbow on the armrest between our rows, looking out the front windshield at the empty highway ahead. "It’s weird, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was sleeping in a trainee dorm, panicking about getting cut. Now we're jumping cities in a van, and our faces are on billboards in the middle of the city we just left."

"Mhm…still feels unreal," I whisper, looking down for a brief second with a small smirk.

As I do, the van hits a slight bump on the road. The cool air from the overhead vent drafts downward, and Dani stirs minutely against my thigh, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows. Her fingers tighten a fraction more around the fabric of my sweater.

Without thinking, my free hand reaches down. I grab the edge of the kuromi-printed throw blanket I got her and gently pull it up, tucking it snugly around her shoulders, blocking out the draft. I linger for half a second, ensuring the fabric covers her arms properly, before resting my hand back on the seat.

When I look back up, Sophia isn't looking at the highway anymore.

She’s looking at me.

The blue glow of her phone is gone, but the passing streetlights catch the slow, knowing curve of her lips. 

"You know," Sophia hums, her voice dropping an octave lower, practically a whisper, "for someone who looks like they want to punch a wall every time I look at you, you’re surprisingly domestic."

My internal alarms go off all at once. Code Red. I repeat, code red. This is not a drill.

"Ehem. Uhm. She was shivering," I say, my voice flat, aiming - and failing miserably - for that serene, phlegmatic tone I’m supposed to possess. "Hypothermia lowers performance levels. I’m protecting our brand."

Sophia lets out a muffled, silent laugh, burying her face in her hand for a split second so she doesn't wake the others. When she looks back, her eyes are sparkling with pure mischief.

"Right. The brand. Of course," she whispers, prodding my shoulder lightly with her finger. "Is that why you let her steal your favorite hoodies, too? Because of the thermostat in the practice rooms?"

Crap. CrapCrapCrapCrap-

"The hoodies are oversized. They provide warmth. Optimal temperatures for a main dancer."

"Uh-huh." Sophia leans back, her grin widening. "And the fact that you always slide a good four inches down your seat just so her neck wouldn't get strained? Is that a team strategy, too, Captain?"

I stare straight ahead, my jaw locked, refusing to break under interrogation. Fuuuuuck. She noticed the chair thing. 

"I was adjusting my posture," I mutter. "For my lower back."

"You're a terrible liar," Sophia whispers, her tone turning softer, losing the sharp edge of the tease but keeping all of the warmth. She looks down at Dani, who has completely settled again, her face soft and relaxed in her sleep. "But it's sweet. Really. The way you know just what she needs. It’s nice seeing the unshakeable wall actually take care of someone."

My heart does a weird, heavy thud against my ribs. I look down at the pretty Latina snoozing away in my lap, then back to Sophia.

"We're just best friends," I say. 

It's not the first time I've spoken those words out loud. In fact, I usually revel in them, but for some reason, the words feel heavy this time. Like a weight settled on my shoulders.

Sophia just stares at me for a long moment, the amusement in her eyes shifting into something a little more perceptive, a little more knowing. She reaches over, taps my knee gently, and settles back in her seat.

"Whatever you say," she murmurs, closing her eyes and resting her head against the window. "Just don't let your arm fall off before the morning rehearsal."

The van rolls on into the dark, leaving me alone with the quiet, the numbness in my arm, and the sudden, terrifying realization that…I'm not as slick as I thought I was.

That conversation with Sophia looped in my head for hours. I haven't slept a wink. Any hopes of catching a single Z flew out the window. The cogs turning in my head, over and over.

If Sophia noticed, what if the girls did too?

What if Daniela did? 

Oh no. Oh no no no no. If Dani noticed…

No. I don't think she suspects anything. She would've said something, right? Or thrown a hint here or there. 

But she doesn't. I need to make sure she doesn't.

Ok, new plan. Operation: Absolute Professionalism.

Phase 1- Stop acting like a human mattress. Phase 2- Keep a mandatory two-foot radius of personal space. Phase 3- Treat her exactly like I treat the other five. No special water bottles. No extra attention. Strictly business.

It was a foolproof plan. A masterpiece.

Except I forgot to consider the fact that I, a fully grown adult with free will, refused to move an inch, just so a pretty girl could sleep peacefully on me. By the time we reached our destination, my left arm was so profoundly dead that it felt like a heavy, useless piece of overcooked pasta hanging from my shoulder. I sacrificed an arm and my sleep for her. Just…Daniela Avanzini.

When Dani finally blinked open those hazel eyes, stretching her arms above her head with a soft, sleepy yawn that should honestly be classified as a weapon of mass destruction, I couldn't even help her up. I just sat there, my face frozen in a grimace of pure agony, staring straight ahead as the rest of the girls groggily grabbed their bags.

Sophia stood up, throwing me a look of such immense, unadulterated amusement as she moved to descend the van that I wanted to launch my travel pillow at her head.

"Morning, Captain," Sophia chimed breezily, her eyes dropping to my limp arm. "Nice posture."

"Shut up," I grunted, trying to nudge Dani off my lap with my working right limb without looking like a total jerk.

Dani blinked up at me, her curls a wild, beautiful mess around her face, entirely oblivious to the sirens currently bouncing around my skull. "Are you okay? Your face is red."

"Fine! Perfectly fine! Ready to perform to a T!" I stammered, scrambling out of the seat the second Daniela moved out of the way, actively executing Phase 2. Two feet of space. Mandatory.

I didn't carry her bag. I didn't hold the hotel elevator door for her. I stood in the corner of the lift, staring at the digital floor numbers like they held the secrets to the universe, ignoring the slight, confused pout she threw in my direction.

See? I told myself. Slick. You are a vault. An unshakeable wall.

A couple of hours of restless sleep later, we were standing under the brutal, unforgiving fluorescent lights of the rehearsal studio.

Our track was blasting through the massive speakers, the music vibrating through the floorboards. We were running choreos for some of our old and new releases, a series of high-energy routines where every movement had to be sharp, synchronized, and aggressive.

This was my element. When I’m dancing, the hurricane in my mind usually shuts off. I don't have to think about eyes, or smiles, or the way someone looks in an oversized pink hoodie. I just have to execute.

Until we reached THAT song. The one with the twirl.

After the formation shifts, I'm supposed to step forward, catch Dani by the waist, and twirl her into the center line.

Phase 3, my brain screamed as she spun toward me. Strictly business. Just a bandmate. Don't fuck it up.

I stepped in. My hand went to her hip- but instead of the firm, supportive grip I usually gave her, the one that kept her perfectly balanced every single time, I kept my palm completely flat, barely brushing the fabric of her crop top, trying desperately to minimize contact.

It was a disaster.

Without my usual leverage, her center of gravity wavered. Her foot caught on the edge of her sneaker, and she stumbled, her shoulder colliding heavily into my chest as the music continued to blast through the giant speaker.

"Cut! Cut!" the director yelled over the microphone, the music cutting out into an echoing silence. "Girls, what was that? Your timing was off. Let's fix the grip on the transition. Again!"

The other girls took a collective breath, stepping back into their starting positions. But Dani didn't move.

She stayed right in front of me, panting slightly from the cardio, her hazel eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my entire plan completely crash. The soft, sleepy girl from the van was gone; this was the main dancer. The girl who fought through the same war I did.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice low enough that only I could hear it over the murmurs in the back.

"Adjusting my grip," I muttered, looking anywhere but her face. "Trying a lighter touch for more fluid motion."

"Bullshit," Dani whispered, stepping closer, completely obliterating my mandatory two-foot radius. "You didn't even grab me. You're acting like I'm covered in spikes. Did I do something?"

Breathe. Please breathe. Please do not collapse right now.

"No," I said, my voice cracking slightly before I forced it back into a flat line. "You're fine. We're fine. Just… focusing on the performance."

Dani tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she scanned my face, looking for the tell she always seemed to find. Then, her expression softened, a tiny dimple peeking out on her left cheek.

"Okay," she mumbled, "just try not to break my legs while you're being creative."

I freeze, eyes wide at her words. Is she crazy? I'll get fired! If they fire me, I'll never see her again!

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," I break, unable to stay stoic when she looks at me like that. "I'm- I'll fix it."

"Right," she huffed. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my wrist for a split second before she turned back to the formation line. "Grab my waist properly next time, cabrona. I don't like falling."

I stood there, my army completely defeated, my rule book set on fire. My brain stuck in statics. Cabrona.

Sophia caught my eye from across the room, raising her eyebrows with a look that said: What the hell is wrong with you?

I don't know woman. I don't know. Just end me right here.

The music started again. Dani was already in position, her back to me, waiting.

I stepped forward. This time, I didn't think. I just grabbed her. Firm, steady, the way she needed.

She didn't stumble. She spun perfectly, her hair fanning out, and when she landed, she glanced back at me. Just for a second.

Her lips moved. No sound. I just nodded dumbly, unable to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing to my ears.

A break was called soon after. Sophia magically appeared at my elbow. "You're staring."

"I'm not."

"Liar." Manon threw over her shoulder as she passed by. I gape at her, turning to Sophia to see if she heard Manon too, or if I was imagining it.

Sophia was smirking at me. "Don't look at me like that."

I roll my eyes, not having the energy to argue.

So…Manon knows too.

I gulp, the room feeling stuffy, suffocating me. I spin around and leave Sophia in the dust. I walk towards the elevator, my hand reaching for the panel when a 'hey!' sounds from behind. I spin and find…

Fucking hell, woman. Daniela Andrea Avanzini Lorente. I swear to-

"Hey Dani," I plaster a smile on my face, one that turns into a real smile when hers stretches wide, teeth and sunshine and all. Pathetic. If my mama saw me, she'd whack me for being so weak.

"Coffee run?" She asks as I press the arrow down. I mumble a small, "No. Just going for a walk. Fresh air and all."

She looks away for a second, then asks, "Do you mind if I join?"

Eeeeeehhhhhhh say no, I dare you.

The elevator dings and the doors open. I hold it for her to step in first, quickly schooling my face when I realized I just gave her 'please marry me' eyes. So much for a foolproof plan.

We walk in silence, basking in the afternoon breeze. I didn't realize so much time had passed in the studio. I'm so deep in my thoughts, recalling the day when something soft lingers against the back of my hand. I look down and find the back of her right hand grazing against mine. I peeked at her face to find her staring straight ahead, looking unbothered.

Should I do it? What happens if I do? Will she hate me? Will she think I'm weird? Or worse, will she think this is completely platonic and not care?

I want to hold her hand. I want it so bad. But we're just friends. Best friends. I'm not even her type. It's not like I'm the only one she's close to, too. She hugs all the girls like that.

'It's not like I'm the only one who wants to hold her hand', I think bitterly.

I feel something crawl up my chest. Like my stomach blew up and burned my insides. Fuck.

Dani's hand brushed mine again. This time, I didn't look down. I just… let it happen. Let my pinky drift, just a fraction, toward hers.

She didn't pull away.

My heart stopped. Then restarted at twice the speed.

"You're quiet," Dani said, still not looking at me.

"Thinking," I managed.

"About what?"

About how your skin feels against mine. About how much I want you. About whether you'd scream or laugh or cry if I told you the truth. About how I'm going to survive the next five minutes without doing something stupid.

"Choreography," I lied.

I feel her slow to a stop.

I stop a single step after, because my body apparently responds to her before my brain can process.

She turned to face me, her head tilted, those hazel eyes searching my face in that way that always made me feel like she could see straight through every wall I'd ever built.

"Don't lie to me," she said. Not mean. Just…sad. Offended. A small, soft smile played at the corner of her lips. "Do you think I'm that clueless?"

My heart dropped to my ass. What. The. Fuck. I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. Nothing came out.

She stepped closer. The two-foot radius was dead. Murdered. Gone.

Her scent invades my senses. She smells like heaven, if heaven smelled like her perfume and body spray, and a bit of clean sweat from the intense six-hour dancing session we just did.

"Is it really so hard," she asked quietly, "to just tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

Yes. It's impossible. Because if I tell you, everything changes. Or nothing changes, and that would be worse.

"I don't know what you mean," I finally whispered.

Dani's hand found mine. Not brushing this time, but fully holding it. Her perfectly manicured fingers laced through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Liar," she said. But her voice was warm. Her thumb traced a small circle on the back of my hand.

Why is everyone calling me a liar today?

"You don't have to say it," she added, so quiet I almost missed it. "Not yet. But… don't hide from me. Okay? I hate it when you hide."

I stared at our intertwined fingers. At how perfectly they fit. Oh, if only.

"Okay," I breathed.

She smiled, that real, crinkly-eyed smile that picked me apart and put me back together, and squeezed my hand once before letting go.

"Good. Now get me a snack, I'm hungry and tired of your brooding."

And just like that, she started walking again, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk, my hand still tingling, my chest a mess of terror and hope.

We got back from our snack run to find everyone waiting for us. It was weirdly funny, watching their eyes follow us all the way from the door to our spots.

The rest of the practice is a test of my endurance. Every time I look at her, she looks back. Every move she makes, I stare, hypnotized by the way she moves. Even the furrow of her brows is perfection. I mentally thank her mother for gifting us with a miracle, smiling at my ridiculous thoughts.

One chance. Just one chance.

After the session ends, Sophia pulls me aside. "You sneaky bitch, what did you guys do?"

I flick her forehead, drawing out a "Nothing" to hide my grin. She eyes me and opens her mouth to rip me a new one, before a giggly "Liar" sounds from our left. I jump at Megan's jab, thankful my eyes can't set her on fire with how hard I glare.

"Not you too…" I run my hand down my face, exasperated at how fucking exposed I felt. "What is wrong with you people today? Is it 'bully the giant' day today?"

The two chuckle, side-eyeing each other while I drown in my misery.

"Nooo…you're just extra…you, today," Megan admits, like it's a top secret she's been trying so hard to keep.

I bristle, "Excuse me?"

Megan grins, undeterred. "You know what I mean. You're all smiley. Did something happen on your walk?"

My face? Hot. Flaming. On fire. Call 911. "No."

Sophia snorts. "She flicked me and then smiled about it. She's so lying."

"I smiled because I flicked you," I say. "It was satisfying."

"Mmhm." Sophia crosses her arms. "And the staring? Was that satisfying too?"

I freeze. "What staring? I'm not staring." I chuckle nervously, attempting to deflect.

Manon's hand snakes around my torso in a side hug, "Aw, come on, you were eyeing her like she's your salvation." The two nod in agreement.

FUCK. This is next-level embarrassing. "You saw that?"

"We all saw that," Megan says cheerfully.

I need to move to a different planet.

Before I can start planning a new identity, a familiar voice cuts through my spiral.

"What's so funny?"

I whip around. Dani is standing there, water bottle in hand, head tilted, looking between the four of us with curious eyes. Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than the rest.

My soul leaves my body.

"Nothing!" I say. Too fast. Too loud.

Sophia saves me…sort of. "We were just teasing the Captain about her dance face. Very intense today. Very… focused."

Manon nods, her arm still around me. "Yeah. She's been staring at the mirror like it owes her money."

I could kiss them. I could also strangle them. The line is blurry.

Dani's eyes flick to me. A small smile plays on her lips. "Oh yeah? Focused on what?"

My brain blanks. "Choreography," I manage. "Just…counting the steps. In my head."

"Mmhm." Dani takes a sip of her water, not breaking eye contact. "You should probably watch your feet, then. You almost tripped over the speaker cable twice."

Megan snorts. Sophia buries her face in her hand. I feel my entire face ignite.

"That was on purpose…" I grumble, almost pouting. Almost.

Dani's smile widens. "Sure." She turns to the others. "Anyway, I'm heading out. You coming?" She glances back at me.

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

"She'll meet you there," Sophia says, shoving me forward. "She just needs to grab her bag."

Dani nods, already walking toward the door. "Don't take too long."

And then she's gone.

I round on Sophia. "What the hell Soph-"

"You're welcome." She grins. "Now go. Before she changes her mind."

My feet are already moving.

I'm so, so screwed.

Months later, we're back in LA. The tour is over. So many billboards with our faces on them, which still makes me do a double-take every time I drive past one.

You'd think the chaos would have settled by now. It hasn't. If anything, life has gotten louder. More interviews, more photo shoots, more talk show appearances where I have to pretend I'm not constantly aware of exactly where Dani is standing and how out-of-this-world she looks.

But there are quiet moments, too. Moments I store in my mental cardboard box, the one dedicated to her, the one that only ever seems to grow, bigger than any other box. I store the ones between the noise. Late nights in the studio when everyone else has gone home. Early mornings at the dorm when the sun is barely up and she's still in her pajamas, hair a mess, squinting at her phone.

That's where I notice it.

She's texting someone. A lot.

More than usual.

At first, I don't think anything of it. Dani has friends. Family. A whole life outside of Katseye. But then I catch the smile. The small, private one she gets when her phone buzzes and her eyes flick to the screen.

It's not the same smile she gives me, or any of our bandmates. This one is softer. Quieter. Like a secret she's keeping from the world.

I tell myself I'm imagining things.

Then I see a name. A name that circles around TikTok and gossip accounts. A name that I see on her phone- accidentally, of course, because I'm not that kind of person.

Jonah.

My stomach drops. My heart clenches. My throat closes. My eyes burn.

I get restless, fidgety, snappy. I become somewhat of an asshole, and I'm not proud of it. I hate it. I hate the clipped answers I give her. I hate not being near her, or holding her hand, or carrying her bag, or making her laugh with my dry humor.

She's sitting across from me on the couch, scrolling through her messages, and I'm pretending to watch a show while my eyes keep drifting to her screen like a traitor.

Jonah. Jonah. Jonah.

Her phone keeps pinging with a new text.

She grins. Types back. Laughs under her breath.

I feel something hot crawl up my chest. The same thing I felt that day on the sidewalk when I thought about someone else holding her hand. The same thing I feel every time someone gets too close to her.

Jealousy. Actual, ugly, irrational jealousy.

Fuck.

I don't even know what she likes. We've never talked about it. I've never asked, because asking would mean admitting why I want to know, and I'm not ready for that conversation. I'd rather swim in a pool of jellyfish than ask her that question.

But if I had to guess, based on the way she's smiling at her phone right now, I'd say Jonah is more than a friend.

And I'm just… here.

A best friend. A bandmate. A useless gay who can't even hold eye contact without combusting.

I should give up. I should accept that I missed my chance, assuming I ever had one. I should focus on the music, on the job, on literally anything else.

But I can't.

Because every time she laughs at something Jonah said, I want to be the one making her laugh. Every time she types back too fast, I want to be the reason her thumbs can't keep up.

So I do the only thing I can.

I try harder.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing embarrassing. Just… small things.

I bring her coffee before she asks, and if I'm feeling extra, I have it waiting for her every morning.

I offer to drive her around to her destinations, calling her my passenger princess, which, kudos to me, makes her blush and giggle. I pretend it's on my way. It's almost always not. I add twenty minutes to my commute and don't say a word.

I start leaving little notes on her mirror. Dumb things.

You're gonna kill it today.

Don't forget to hydrate.

Your hair looks nice.

That new lipstick is doing things. (That one I almost didn't leave. I left it anyway.)

She smiles at the notes. Tucks them into the edge of her mirror like they're keepsakes.

I ambush her more often, offering to do her hair routine and adding an extra massage here and there.

I take her on what could pass as a date or an outing. A lunch, a nail appointment, a shopping spree, a brunch with friends.

Once, I got her flowers. When she asked why, I said, "Just because."

It took me a long time, but I started to initiate touch instead of just receiving it from her.

The girls noticed, of course. They grilled me about it. A wink here, a jab there. But under all the teasing, I feel the support. They're silently rooting for me.

Lara corners me in the kitchen, urging me to confess, or at least make it clearer.

"I know it's hard. I know you're scared. But if you don't make a move now, you're gonna lose your chance. She won't be available forever, you know?"

I swallow thickly, tears brimming in my eyes, "I know that, Lara. But what if she's…not into me? I don't want to lose what we already have."

Lara grabs my shoulders, trying to physically shake some sense into me, "You're not gonna know unless you ask! Or at least try! But don't fumble just because you're worried. You love her, right?" I nod.

I admit it. I love her. I’m in love with her. "I love her, Lara." My voice cracks, a tear escaping, no matter how hard I tried.

"Then go get her." The finality in her tone is the sledgehammer to the last wall.

I know I can't keep hiding forever. And I know that every time she looks at me, my heart flutters the way it always has. I know she'll always have a hold on me. Always. Even if I lose her to him.

But I don't want to live like that. I don't want to know what it's like. I want her. In my life, and every life I'll ever live.

So I start planning. Quietly. Awkwardly. Pathetically.

Because the alternative is doing nothing, and I've done nothing for too long.

I'm not about to just sit there and watch someone take her away from me.

Not her. Not my Dani.

'I’m just saying,' she continued, leaning back in her chair with a dramatic sigh, 'if I had known I’d have a week off, I would’ve planned something.'

You glanced up at her over your mug. 'You did plan something.'

She raised an eyebrow.

'You planned to stay in, avoid the cold, and drag me into it with you.'

Her lips twitched. 'You wanted to stay.'

'You bribed me with breakfast.'

'That’s not bribery,' she argued. 'That’s being a good girlfriend.'

You paused for half a second. '…okay, fair.'

She smiled, satisfied, like she’d just won something small but important.

You shook your head, finishing the last of your drink before standing up and gathering both your plates. 'And now you’re bored.'

'I’m not bored.' She said quickly.

A moment passed.

'…I’m a little bored.'

You snorted, heading toward the sink. 'Shocking.'

'Hey—' she pointed at you as you turned the tap on, 'I could’ve gone somewhere, you know.'

'Mhm,' you hummed. 'But you didn’t.'

'Because it’s snowing.'

'And?'

'And I wanted to stay here.' She said, quieter now.

You glanced over your shoulder.

She wasn’t looking at you—just fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie.

'…with you.'

Your chest did something stupid.

You turned back to the sink quickly. 'That’s—yeah. Makes sense.'

Smooth. Very smooth.

Behind you, her chair scraped back.

'I’m gonna change,' Daniela said, already heading toward the hallway. 'Don’t go anywhere.'

'Where would I go?' You muttered.

'Exactly. Stay there.'

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile there as she disappeared.

The apartment felt different when she wasn’t in the room. Quieter.

You rinsed the dishes slowly, listening to the soft sounds of movement from down the hall—drawers opening, fabric shifting, the occasional thud of something being dropped.

You dried your hands, glancing out the window again. It really did look nice. Cold. But nice.

'Okay, wait—'

You turned. And immediately had to pretend you didn’t.

Daniela stood there in the doorway, already bundled up—coat on, scarf loosely wrapped, hair slightly messy in that way that made it look like she hadn’t tried but somehow still looked better than she should.

Her eyes were bright. Way too bright.

'What?' You asked, forcing your tone to stay normal.

'Let’s go out.'

You blinked. 'Out?'

'Yeah,' she nodded, stepping closer. 'It’s snowing—it’s actually nice out. We can go for a walk, grab coffee, and—' she paused, remembering, '—we can go to Sophia’s. I think everyone’s there.'

You stared at her. 'You just said you didn’t want to go out.'

'I changed my mind.'

'Because?'

She shrugged. 'Because it looks nice. And I want to.'

There was a pause as she stepped closer.

'Come on,' she said, softer now, reaching out to tug lightly at your sleeve. 'It’ll be fun.'

That did it. It happens every time.

You exhaled slowly, already losing the argument you hadn’t even started. '…you’re annoying.'

'That’s not a no.'

'It’s barely a yes.'

'I’ll take it.'

You shook your head, turning toward the hallway. 'I’m going to shower.'

'Yes!' She said, way too excited for something so small.

'If I freeze, I’m blaming you.'

'I’ll warm you up.' She shot back instantly.

You paused mid-step. '…don’t say things like that.'

She laughed. 'Go shower.'

The heat of the shower wrapped around you, easing the chill you hadn’t even stepped into yet. You stayed there longer than necessary, letting yourself relax.

But your mind wandered anyway. To her. The way she’d said I wanted to stay here… with you.

The way she’d looked at you just now.

You leaned your head back against the wall, exhaling. 'Yeah,' you muttered to yourself. 'I’m gone.'

Completely.

You turned the water off. And when you stepped back out, fully dressed and layered, Daniela was already waiting by the door.

Of course she was. Leaning there like she hadn’t been pacing two seconds ago, phone in hand but clearly not using it.

Waiting.

'You took forever.' She said.

'You rushed me.'

'I did not.'

'You absolutely did.'

She smiled anyway, pushing herself off the wall and stepping closer—close enough to fix your scarf without asking.

Her fingers brushed your neck briefly. 'You’ll be cold.' She said, adjusting it properly.

You swallowed. 'I’ll survive.'

'Barely.' She muttered.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. 'You ready?'

'Always.'

She reached for the door. Cold air rushed in immediately.

You both paused.

'…last chance to stay inside.' You said.

Daniela stepped out anyway. 'Too late.'

You sighed but followed anyway.

The cold hit instantly, sharp but refreshing. Snow crunched under your boots as you walked, the world quiet and still around you.

Daniela bumped her shoulder lightly against yours. 'See? Its not that bad.'

'…I’ll decide that in five minutes.'

She laughed, slipping her hand into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t even hesitate. Just held on.

'…you planned this.' You muttered.

'I did not.'

'You did.'

'Okay, maybe a little.'

You smiled despite yourself, squeezing her hand slightly as you both walked further into the snow.

---

The cold settled in properly after a few minutes. Not unbearable—but enough to make you tuck your chin deeper into your scarf and squeeze Daniela’s hand just a little tighter.

The streets were quieter than usual, snow softening every sound. Your footsteps crunched in sync, breath visible in the air, the world feeling slower—gentler.

For a moment, it was calm. Then Daniela let go of your hand.

You frowned slightly, glancing over. 'Where are you—'

She didn’t answer. Just jogged ahead of you, boots kicking up snow as she moved a few feet away.

'Dani?' You called, suspicious already.

She crouched. That’s when it clicked.

'No—' you pointed at her immediately. 'Don’t.'

She ignored you, already scooping up snow.

'Daniela.'

Still nothing.

'Don’t do it.'

She stood, turned, and threw it. It hit you square in the face. Immediate coldness.

You froze. Completely still, snow clinging to your cheeks, your nose and your lashes.

There was a second—just one—where everything stopped. Then you slowly stuck your tongue out, spitting out a bit of snow.

'…oh my god.'

Daniela’s hand flew to her mouth. 'I didn’t mean to hit your face—'

You didn’t respond. Just stared at her. Expression blank. Dangerously blank.

'…don’t.' She said, taking a small step back.

Too late.

You bent down, grabbing a pile of snow—not even bothering to pack it properly, just scooping up as much as you could hold.

You stood, turning to get a good angle when she turned away slightly, distracted now—muttering something to herself as she crouched again.

'…wait, this would be cute—'

You stepped closer behind her. Quiet and focused. Snow piled in your hands, ready to absolutely end her.

She still hadn’t noticed. Too busy shaping something small in the snow.

You lifted your arm, and right as you were about to throw it, she turned around.

'Look—'

You stopped dead in your tracks.

In her hands sat the smallest, messiest little snowman. Barely formed. A bit uneven. But she was smiling like she’d just created something incredible—eyes soft, proud, a little excited.

It hit you instantly.

You couldn’t do it. Not when she looked like that. Your arm hovered mid-air for a second longer, your brain trying to catch up with your heart.

'…you’re kidding me.' You muttered under your breath.

And then you threw the snow at yourself. It hit your own face with a soft whump, snow scattering slightly on impact.

Silence.

Daniela blinked. '…what?'

You stood there for a second, snow melting against your skin, dripping slightly down your cheek.

Then you lowered your hand, looked at her and shook your head once then turned.

'I’m going to get coffee.' You said, already walking past her. 'I can’t do this.'

'Wait—what just happened?!' Daniela laughed, quickly standing and running after you.

'Hey—hey, stop!'

You didn’t.

Arms crossed now, pace just a little faster than normal, like that would somehow help your dignity.

She caught up easily, stepping in front of you to stop you in your tracks.

'Why did you do that?' She asked, still laughing, breath visible between her words.

You avoided her gaze immediately. 'I don’t want to talk about it.'

'No, you have to,' she insisted, smiling. 'You just threw snow at yourself.'

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face—only making it worse. 'Because...' You started, then stopped.

She waited. Patient. Still smiling.

'…because I couldn’t throw it at you.' You muttered finally.

Her expression softened instantly. 'Why?'

You glanced at her, then away again just as fast. 'Because you looked at me all… happy,' you said. 'With your stupid little snowman.'

'It’s not stupid.' She defended lightly.

'It is,' you said. 'It’s tiny.'

'It’s cute.'

'It’s falling apart.'

'So rude.' She laughed.

There was a pause. Then, she said softly, 'You really couldn’t throw it at me?'

You shook your head, a little embarrassed now. 'No.'

She stepped closer. Closer than before.

Her hand lifted gently, brushing away the remaining snow from your face—fingers careful as they wiped along your cheek, your nose… your eyelashes.

'You’ve got snow everywhere.' She murmured.

'I noticed.'

'Stay still.'

You did. Of course you did. Her thumb brushed just under your eye, catching the last bits of melting snow.

For a second, neither of you moved. She smiled, soft and fond as she then leaned in.

The kiss was gentle—warm despite the cold, quick but lingering just enough to make your brain completely shut down.

When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. Just enough to look at you.

'You’re ridiculous.' She said quietly.

'You did this to me.' You replied.

'Did I?'

'Yes.'

She smiled again, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Then reached for your hand and laced your fingers together.

'Come on,' she said, tugging you lightly. 'Let’s get coffee before you freeze.'

You let her pull you along, still a little dazed, still very much recovering.

'…I hate you.' You muttered.

'No you don’t.'

'…yeah,' you sighed, squeezing her hand slightly. 'I really don’t.'

---

Daniela didn’t let go of your hand. Not even as you continued down the street, snow crunching beneath your boots, the cold still biting—but easier now, warmer somehow.

Probably because of her. Probably because of the kiss.

'Can’t believe you threw snow at yourself.' She said after a moment, voice light, clearly still thinking about it.

You groaned. 'Oh my god, please just drop it.'

'I can’t,' she laughed. 'That was—'

'Don’t.'

'—the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.'

You stopped walking and slowly turned your head toward her. '…I will throw snow at you this time.'

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not taking you seriously. 'No you won’t.'

'I will.'

'You won’t.'

You narrowed your eyes, letting go of her hand just long enough to bend down slightly—not even fully committing.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, watching you with a small smile like she knew exactly how this would go.

You straightened back up. '…okay, maybe I won’t.'

She laughed, stepping closer again and bumping her shoulder into yours. 'Exactly.'

'You’re so annoying.' You muttered, lacing your fingers back with hers.

'And you’re so predictable.'

'Only for you.'

That slipped out. You didn’t mean for it to sound like that. But it did.

Daniela blinked. Just slightly as her grip on your hand tightened a little. '…only for me?' She echoed.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. 'Yeah. I wouldn’t throw snow at myself for just anyone, you know.'

She huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was something softer in it now.

'Good,' she said. 'I’d be offended.'

'You should be,' you nodded. 'It was a very exclusive moment.'

She shook her head, smiling to herself as you both kept walking.

The café wasn’t far. A small, warm looking place tucked into the corner of the street, windows fogged slightly from the heat inside.

The second you stepped in, the temperature shift hit instantly. Warm. Comfortable.

The smell of coffee and baked goods wrapped around you, thawing out your fingers and cheeks.

'Oh my god,' you breathed. 'I’m never leaving.'

'Yes you are,' Daniela laughed, nudging you toward the counter. 'We have places to be.'

'That's unfortunate.'

You stayed close together while waiting, still half-bundled in your coats as you scanned the menu.

'You’re ordering for everyone, right?' She asked.

'Obviously.'

She glanced at you. 'You remember everyone’s orders?'

You gave her a look. 'Of course I do.'

She smiled a little at that. Soft and fond.

'Okay,' she said. 'Go on then.'

You stepped up to the counter, listing them off without hesitation—

'One iced latte with oat milk, one caramel latte, one vanilla cold brew, one iced matcha latte, one hot chocolate—.'

You paused.

'Two more—'

You glanced sideways at Daniela. She was already looking at you.

'…one hazelnut latte.' You finished quietly.

'For you.' She said.

'You nodded.' You nodded.

'And one—' you turned back to the cashier, '—just a regular latte.'

'For me.' Daniela smiled to herself again, subtle but there.

'You didn’t even have to ask.' She said once you stepped aside.

'I don’t need to.'

'That’s kind of scary.'

'It’s called paying attention.'

She leaned slightly closer. 'So you’ve been studying me?'

You didn’t miss a beat. 'Obviously.'

That one hit. You saw it instantly—the way her expression shifted, just a little. The way she looked at you, then away.

'…oh.' She said, quieter now.

You tilted your head, smirking slightly. 'What?'

'Nothing.'

'You’re flustered.'

'I’m not.'

'You are.'

'I’m not.' She repeated, but she wasn’t looking at you anymore, fiddling with the sleeve of her coat.

You stepped closer. 'Daniela.'

'What.'

You leaned in just slightly, voice softer. 'You’re blushing.'

She let out a small, embarrassed laugh, turning her head away. 'Stop.'

'No.'

'Stop.'

'Make me.'

She glanced back at you. Big mistake. Because you were already smiling. That same look she’d given you earlier. Soft and fond.

And now it was her turn.

'…you’re annoying.' She muttered.

'And you love me.'

She didn’t even hesitate this time. 'I do.'

That landed heavier than either of you expected. You blinked.

'…okay.'

She smiled again, gentler now. 'Okay.'

By the time the drinks were ready, your hands were full—carefully balancing the tray as you stepped back out into the cold.

'Careful.' Daniela said, immediately reaching out to steady it.

'I’ve got it.'

'I know.' She said, but kept her hand there anyway. Just in case.

You adjusted your grip. 'If I drop these, I’m blaming you.'

'How is that my fault?'

'You distracted me.'

'With what?'

You glanced at her. '…existing.'

She froze for half a second. '…you can’t just say things like that.'

'You started it.' You shrugged.

'I did not.'

'You did.'

She shook her head, laughing under her breath as you both started walking again.

By the time you reached Sophia’s apartment, your fingers were cold again—but the drinks were still intact.

Barely.

You knocked once before pushing the door open. Warmth hit you instantly. Voices. Laughter.

'Oh—finally!' Sophia called from inside. 'What took you so long?'

You stepped in carefully. 'We brought peace offerings.'

'Coffee!' Megan cheered.

Daniela closed the door behind you, already slipping out of her coat. The girls gathered quickly, taking their drinks, immediately settling back into their usual chaos.

'You remembered my order?' Lara asked, surprised.

'Of course I did.' You said.

'Aww.' Yoonchae smiled, taking her hot chocolate.

'You’re actually the best.' Manon added.

'Yeah, yeah.' You waved it off.

Sophia, however, was looking between you and Daniela. Smiling. Slowly.

'…what?' You asked.

'Nothing.' She said.

'Don’t do that.'

'Do what?'

'That look.'

She laughed. 'You two are just very… cute.'

You groaned immediately, turning away. Daniela just smiled, stepping closer to you again, shoulder brushing yours.

'See?' She murmured. 'Not just me.'

'Don’t encourage her.'

'Too late.'

You shook your head, but your hand found hers again anyway. Like it always did.

---

The apartment settled into its usual rhythm quickly.

Coats abandoned, shoes kicked off, everyone spread out across the living room—some on the couch, some on the floor, drinks in hand, conversations overlapping in that familiar, chaotic way.

Warm, loud and comfortable.

You ended up half-sitting on the arm of the couch, your leg pressed lightly against Daniela’s thigh where she sat, your fingers loosely hooked into the sleeve of her hoodie without even thinking about it.

She noticed. Of course she did.

Her hand rested over yours absentmindedly, thumb brushing lightly back and forth as she listened to whatever Sophia and Lara were arguing about now.

'…I’m just saying, that doesn’t make sense logically—' Sophia insisted.

'It does if you think about it properly.' Lara shot back.

'You’re both wrong.' Megan added.

'Thank you.' Yoonchae nodded.

'You didn’t even hear the argument.' Manon laughed.

'I don’t need to.'

You smiled faintly to yourself, not really paying attention anymore—just warm, comfortable, and a little tired from the cold.

Daniela shifted slightly beside you. 'You’re cold.' She murmured, quiet enough that it was just for you.

'I’m fine.'

'You’re not.'

Before you could argue, she tugged gently at your hand, pulling you closer until you slid properly onto the couch beside her.

'Dani—'

'Come here.' She said softly.

And that was it. No fight. You leaned into her, your shoulder pressed against hers, your head just barely tipping toward her.

Her arm settled around you naturally, like it had done this a hundred times before. Because it had.

'You good?' She asked quietly.

'Yeah.'

She hummed, satisfied, her hand rubbing lightly over your arm. '…your face still cold?' She added after a second.

You let out a small huff of a laugh. 'You mean from when you assaulted me with a snowball?'

'I said I was sorry.'

'You hit me directly in the face.'

'I didn’t mean to!'

'You did.'

'I didn’t!'

You turned your head slightly, looking at her. 'You absolutely did.'

She smiled, soft and a little guilty. Then without thinking, she reached up, brushing her fingers gently over your cheek, like she was checking for something that wasn’t there anymore.

'…I felt bad,' she said quietly. 'You looked so shocked.'

Your brain paused. Because that tone sounded a little too honest.

'You literally stopped moving,' she continued, still gently touching your face. 'And then you just stood there with snow on your lashes and—' she smiled to herself, '—I thought you were gonna cry.'

'I was not going to cry.' You said immediately.

'You looked like it.'

'I was cold!'

'I know,' she said, softer now. 'I didn’t like it.'

The room went quiet. Not immediately. But gradually. One by one, conversations died down. Because everyone had heard.

Daniela froze, hand still on your face, her brain catching up way too late.

Slowly, she looked up.

Sophia was staring. Lara was staring. Manon had her eyebrows raised so high they were practically gone. Megan looked like she was trying not to laugh.

And Yoonchae? She's just blinking. Processing.

'…what?' Daniela said, way too quickly.

No one answered.

'You guys are weird,' she added, immediately pulling her hand back and sitting up straighter. 'Why are you all looking at me like that?'

'Oh, I don’t know,' Sophia said slowly. 'Maybe because you just—'

'Anyway!' Daniela cut in abruptly, turning to you. 'This one—'

She pointed at you. '—threw snow at herself earlier.'

You blinked. '…you’re switching the topic right now?'

'Yes.'

'Very obviously.'

'Yeah.'

'No,' Manon said immediately. 'We’re not moving past that.'

'Not at all.' Lara agreed.

'You didn’t like it?' Megan repeated, looking at Daniela.

Daniela visibly regretted everything. 'I—no, I mean—'

'You felt bad?' Sophia added.

'It wasn’t like that—'

'You thought she was going to cry?' Yoonchae said, tilting her head.

'I did not say that like that—'

'You literally did.' You said, fully betraying her.

Daniela turned to you so fast. 'You’re supposed to be on my side.'

'I was,' you said. 'And then you exposed yourself.'

'I did not—'

'You did.' Megan laughed.

'That was crazy.' Manon added.

'That was so soft.' Lara grinned.

'I hate all of you.' Daniela muttered, dropping her face into her hands.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Actually laughed. Which only made it worse for her.

'Oh my god,' Sophia said, leaning back. 'Daniela is whipped.'

'I am not—'

'You are.' Yoonchae nodded.

'Look at them.' Megan added, gesturing between you both.

'She literally just admitted it.' Lara said.

'I did not—'

You leaned slightly toward her, lowering your voice just enough. 'You didn’t like it?' You repeated quietly.

She froze and peeked at you through her fingers. '…don’t.' She warned.

You smiled. The same way she had earlier. And that was it.

She groaned quietly, dropping her hands and leaning her head against your shoulder.

'See?' Sophia pointed. 'Exhibit A.'

'Leave her alone.' You said, though you were very much enjoying this.

'Protective too?' Manon laughed.

'Oh, they’re both gone.' Megan said.

'Fully.' Lara nodded.

Daniela just stayed there, hiding slightly against you now. 'You’re all so annoying.' She mumbled.

You tilted your head lightly against hers. 'Yeah, but you love them.'

'…unfortunately... I love you more though.'

That shut you up. Completely.

'…okay.' You said after a second, voice softer now.

The girls lost it.

'OH MY GOD—' 'HELLO?!' 'DANIELA—'

She just laughed this time, no longer trying to hide, lifting her head slightly but staying close.

Your hand found hers again, fingers slipping together easily.

The room filled back up with noise, teasing, laughter—but it faded into the background for you.

Because she was still right there, close and warm, looking at you like that again.

'…you’re embarrassing.' You muttered.

'You started it.'

'I did not.'

'You absolutely did.'

You shook your head, smiling anyway, squeezing her hand lightly. '…yeah,' you admitted. 'Worth it.'

This was weird.

No.

Awkward. 

And you could not exactly pinpoint why. Nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing really changed.

Besides his behavior.

Your best friend’s boyfriend.

Not that everything always had been amazing between you two. You’d had a hard time forming any kind of friendship with him from the beginning.

He seemed to be against it without admitting it in any way. But you could see it in acting like you were a ghost sometimes, in ignoring whatever you had to say, in cutting you off, and trying to exclude you from any possible plans that Daniela had.

So, yeah. You were not close by any means. But it was never bad like this. Like today.

Ever since you’d gotten to the restaurant, things had been different. Not much different. But there was tension.

A lot of it.

It seemed like the other two girls could feel none of it, though.

Your eyes kept jumping up and down to your food as you felt the uneasy glances burning your face. You hadn’t said anything because—besides this—everything was going well.

Manon was sitting next to you, smiling and talking to Daniela, who was sitting in front of you.

The girls had thought it would have been such a great idea to do a ‘double date’ as they had joked about it. Of course, it was not really that. As much as Daniela and Jonah were a couple, you and Manon were only friends.

Neither she, nor you saw the other in a romantic way. But it was easier to plan lunch for the four of you than with anyone else. As roommates—minus Jonah—you knew about your schedules well enough to figure something out on days off.

You were happy they could have fun and relax after a month of tireless working. However, you would be happier if a certain boy with a constant grumpy face paid attention to anything else than tensing his jaw every time he looked at you.

For example, his girlfriend.

“Don’t even tell me.” Daniela groaned out, her eyes rolling as she leaned forward. “The season is starting and I’m already exhausted.”

You could not even begin to comprehend what they were talking about as all you could focus on was the awkwardness that surrounded you. Only you, apparently.

“Ugh, I know.” Manon said, her eyes going wide as she grimaced, finishing up chewing on her food. “I thought my legs would set themselves on fire last rehearsal.”

If the situation stayed like that, somebody could try to set you on fire soon enough. You hoped it all was in your head only.

The girls kept talking as you tried to avoid the tension by drinking your soda and looking to the opposite side.

“Right, babe?” You heard the Latina.

Your head turned back to the conversation, hoping that whatever was happening would ease up now that your best friend addressed the boy.

Your brows scrunched in slight surprise when, instead, Daniela was looking at you with a smile. Well, shit, you had no answer. Right what? You did not listen to a word they said.

“Uh—” You did not know what she was referring to and the pet name she had for you was not helping your current situation.

Manon immediately glanced at you as the corner of her mouth tugged into a smirk before she composed herself.

Of course, she would be happy about you being in trouble.

“Were you in the clouds?” Daniela teased you, her fingers falling on your hand as she poked it lightly with her nail.

Normally, you would not mind. It was nothing unusual for her to do—the same for calling you ‘babe’—but Jonah’s burning gaze moved to where your hands met.

His lips seemed to roll in, then press tightly.

Before anyone could say anything, a waitress came over, smiling at everybody.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” Everyone thanked her as Daniela’s hand was now sprawled on top of yours.

“Could we get a check, please?” The Latina said, looking up at the girl while mindlessly dragging her nails on your skin.

It felt soothing, nice—comfortable. Until, it did not. Jonah’s gaze went from the table to you, anger flickering in his eyes before he looked away.

It left you with anxiety running through your body. Maybe, you should pull your hand away? Then what? Daniela would probably be confused, maybe ask questions that you did not necessarily have answers to.

Keeping it like that was also not a great solution. Whatever was bothering Jonah included you in it.

Unfortunately.

Your mind was getting crowded, thoughts flooding it while Daniela was sorting out stuff with the waitress, asking for one check only.

Someone always paid the entire thing. You rotated every time you went out. It was easier and fine with everyone involved.

“Thank you.” Daniela said, putting her card away and taking the receipt.

“You’re welcome, I hope you enjoyed the food.” The waitress smiled. Just as she was about to walk away, something made her stop and lean down between you and Daniela. “You’re a very cute couple.”

The words stunned you, eyes widening, mouth parting in shock. Manon choked on her spit, covering her mouth with her hand while, across from you, Daniela did not seem to be surprised by the comment. 

She kept her composure, her lips were parted as she stared at the girl with a slightly puzzled smile.

It was not the first time someone said it to you and her. However, today, you felt in danger. You did not want to add any more things for Jonah to be grumpy about with you.

You could already feel his eyes on you again. And Manon’s. You did not have to look at her to know she was having fun—she always did.

Your hand slid from under the Latina’s, pretending to fix your shirt as you sat awkwardly.

Your best friend’s gaze moved to you, there was something in it that you could not figure out before she blinked it away.

“We’re not together.” You said finally, seeing how Daniela could not get a word out.

She stared at you blankly for a while longer before smiling up at the girl.

“Yeah, this is my boyfriend, actually.” She chuckled lightly, leaning back and gesturing to the boy next to her.

The waitress’s smile faltered slowly upon realizing her mistake as she stared at Jonah.

Bummer. 

She probably felt mortified.

You felt bad for her.

But you also felt bad for yourself.

“Oh.” She let out shortly, her eyes going back to you and Daniela like she was searching for something—giving Manon only more reasons to laugh. “Well, I hope you have a good day, guys, come back anytime.” She clasped her hands before smiling and quickly walking away.

You were scared to look at Daniela and her boyfriend now—for different reason, but also pretty much the same one.

You could basically feel how annoyance was radiating off of him from across the table. Not that you cared a lot. You did not really like him. He was weird, kind of stuck up, and you believed he treated Daniela poorly.

She deserved better. She deserved the best in your eyes. And he was not giving it to her.

But you were willing to be on good terms—also purely for her.

“That’s awkward.” Manon mumbled quietly to you while everyone started getting up.

Your eyebrow raised at her knowingly before you looked to Daniela. Her eyes were already on you, an unreadable expression on her face, before she pushed her tongue to her upper lip and clicked it.

Uh-oh.

She only did that when she was mad. Irritated. Frustrated. Anything from the above. You could come up with more, but there was not time to dwell on it when she started getting up.

“Time to get everything settled on the couch.” Manon said semi-excitedly, patting her stomach and attempting to lighten up the mood between the rest.

Well, at least, you were not alone in this terrible atmosphere anymore.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted from eating all this.” Daniela responded with a small chuckle, the chair scraping against the floor as she pushed it. “Are you coming with us?” She asked, looking at her boyfriend.

You tried to act normal and glance at him for the answer, but as soon as your eyes met, the anger shone in them before his jaw clenched.

No eye contact for today. 

Noted.

“No, I have some work to do.” He said in a stiff tone.

Clearly an excuse. But you were happy about it. You would have to come up with one if he decided to join.

“Oh.” Daniela let out, almost indifferently, “I’ll text you later then.” Grabbing her purse, she said a quick goodbye before walking around the table. “Let’s go.” 

She gestured to the door, raising her eyebrows at you both for a split second, her legs already taking her out of the place as Jonah stayed behind—on his own accord as it seemed—for a bit longer.

You could only hope everything would be fine later because you did not know why it was not fine in the first place.

Not knowing and not being able to fix it was killing you. You butted heads enough as it was, you did not need more problems with him.

———

A wave of relief hit you when the door to the apartment closed. You were free and safe now. Kind of.

The Latina had questioned you on your weird behavior at the restaurant. She had talked about the end part mostly, about your fidgeting and how you had seemed to be allergic to her touch today.

But you had dismissed it in the easiest way possible, which was exhaustion. She hadn’t believed it fully, but she hadn’t kept the interrogation going, so it’d worked.

“What are we feeling like?” Daniela asked, rounding the corner while turning to face you and Manon.

Even though you had just eaten lunch, you were still hungry for a snack—or two. Daniela and Manon had thought you were crazy, but as you’d gotten closer to the apartment, they’d decided to get something as well.

Your meal had been pretty small anyway. The career you had and how much energy you needed for it, you had to eat more and work out to stay in shape.

Well, maybe, you did not have to. But you wanted to. Your body was muscular, but not overly. It helped you with certain moves as a dancer. 

Not that you needed a lot of strength to lead, pick, and hold Daniela. She was your roommate, best friend, and also your dance partner.

You had been dancing together since middle school. That was how you had met. Now, as adults, you took part in bigger competitions.

It meant that you spent a lot of time together. And you liked it. You loved being around your best friend. Sometimes, people just made it a little bit—weird.

“Uh.” Manon’s lips spread as her teeth pressed together, looking at you for help.

One thing Daniela did not like was indecisiveness. If she asked you a question, she wanted an answer. Especially, about things like this.

You could only stare back at Manon with wide eyes, mind blanking, as you had no idea what you wanted.

A sigh interrupted your little nonverbal battle.

“Okay, you figure it out then, I’m going to get my charger.” Her lips pursed as she raised her arms before walking out.

Well, now, you had just so much time to find something suitable. Something good.

Something—

“So, what’s the deal?” Manon asked out of nowhere, coming up to a cupboard and instantly grabbing a pack of crackers. 

“Huh?” You could not comprehend the question.

“Oh, come on, girl.” She jumped on the counter, popping the snack in her mouth. “You were weird the whole time at the restaurant.”

Your eyes squinted at the girl, going to the crackers in her hand before looking back up to her face.

“What is this?” The situation was getting skeptical. “Did you do this to have her leave?”

“Duh.” She replied, widening her eyes for a second. “I needed the space to ask what I want to.” 

Smart. 

She had always been.

It was not always good for you.

You could’ve predicted this. But then, you had no idea Manon had noticed anything out of the ordinary during lunch.

“Don’t avoid, you gotta tell me.” She prompted again.

Her legs were dangling as you struggled to gather your thoughts.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you were weird.” Her brow raised at you with a scrunched face, like it was obvious.

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She would not let this go.

She was too stubborn—for your own good.

It could be hard to dodge her, her persistence was impeccable.

“So?” Her urging continued, her head leaning in closer to you as if she wanted to make sure you saw her.

“So nothing, I’m tired.” If you did not know what to do, you blamed it on not having the energy.

Or not being in the mood.

One of the two always worked.

“Uh huh.” She let out, unconvinced. “Tired of Jonah?” Your body went stiff as you rummaged through the cupboards in an attempt to find something before Daniela’s return. “Oh.” Manon’s lips were already curling into a smirk when you glanced over your shoulder. “I hit the jackpot.”

Her smile did not falter as she put another cracker in her mouth. Her eyes watched you with a newfound spirit. 

“You can get hit in the head if you want.” You retaliated. “I have nothing against him.”

“Errrn.” She sounded loudly. “Lies, try again.” Her arms moved back as she leaned on them, crossing her ankles.

There was no way out. You needed Daniela to come back. Where the hell was she? Usually, you had twenty seconds to make a choice before she would run in and give you a look.

“Ugh.” Your groan rumbled in your throat. “If he has a problem, it’s his to solve.”

“OoOooO.” Her special sounds were getting out of hand now. “So, there is one—”

“There is what?” Your saving grace. She finally came back to rescue you. 

Her question made Manon’s eyes jump to the kitchen entrance before giving you a look like it was not the end.

Daniela was looking between you two, her face held a small smile as she waited for some kind of answer.

You were scared of what the Swiss girl could do now.

“Y/n has a lover.” Manon said after a beat of silence.

You choked on your spit, throwing yourself into a coughing fit from this unexpected—and death-worthy—comment.

“What?” Daniela breathed out, a light chuckle escaped her lips, but she did not look amused.

More like confused. Maybe hurt?

“She’s joking.” You said confidently, giving Manon a stern look.

She only shrugged her shoulders while Daniela looked at her puzzled before moving her gaze to you.

Her eyes were unsure—and searching. She seemed hurt, but did not want to show it. Probably, in case there was nothing to be hurt about.

Because why would you not tell her if you had someone? You would right away.

“I am, I am.” Manon finally laughed out, waving her hand before jumping off the counter. “Or am I?” Her expression turned mysterious as she stared at you.

This girl played way too much.

“I don’t have anyone and you know it.” 

Her eyebrows raised, then a deep exhale followed. “Yeah, I do.” She sent you a sweet smile before grabbing her crackers and going to the living room. “Let’s get that movie started.”

Your eyes rolled as you sent Daniela a warm smile. “She’s crazy.” You said, shaking your head and turning back to the cabinet.

A pack of your favorite sour worms was there, you grabbed it and some popped Skittles for Daniela.

They were her favorite.

You turned around to follow Manon, she was just as impatient as the Latina, calling from the living room to hurry up.

You were stopped by fingers lacing around your hand as you passed Daniela.

Your head moved to face the girl with a confused expression. It softened right away when you saw the uncertainty and uneasiness painting her features.

“You would tell me, right?” Her voice was small as she spoke. Your hand felt warm as she held onto it like her life depended on it.

Your lips spread into a warm smile. “Of course, I would.” Your body turned to her fully after putting the candy on the island, so you could rub her arms. “She was just joking, you would be the first one to know.”

She nodded, her features lighting up a bit. Your hands went to her head before you leaned down and planted a kiss on top of it.

“Now, let’s go before she rips our heads off.” The words made her laugh lightly before hitting you on your arm. “Ow!” You looked offended, but the Latina was already stepping away with a mischevious smirk playing on her lips. “What was that for?”

“In case.” 

Your brows pulled together as you stared at her. 

“In case what?” 

She ignored the question, her hand grabbing the Skittles as she kept walking to the living room.

“In case what?!” You yelled out again as she disappeared behind the wall.

There was no answer and there would not be one. Of course. You groaned to yourself, looking up at the ceiling for a split second.

Taking the bag of your candy in a rather harsh way, you made your way to the girls.

After this treatment, you would not be helping with picking the movie.

———

“Back straight.” The order was stated firmly. “Good.” 

You were relieved it was good. There were so many things you had to be doing—even more that were running through your head—that you were getting lost.

Fortunately, not too much. You were still doing a great job at dancing. You were still killing every step, still led Daniela smoothly, still finished every move perfectly.

Still did your part wonderfully.

And somehow, you were getting into your head.

The Latina seemed to have a lot of fire in her today. She was very touchy—nothing unusual. The type of dance you did required a lot of physicality. A lotof it.

But she seemed to be making sure that this essential part was met for one hundred percent.

And another hundred as a backup.

Her eyes were unrelenting, staring at you so intensely that they could carve a hole in your head.

You had a very short break when you held her hand and she moved away a few steps, but it quickly went back to the previous position. Which was her hands all over you.

“Great! Splendid!” The coach was screaming in happiness.

Daniela’s eyes were hard to look into when an unfamiliar emotion took over them. Her fingers were sneakily wandering around your arms and chest.

You needed to remind yourself that it was a rehearsal. Nothing else. Your dance rehearsal. Because you were a dancer. So, you were dancing with your dancing partner.

She slowly started lowering, her touch spreading down more and more, leaving heat behind. Her teeth showed when she smirked, tongue poking out as she swiped her upper lip—right at your croch.

And for the first time in your life—in your friendship—your mind went there.

You twirled her quickly, hoping things would ease up a bit.

You should know they wouldn't. You knew the dance. You were very aware how it would go.

Her bum was pushed out now while your hand tangled in her hair. She stood up slowly, seductively, her back nudging your front—almost sending you into a heart attack—before she straightened to her full height, then bending her knees.

“Yes! Perfecto! Keep going, Daniela!” Your coach was ecstatic, shouting praises and squealing like a schoolgirl.

Oh, Lord.

You could only pray to be spared. Something was very wrong today.

Maybe, it was the situation with Jonah from last week. He had become even more annoying than before and you started being self-conscious about your gestures and closeness with Daniela.

As your hands landed on her hips, she pressed herself to you. The actions turned sexual very quickly as there was no space in between. Not even a little bit. Her body was flush against yours as you both moved your backsides in a circular motion. 

You were losing your mind. And you had no idea why. All of this was becoming weird. It was making you nervous—anxious.

This was not good for you. Or your friend. Whichever you wanted to think of.

Eventually, she made the last turn, her leg going up to your side as you grabbed it firmly.

Your heavy breaths met, mouths parted as your faces were mere inches away.

Her hooded eyes were full of emotions you could not name. Still, you were unable to stop looking as she held your gaze.

“Amazing! Wonderful!” Your coach broke you apart as she yelled, clapping like a maniac. 

You let go of Daniela’s leg before you both turned to the woman. There was no need for stepping away, it would not work, Daniela was already looping her arm over yours.

You accepted the water bottle that your coach handed to you, unscrewing the cap, and putting it to your lips.

“I loved every second of it.” The older woman said, completely enamored with your pair. “The connection, the smoothness—” She listed, looking up with shining eyes. “The sexual tension—” You choked on the water at the words, coughing profusely.

“Are you okay?” Daniela’s eyebrows pulled together, her concerned but baffled face looking at you as her hand went to your shoulder.

“Yeah—Yup.” You confirmed with tears in your eyes. The Latina and your teacher stared at you unconvinced. But you straightened your posture with one last cough before smiling. “All is good.” You said again, gazing down at Daniela. “Really.”

Her hand rubbed your shoulder before sliding down your back and looping over your arm again.

“Exactly what I was talking about!” The teacher exclaimed. “It’s so natural between you two.” You wanted the ground to swallow you. Why did everyone always have to say this? “The romance, the tension, the sexual desire.” The what, excuse you? “Undeniable and unbeatable.”

This was exactly the type of comments that made everything weird. Your body always tensed whenever someone spoke like that about you and Daniela.

You were just best friends.

The Latina, on the other hand, did not seem too bothered by it—judging by the smile she had.

Maybe, she was just happy about the praise? She liked knowing she did a great job. Who wouldn’t? You probably were being dramatic.

“Thank you, Ms. Ferrera.” The shorter girl said. “We always strive to give the best performance.” Her shining eyes looked up at you, staring into your irises with a proud look.

“I know, you are a great pair.” The older woman said. “I will let you go for today, girls, there is nothing I can complain about.” She added, taking out a notepad. “Don’t forget we have an extra session on Saturday, we need to perfect the next choreography.”

“We won’t, we will be here ten o’clock sharp.” Daniela said, but Ms. Ferrera moved her attention to you.

“Ten sharp.” You confirmed with a smile.

She nodded satisfied, dismissing you and Daniela.

You did not waste time to get your stuff, throwing the bag over your shoulder before handing a hat to your best friend.

“Thanks.” She said, grinning.

Taking hold of her bag, you hung it over your head and started walking out. After this whole thing, you would have to be in the same car for twenty minutes. 

Daniela was the one who always drove you to rehearsals and back home. You loved car rides with her. You loved her company.

But the practice, the comments, and her weirdly-behaving boyfriend were in the back of your head, screaming at you to get away.

It was nothing new. The choreography was not that much different from your previous ones. You had danced it a million times before. Then, why did it feel different this time?

“Are you okay?” The girl snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You stared at with gaping eyes. “Oh, yeah, yeah.” You blinked quickly, looking away.

“Are you sure? Because you looked like you saw a ghost back there.” Her chuckle was light, probably hoping to ease up the atmosphere and get you to talk to her.

But you could not do that. Not about this. Not when you had no idea what was going on.

“Yeah, I just—” You paused, your lips pursing in thought. A pang of guilt made itself known in your chest. You did not want to lie to her.

But you did not know what to say. How to start. What the problem was. There was no information available to you—therefore, you could not give it to her.

“It’s okay.” Your back stiffened for a second when her hand landed on it. Her nails scratched it soothingly through your shirt, making you relax almost instantly. “Just take a breath and we can talk when you’re ready, yeah?”

You smiled appreciatively. She was an angel sent to you. 

“Yeah.”

Her hand slid into yours, fingers lacing, as her lips spread into a bright grin.

You could not let people get into your head. She was your everything and you would not let others have you lose it.

Not your best friend.

———

Tonight, it would be your last day on Earth. Why? Well, somebody, had a great idea to have a movie night. With Jonah. 

You would think it was Daniela. No. It was Manon.

Of all people, your good friend thought it would be amazing if all of you could gather together and watch something nice. 

Bonding time, as she called it.

When she shared it with you, it was impossible to stop yourself from grimacing and groaning. Which was not the best thing to do since Daniela was next to you.

She did not give much of a reaction to it, but you assumed she could not be happy about your little frustration when it came to her boyfriend.

Well, your problem was that he had a problem, which led to an even bigger problem since you did not like him in the first place.

At least, Megan would be there too. She was mostly Manon’s friend, but you hung out with her quite a lot as well. 

She was fun and got along with you. It gave you one more person to make you feel comfortable tonight.

“Ding, ding.” Speaking of the devil, here she was already. “How are you guys doing?” She did not waste time hugging Daniela before coming up to you and giving you a tight embrace. “Did you get even taller or what?” She joked, looking you up and down.

“Maybe you just shrunk.” You bit back, chuckling at her.

“Uh, offensive.” She said, pointing at you while looking at the girls. “But I still love you, so it’s fine.” She added, swatting you on the chest.

Daniela’s laughter was louder than necessary as she walked up to the cabinet next to you. 

“It’s impossible to hate her.” Your best friend declared in a sweet tone.

“Ugh, I know, that’s the problem.” Megan responded, repeatedly poking your arm. “Oh, you have chicken rice!” Her face lit up like a thousand lights as she ran up to the glass cookware. “This is my favorite place on Earth.” 

“We know.” Manon stated, leaning against the archway as her amused eyes watched the Chinese girl.

“We have popcorn too.” Daniela stated, putting the box on the counter before standing in front of you.

Her hands instinctively reached for yours before she draped your arms over her shoulders. You leaned forward to hug her from behind as she moved back against your chest.

“I love you even more than this one.” Megan declared, pointing at Daniela before moving her finger to you.

“Wow, you move on fast.” A faux hurt was laced in your voice.

“Gotta keep the girl busy to keep the girl, babe.” Megan exclaimed without stuttering.

Your jaw dropped at the statement as she smirked triumphantly to herself. Manon, on the other hand, tried to stifle a laugh behind her hand.

You were not really offended. She adored you. Her love was just expressed differently than you were used to.

“Don’t worry, I love you the most.” Daniela said, moving her head to the side and tilting it up to get as good of a look at you as possible in her position.

This was what you were used to. Your eyes skimmed down to hers, a grin automatically spreading on your lips.

“Thank you, at least you stay by my side.” You said loudly enough for the other two to hear. “I love you too.” You reciprocated, tightening your arms around her neck in a hug.

“Ugh, was Cupid here today or what?” Manon said, repulsed by all expressions of love and adoration.

You knew she just felt left out. The exaggerated eyeroll let you know about it.

“You are loved too, you tiny baby.” Your words were followed by squealing Megan, who ran up to Manon and gave her a big hug.

A doorbell went off, causing everyone’s eyebrows to pull together in confusion.

“Oh, Jonah.” Daniela said, throwing her arm in the air in realization. 

She did not make a move to go and let him in, however. She just stayed in your embrace that she had put herself in earlier.

Manon’s eyebrow arched at the Latina.

“Would you like me to go?”

“If you don’t mind.” Your best friend smiled before shrugging, like she did not care too much about how he would get in.

“I’ll go.” You offered, trying to get out from behind Daniela.

“Uh—” She let out a sound, her face turning grumpy as she felt the lack of your warmth. “Rude.”

Chuckling at her comment, you went to the door before opening it. Jonah’s grin quickly changed into a thin line when his eyes fell on you.

“Oh.” He mumbled disappointed, his face grimacing slightly. “Where’s Daniela?”

No greeting, no anything. How polite. He just kept adding to the list.

“Hello to you too.” You responded flatly. “She’s in the kitchen with the rest.” You informed him, opening the door fully, and gesturing for him to come in.

He did not say a word, but his face spoke enough. You could see how irritated he was already.

A great start to this disastrous night. You could not wait for more.

“Um, can you take your shoes off?” You asked as you saw how comfortably he was walking way too far in his dirty footwear.

He looked at you with annoyance and bafflement. “It’s normal to leave them on at home.”

“Maybe at yours.” You stood straighter. “We actually like it clean here.”

His jaw clenched at your insinuation of him being dirty. Nonetheless, he took them off before sending you a glare and walking away.

He was a real asshole. It was so exhausting to be around him.

You followed him to join the rest after making sure the door was locked. The girls had already moved to the living room, Jonah exchanging quick hellos with everyone before coming to Daniela and kissing her cheek.

Manon’s eyes found you as soon as you entered, her eyebrow raising in question upon seeing your annoyed expression.

“Don’t even ask.” You mouthed to the girl. 

You took a seat next to her, leaving her in the middle as Daniela sat on her other side. Jonah took the single armchair just as Megan had done on your side.

“A little attitude?” Manon whispered while leaning to you, her eyes staying on the screen.

“Enough to piss off a saint.” You replied, grabbing some popcorn from her bowl.

She snickered quietly, hitting you on the arm. Your funny, little exchange gathered some attention as the Latina leaned over the girl to look at you.

“What’s funny?” She asked, grinning.

“Nothing.” You and Manon said quickly at the same time.

That would not help with making it seem like it was nothing.

Daniela already looked at you with a raised eyebrow, which you decided to ignore and focus on the TV.

“Are we starting or what?” You asked, hoping to avoid a possible altercation.

The Swiss girl rushed to get the remote before playing the movie you all had picked earlier.

It seemed like the end, but it wasn’t. You felt a pair of eyes on you for a while longer before Daniela finally settled.

———

Sometime during the last hour, Megan ended up on the floor in front of you while Manon scooted over to the corner of the couch, and Daniela moved to the middle—next to you.

Jonah stayed in the same spot, staring at the TV before his phone became more interesting.

You did not find it too fascinating, but it had been chosen mostly by Daniela—who was pretty excited about it—so you wanted to make sure not to miss anything.

The atmosphere loosened up quite a bit as well. You almost forgot that the boy was here. The only time you were rudely reminded was when he excused himself to the bathroom.

The best five minutes of your life.

Your hand reached to the side, a plastic bag rustled, but nothing was in it. Looking down, you were met with a heartbreaking discovery that you ran out of your candy.

“Here you go.” Megan whispered from the floor, tilting her head up while offering you her cookie dough bites.

“Thanks.” You grabbed a few, popping them in your mouth as you leaned back.

Focusing on the movie again, you spread your arm on the top of the couch. Daniela reached for some of Megan’s candy as well before moving back to her spot.

However, this time, she leaned into you, settling against your chest. Your mouth automatically moved down to plant a kiss at the crown of her head, causing the girl to wiggle in even more.

Her arm flopped down along your outer thigh with her fingers scratching lightly on your knee.

It was comfortable, nice—normal. That was how you always acted. How your friendship was.

Well, when you saw Jonah’s burning gaze, you instantly became self-conscious. Your body tensed at the anger in his gaze, alarming Daniela as her scrunched eyes found you a second later.

As best as they could from right under your chin.

“You okay?” She whispered against your jaw.

“Mhm.” You replied shortly with a stiff smile.

You were not. Because of her boyfriend. Which was funny enough. But not funny ha ha. More like, funny what the fuck.

You felt her stare on you before it turned back to the TV. You tried to put your attention on it as well, but it was impossible with the heavy sighs that Jonah was making.

He glanced at his phone, jaw clenching, before he stood up and started walking behind the couch.

“I have to go, my mom needs me.” He said shortly to Daniela who barely lifted her head.

“Okay, just let me know when you get back home.” She offered a smile, but the boy only nodded before walking to the door.

Manon’s glances were not as subtle as she thought. Megan seemed to be oblivious to the tension that had appeared in the room a few minutes ago.

It probably was better like that.

When the door clicked, your eyes wandered to the Swiss girl, expecting a comment any time now.

“Your boyfriend seemed pretty grumpy.” There it was. She waited longer than you predicted.

“He’ll be fine.” Daniela waved it off, pulling the corner of her mouth.

Even you knew he wouldn’t. His pride never recovered quickly—and you guessed that was what got hurt tonight.

“Wait.” Megan finally woke up, trying to understand the situation. “Boyfriend?” The confusion laced her tone as she scrunched her face. “I thought you two were—” Her finger pointed towards you and Daniela, but she stopped talking when Manon shot her a look.

“Were what?” The Latina asked, just as confused as the Chinese girl. 

“Were—” Megan struggled to find a continuation of her statement while staring at Manon who was screaming at the girl with her eyes. “Were inviting only friends.” She dragged out in a higher pitch, her voice getting tense.

Manon’s shoulders—and face—seemed to relax at that.

“Oh, well.” She chuckled lightly. “I thought you knew.” She patted Megan’s shoulder. “Now, you do.”

The girl laughed anxiously, taking one last glance at Manon to make sure all was good.

Your eyes, however, stayed on Manon. Something was not good and you wanted to find out. And something was telling you, your dear friend had answers to your questions.

———

And, oh, boy, did she have answers. She was ecstatic to talk. That should have been your first warning sign.

But you ignored it.

The way she included you the whole time while talking about Jonah and Daniela, should have been your second warning.

But you ignored it too.

Finally, when you wanted to ignore her, there was no way out. You were forced to sit through the entire thirty minutes of her talking about how stupid and blind you had been.

Allegedly.

Another thirty minutes of how oblivious you were to the fact that your connection with Daniela was more than you assumed.

Allegedly.

Then, something that had been nagging you since the conversation a week ago.

Something that she had you sit through for another thirty minutes—not caring that you blanked out for half of it if not more—while saying how you were a ‘useless lesbian’.

Allegedly.

You did not gather enough courage to speak to her for a few weeks after the movie night.

Now, you regretted you ever did it.

Allegedly, you were in love with your best friend.

Realistically, however, you were still in love with your best friend.

You were in love with her.

In love.

With her.

Daniela.

Your best friend.

What the actual heck?

How did that happen?

When did that happen?

Oh, Manon would, undoubtedly, tell you the exact year, month, day, and hour. Probably place as well, and what you had for breakfast that morning.

That was nothing hard to find out if you wished so.

It was hard to deal with this information. Even harder, with the realization that it was true.

And the worst of all, that Manon was right.

How could you have proved her right? All the teasing, the comments. She was messing with you this whole time. To make you realize.

Apparently, you were too dense for it and needed a direct approach.

Well, you got it. Now, you had trouble functioning.

To make everything worse, Daniela broke up with Jonah a few days after the movie night. You were happy inside, but you needed to be there for her.

As much as she insisted the break-up did not cause her to feel any type of way, you made sure that she was okay.

At least, you tried. She did not seem to want people around. Or maybe just you. Her behavior changed slightly. 

Her morning greeting in the form of a hug was gone. She only waved with a smile now. Her eyes never quite reached yours anymore, always looking to the side or at the floor.

She barely addressed you during outings, game nights. She talked to you normally, but it felt off at times.

Her touchiness disappeared almost entirely, she did not search for your arms to drape around her, her hands stayed away from your stomach and shoulders. 

She stopped tangling her fingers with yours when walking.

Everything that was her was gone.

You felt like an unwanted roommate.

But you had to push the emotions aside. She had been going through the break-up. She just needed space. You had to tell yourself that all would be fine and back to normal soon enough.

But did you want it to be normal?

To go back exactly to what you had?

Your thoughts were spiraling, just wanting to have your best friend back—but something in you was pushing for more.

“Hey.” Daniela’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing?” She looked at you with a grin.

What were you doing?

Oh, just having a little crisis. Over her.

Obviously, that was a no-no. You could not just tell her that.

The distance was instantly created. No usual kiss on the cheek, no rubbing on your shoulders.

“Thinking.” 

“Oh, that’s new.” She stated, her teasing tone followed by a smirk.

“Rude.”

Her laughter boomed in the kitchen, causing you to crack a smile.

“Do you want to go for ice cream?”

Your brows furrowed. It was the first time in a few weeks that she wanted to go somewhere just the two of you.

“Uh—” Your hesitation made her head turn to you with cautious.

“We don’t have to if you can’t—”

“No, we can go.” You quickly cut her off, grinning.

Her eyes searched your face for something as she bit her bottom lip. She was anxious, you could tell by the way she was fidgeting.

Finally, she stepped forward, covering your hand with hers as her thumb rubbed it.

“I know I’ve been weird since the break-up.” She said, making your eyes jump away. “I just—” Her eyes darted around the kitchen as she chewed on her lip. “I did a lot of thinking before calling it quits, but I don’t think I realized how much more I would have to do after.”

So, she was not okay. Despite trying to seem fine, you knew she needed comfort. You knew nobody could be just fine after splitting with someone.

“You always try to act strong, but it’s not easy to just tell someone—”

Her eyes shone at you with confusion as her head tilted.

“Wait, no.” She cut you off, blinking rapidly as she spread her arms a bit. “I don’t feel any type of way because of breaking up with him.” She stated. “I knew it would not go anywhere.”

Her confident statement caused you to be puzzled now.

“But—” Then what was this whole thing about? It did not make any sense. “Then, what thinking made you be so—different?”

Her mouth parted as she took in a breath, shoulders rising before dropping slowly.

“About what I really wanted.” She said quieter, glancing at you hesitantly.

She was being dodgy. You saw it all over her face. There was something she was not telling you.

But could you be upset about it? You had a secret too, apparently.

“So, you broke up with him because of it?”

Her head nodded slowly as she played with your fingers.

“He wasn’t what I wanted.”

You were proud of her for making that choice on her own accord. And choosing herself. You were happy she did not drown in sorrow too.

But it did not make sense to you.

“What do you want then?” Your other hand landed on top of hers.

She needed comfort, you wanted to soothe her nerves that threatened to break out. Whatever it was, it made her emotions intensify.

Her eyes looked into yours, staring deeply as she contemplated.

This beat of silence was dangerous for you. You were getting lost in her. Lost in the hazel irises that held so much love for you.

Fuck, you would kick Manon’s ass for saying everything. You could not deal with it now.

“Someone that is not him.” She finally whispered, not breaking eye contact.

You did not understand the meaning of her words, scrunching your eyes a bit as your thumb stopped.

Well, you knew that much. But you thought she figured out what kind of things she looked for in someone.

Not that you wanted it for yourself. You just wanted to look out for her. 

“It’s nothing I’m upset about anyway.” She said, stepping away and clearing her throat. “I knew it wasn’t that from the start.” She shrugged. “It was only a distraction, so I wouldn’t have to admit to myself that—” She paused, looking down. “Nevermind.”

“No, tell me.” You encouraged her, moving slightly in your seat. She already did not tell you much about the break-up. You wanted to be there for her. You wanted to be supportive and helpful. 

This was the first time in weeks she had opened up about the whole situation.

“I will.” She nodded confidently. “But later, we’re going for ice cream now.” With one last smile, she grabbed her phone before catching your hand and pulling you off the chair. “You’re paying.” She stated loudly.

“Of course.” Your eyes rolled, but a grin spread on your mouth at her careless giggle.

———

“Oh, my God.” Daniela laughed, her open mouth was being actively supported by her hand as she tried not to spit out her ice cream. “I can’t.” She mumbled.

“I believe in you.” Your support was loud, but not louder than your chuckles.

She took too much at once and, now, she was fighting the freezing sensation in her mouth.

“Ugh.” She grunted, her head tilting up to face the ceiling.

“Don’t choke.”

“Shut up!” Her yell was muffled, barely pushing through the cries she was making.

“I didn’t quite catch that.” Your hand went up to your ear as you pretended to listen.

Her eyes moved down to look at you from the corner—as much as she possibly could.

“Asshole.” 

Your laughter only increased in volume while the girl fought for her life.

When the crisis was finally averted, she glared at you hard.

“Just you wait.” She said. “I’ll make sure to return the favor.”

“Oh, come on!” You cackled. “You did great.” Your encouragement was falling on deaf ears.

Her glare only intensified as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

She finally cracked a smile after you stared at her for a while. This was nice. Normal again. You missed it. No tension, no weird looks.

Just you two.

But then you remembered your conversation with Manon.

Your head lowered as you inhaled through your teeth.

“Can I ask you something?” Daniela nodded, taking another spoon of her ice cream. “About the break-up.”

Her movements slowed down, an uncertain look running through her features as she glanced at you.

“Sure.”

You fingers fidgeted for a second before finding the courage.

“Did you break up because of me?” Her mouth parted, her shoulders tensed, but she tried to remain calm. “I mean, it’s just—” You scratched the back of your head. “So many people would always comment on how great we look together or how amazing of a pair we make, and, you know—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.” She cut off your rambling. “I just.” Her lips pursed as she dropped her hand on her leg. “I realized it was not it, that I was trying to convince myself of something that was not there.” She explained more.

“I just noticed how he got increasingly annoyed every time someone said something, or you would touch me, and I got in my head a bit.”

Her tongue poked out, licking over her bottom lip as her eyes darted all over the floor.

Was she lying? Was it you? 

“Listen, there is some truth to what you’re saying, I won’t try to hide it.” Oh, there it was. “He became more agitated with the comments.” Your head started nodding, causing the girl to sit closer before grabbing your hand. “And that helped me with my decision even more.” Her thumb ran over your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry, I should be the one comforting you—” You started apologizing. This was not about you, it was literally about her.

“There is nothing to comfort me about.” She stated, but received a skeptical look from you. “Seriously.” Her lips spread into a grin. “I felt relieved when I broke it off.”

“Are you sure?” Was it over way before she did what she did? Maybe, it was the only explanation for why she moved on so fast.

“A hundred percent.” She confirmed. “And you should not pay so much attention to what people say.” Her finger pointed at you. “They can say whatever they want, it doesn’t mean it’s real.”

Not real. Yup. 

Exactly.

Not real.

You should’ve just told yourself that.

What more could you need to stop everything from going too far?

You swallowed thickly, looking down at your ice cream. At least, you had your answer without having to ask a question.

“Yeah.” You let out in a forced snort, realizing that the silence kept going on for too long.

“It was stupid anyway.” She said, her face scrunching as she pulled the corner of her mouth to the side. 

The comment stung, but you would not let it show. After all, you’d gone for so many years acting like it was just purely friendship. Admitting to yourself it was more would not ruin anything for you.

You would not let it.

“Right?! Like, ridiculous.” You agreed with her, leaning back on the couch.

“Us together?” She chuckled at the thought. “They are crazy.”

A laughter came through your lips. It sounded pretty genuine for someone who died a bit inside.

“Not in a million years.” You stuffed your mouth with more ice cream to muffle the inner cries.

You shouldn’t have even thought of a possibility, a slight chance, at having anything more.

You were best friends. That was it. Nothing more.

Daniela nodded in silence, poking at her dessert with a spoon. Her head whipped to you as she stared from the corner of her eyes.

“Why do you think it’s stupid?” 

Her question had your eyes widen as you saved yourself from getting choked by the ice cream.

Practice made perfect.

“Uh—” What was this? Putting you on the spot like that. You would not get roped into it. “Why do you?” 

“I asked first.”

“And you said it first.”

Her eyebrow raised at you challengingly. You knew that look. The straight posture, lips parted just slightly—ready to scold you in Spanish—and that goddamn brow that made your insides churn.

You cleared your throat, moving forward and leaning your elbows on your legs.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, looking down at the chocolate mess. “Just—we’re friends.”

That was your best answer. You had nothing better. She needed to just take it.

Her hum was flat, causing your anxiety to spike. 

“Yeah, we are.” She confirmed with a nod, eating some ice cream. “But friends get together too.” Her shoulders shrugged nonchalantly.

Like you were not having an entire battle in your head. Like your body was not buzzing with thirty different feelings and emotions.

“I guess.” You murmured, not sure what to do of all this.

“I wouldn’t mind getting together.” Your hand froze, eyes darting forward as you did not dare to look at her. “When we’re forty and single or something.” She rushed out quickly, quiet Spanish curse following after.

Your mind was getting crazy. She was making you go crazy. Why this conversation? Why now? What was happening? Did she know? Did Manon tell her?

You would take the shoelaces out of all her shoes if she had dared to say anything.

You put the cup of your ice cream on the table, lacing all fingers together in a tight grip.

“Or maybe thirty.” She said again, filling the silence while putting her dessert away as well. 

Thirty was not far away.

Her hands went to her hair, running through it slowly before she fixed her shirt.

“Or now.” 

You could not stop your head from whipping to face her. Now? Was this a big joke? A prank? It had to be. But when your eyes met hers, you saw that look in them. 

The same one that you would see during practice sessions, whenever you bought her favorite candy. Or accept her affection. Whenever she would use you as her personal cuddle bear.

Your mouth was parted in shock. In confusion. In what the fuck was happening.

But, still, your gaze dropped to her lips, which she bit slowly.

“That could work too.” Her whisper broke the silence once more.

Your heads were so close you felt her breath. So close you felt the heat radiating off of her. Her perfume.

Everything.

“It’s always better to start sooner than later, I guess.” You found the courage to finally speak.

And it was a good decision as a smile broke on her face before she bit her lip.

“I think so too.” She replied when your noses touched.

And then, you felt her lips on yours. Soft. Warm. You reciprocated, moving slowly. It felt unreal. Everything before could not compare. Every touch, every look, every word. Nothing felt as amazing as this.

Her head moved forward, pressing her lips to yours harder. You felt her fingers on your face as she cupped it.

Your body felt like on fire.

Probably because she ignited the spark that was brewing in you for a while. The spark that you were too blind to see. But not anymore.

The kiss finally broke when the air became a problem. You slowly pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open as your breaths met in between.

“I guess, we’re included in the statistics now.” You whispered against her lips.

They cracked a wide smile as she giggled.

“You’re ridiculous.” Her hand slapped your chest before she fisted your shirt. 

You almost got dizzy from how she bit her bottom lip.

She must have noticed, judging by the widening smirk on her face.

“Be careful or your friend will get too excited.” Her comment made your eyes widen to the size of an orbit.

“Nu-uh.” You said quickly, waving your finger and shaking your head, causing the girl to laugh loudly. “We don’t talk about my friend at least until the second date.”

You stood up, pulling your shirt down before leaning down for your cup of ice cream.

Daniela burst out in laughter even more at your little rule.

“Sure thing, Papi.” Your body convulsed before going stiff when the Latina got up and smacked your ass. 

The new nickname was enough to make you short-circuit. This was a planned attack.

Her teeth latched onto her lip again as she winked at you before grabbing her dessert and walking to the kitchen. 

She was impossible—and crazy. But you loved her crazy. And after all, you got both your best friend and something more.

She probably played a bit of a Russian roulette a few minutes ago. But you could not be happier about it.

It was a relief that she decided to be the brave one.

“Your ice cream is gonna melt!” Her voice boomed from the kitchen.

“And whose fault is that?!” You yelled back, eliciting another loud laugh from the girl.

Your eyes rolled, but a big grin was plastered on your face.

You were in for a ride. And you could not wait for it.

She was chalking on the pavement outside her house—messy suns and stick figures and something that might’ve been a dog. You stood there for a full minute just watching before she looked up.

'…Do you wanna help?' She asked.

You shrugged, walked over, and grabbed a piece of chalk like you’d been doing it your whole life. That was it. From then on, you were everywhere together.

School was the same.

Same classes. Same lunch table. Same whispered conversations when you were supposed to be listening. Daniela was always a little louder, a little brighter—she’d answer questions with confidence even when she was wrong. You were quieter, more observant, but you stayed right beside her like orbit.

If she laughed, you smiled. If you got in trouble, she defended you. If she got in trouble, you were usually the reason.

By the time you hit middle school, Daniela had found dance. You hadn’t meant to follow her into it—it just sort of… happened.

'She’s coming too.' Daniela had told the instructor on your behalf, already dragging you into the studio.

You remember standing in front of the mirror, arms awkward at your sides, watching Daniela pick up choreography like she’d been born knowing it.

'Five, six, seven, eight—'

You missed the first step. And the second. And… most of the rest. Daniela didn’t laugh. Not once.

'Okay, wait—no, you’ve got it,' she insisted, moving behind you, gently adjusting your arms. 'It’s just like—feel the rhythm, don’t think about it so much.'

'That’s the problem,' you muttered. 'I am thinking about it.'

'Then don’t.'

'Wow,' you deadpanned. 'Revolutionary.'

She grinned, completely unhelpful. 'Again.'

You tried again. It was still bad.

She kept trying to help anyway—counting for you, demonstrating slower, grabbing your hands to guide you through the motions. You stepped on her foot once. Elbowed her the second time.

'Sorry.'

'It’s fine!'

It wasn’t fine. You both knew it. Eventually, you ended up sitting against the mirrored wall, watching her instead.

And honestly? You didn’t mind. Because Daniela, when she danced, was… something else. Effortless. Bright. Like the music lived inside her instead of around her. You’d sit there, knees pulled to your chest, pretending you weren’t staring too long.

High school changed things. Not all at once—just slowly, quietly. Daniela got better. Then really good. Then good enough that people started noticing.

She joined more classes. More performances. Talked about auditions, opportunities, things that felt bigger than your street, bigger than your city.

You stayed where you were. Not stuck—just… uncertain.

While everyone else started figuring things out—college plans, career paths, dreams they could actually name—you found yourself staring at forms, blank spaces waiting to be filled, and feeling absolutely nothing.

'What do you want to do?' Daniela asked you once, sprawled across your bedroom floor, homework abandoned between you.

You stared at the ceiling. 'I don’t know.'

'You don’t know at all?'

'No.'

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up. 'Okay, but like… if you could do anything?'

'I don’t even know how to answer that.'

There was no judgement in her expression. Just concern. Always that soft, steady concern when it came to you.

'You’ll figure it out.' She said eventually.

You wished you believed her.

Your parents were the ones who brought it up. The military. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t forced. Just… mentioned, one evening over dinner like it was another option on a list you didn’t know how to write.

'It gives structure,' your dad said. 'Direction.'

Your mom nodded. 'Opportunities too. Education, travel.'

You didn’t say much at first. But later that night, you looked it up. Then again the next day. And the day after that.

Something about it… clicked. Not in a loud, passionate way—but in a quiet, grounding one. Like a path you could actually see, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet.

For the first time in a while, you weren’t staring at a blank space.

You mentioned it to Daniela a week later. Casually. Or at least, you tried to make it sound casual.

'I’ve been looking into something.' You said, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor while she stretched.

'Oh yeah?' She asked. 'What?'

'…The military.'

She froze. Actually froze mid-stretch, like someone had pressed pause on her.

'What?'

'The military.' You repeated, a little more quietly now.

Daniela slowly straightened, staring at you like you’d just said something completely ridiculous. 'You’re joking.'

'I’m not.'

'Why would you—' She stopped, running a hand through her hair. 'Why would you want to do that?'

You shrugged, even though your chest felt tight. 'I don’t know. It just—makes sense.'

'Makes sense?' She echoed. 'How does that make sense?'

'I need something, Dani.'

Her expression shifted at that. Softened. But not in agreement.

'In the military?' She pressed. 'There are other things. College, training programs, literally anything else—'

'I’ve looked,' you cut in, not harsh, just firm. 'Nothing else… fits.'

She shook her head, pacing now. 'It’s dangerous.'

'I know.'

'You could get hurt.'

'I know.'

'You could—' Her voice faltered. 'You might not come back.'

That one sat heavier. You didn’t respond immediately.

'I’d be trained,' you said eventually. 'I wouldn’t just be thrown into something.'

'That doesn’t make it okay.'

'It makes it something,' you replied. 'Which is more than I have right now.'

Silence stretched between you. Daniela looked at you like she wanted to argue more—but didn’t know how to reach you.

'I don’t like it.' She said finally.

'I know.'

You talked about it a few more times after that. Each time, Daniela pushed back. Not angrily—just… desperately. Like if she found the right argument, the right angle, she could change your mind.

She never did.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, there was something else you didn’t talk about. The way you looked at her sometimes. The way your chest tightened when she laughed too close to someone else.

The way you went quiet when she mentioned her boyfriend—casual, offhand comments that you pretended didn’t land harder than they should. You buried it deep.

Because it didn’t matter. Because she was happy. Because you were leaving anyway.

The night before you left, you asked her to come over. She didn’t hesitate. Of course she didn’t. She sat on your bed, knees pulled in slightly, looking around your room like it already felt different.

Like you were already gone.

'So…' she started, trying for lightness and failing. 'This is really happening.'

'Yeah.'

'Tomorrow?'

'Early.'

She nodded, pressing her lips together. There was so much unsaid in the room it almost felt crowded.

'I still don’t get it,' she admitted quietly. 'Why this. Why that.'

You sat beside her, hands clasped loosely between your knees. 'I need to feel like I’m going somewhere,' you said. 'Like I belong... like I’m not just… stuck.'

'You’re not stuck.'

'It feels like it.'

She turned to you then, eyes searching. 'You could stay. We could figure it out together.'

The we almost broke you. You looked down instead.

'I think I need to do this on my own.'

She went quiet.

'…And what about me?' She asked, softer now.

That hurt more than anything else she’d said.

'You’ll be okay,' you answered, even though it felt like a lie. 'You always are.'

'That’s not the point.'

'I know.'

'Then what is the point?' She pressed, voice wavering now. 'Because right now it just feels like you’re leaving and I don’t get a say in it.'

'You don’t.' You said, before you could stop yourself.

The words hung there. Sharp. Final.

You exhaled, softer this time. 'I’m sorry.'

Daniela blinked rapidly, looking away. 'Yeah. Me too.'

Silence settled again. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Familiar.

'I’m gonna miss you.' You said eventually.

She let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. 'Yeah?'

You smiled faintly. Then, after a moment— 'I’ll write.'

She looked back at you. 'You better.'

'I mean it.'

'So do I.'

Another pause.

'…You’ll call too?' She asked.

'If and when I can.'

She nodded, like she was committing that to memory. 'Okay.'

When she stood to leave, neither of you moved right away. Like if you just… stayed still long enough, maybe time would do the same. But it didn’t. It never does.

Daniela stepped closer first and hugged you. Tight. You hesitated for half a second—then hugged her back just as tightly.

It wasn’t dramatic. No big declarations. No confessions. Just something quiet and aching and unfinished.

'Be safe.' She murmured against your shoulder.

'I will.'

'Promise me.'

'…I promise.'

She pulled back, just enough to look at you. Like she was trying to memorise your face. Then she nodded once, stepped away, and left.

The next morning, you were gone. And everything after that—letters, distance, six years of becoming someone new—started there.

---

Time doesn’t pass all at once. It comes in fragments. In things you hold onto. In things you don’t get to finish.

The first few weeks are the hardest. Everything is loud. Structured. Demanding in a way nothing has ever been before. There’s no space to drift, no room to hesitate. Every second is accounted for. Every mistake is noticed.

It’s exactly what you thought you needed. It’s also… a lot.

You don’t call Daniela right away. Not because you don’t want to—but because you don’t know how to explain any of it yet.

How do you put this into words? How do you tell her that you’re exhausted in a way that sleep doesn’t fix, that your body aches constantly, that your mind is trying to keep up with something that doesn’t slow down?

So instead, you write.

Letter #1 (unsent)

Dani, I don’t know if I made the right choice. Everyone here seems like they’ve wanted this forever. Like they belong. I feel like I’m pretending and no one’s called me out on it yet. I keep thinking about your room. How quiet it was. How easy everything felt there. I miss that. I miss you. I haven’t sent this because I don’t want you to worry. Which is stupid, because you’d probably say I should’ve just called. You’d be right. I just don’t know what I’d say out loud. — Y/N

You fold it. Keep it. It never gets sent.

The first time you do call her, it’s rushed. You’re standing outside, the air sharp, your time limited.

The phone rings once. Twice.

'Hello?'

Her voice hits you like something familiar you didn’t realise you were starving for.

'Hey.'

There’s a pause.

'Oh my god—hi.' It comes out breathless. Relieved. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah. Yeah, I’m—' You glance over your shoulder. 'I’m good.'

'You sound tired.'

'I am tired.'

She laughs softly at that, like it’s expected. 'Yeah… I figured.'

There’s so much she wants to ask—you can hear it in the way she hesitates.

'So… what’s it like?' She asks instead.

You open your mouth. Close it again.

'It’s… a lot.' You settle on.

'Good a lot or bad a lot?'

'…Both.'

'Yeah,' she murmurs. 'That sounds like you.'

You smile a little at that. There’s comfort in being known like that. Even from miles away.

'I’ve been dancing more,' she adds quickly, like she wants to fill the space. 'Like, a lot more. I’m thinking about auditioning for something bigger.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. It’s stupid, probably, but—'

'It’s not stupid.'

She goes quiet for a second.

'…You always say that.'

'Because it’s true.'

Another pause. Then— 'Hey, time!'

A voice calls out sharply from somewhere behind you. Your chest tightens instantly.

'I have to go.' You say, too quickly.

'Wait—already?'

'Yeah, I—sorry.'

'No, it’s okay, I just—'

'I’ll call again.' You promise, even though you don’t know when that’ll be.

'…Okay,' she says, softer now. 'Be safe, yeah?'

'Always.'

The line clicks. Too soon.

That becomes a pattern. Calls that start warm and end abruptly. Conversations cut in half. Things left unsaid because there’s never quite enough time.

Months pass. Then a year. Then more.

You write more letters than you send. Some are short. Some ramble. Some don’t make sense even to you. You keep all of them. Tucked away. Folded. Hidden between things that matter.

Letter #17 (unsent)

Dani, Something happened today and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m okay. Just—before you panic, I’m fine. But I saw something I don’t think I’ll ever unsee. And the weirdest part is… everything kept going after. Like it didn’t matter. Like it was just another thing to move past. I don’t know how to explain that without sounding like I’m losing it. I think about telling you everything sometimes. Just dumping it all out and letting you make sense of it. But I don’t want to put that on you. You deserve lighter things than this. I hope you’re still dancing. I hope you’re happy. — Y/N

You stare at that one longer than the others. Then fold it carefully. Like it deserves more care than it got.

Meanwhile—Daniela keeps every letter you do send.

Her life is changing too. Faster than she expected. Bigger. She moves, leaves Atlanta and finds herself in rooms she used to dream about, surrounded by people who feel just as determined, just as hungry as she is.

It’s exciting. It’s overwhelming. And through all of it—There’s you. Her letters are different. Messier. Lighter. Full of things she doesn’t want you to miss.

From Daniela (kept, folded neatly in a drawer)

Y/N, You would HATE this choreography. Like actually hate it. There’s this one move where you have to spin and drop and I thought of you immediately falling over. I tried to teach someone else and realised I’ve been spoiled by you being bad at it. No one else is as entertaining. Also I saw a dog today that looked exactly like the one we used to draw with chalk??? Do you remember that? I miss you. Call me when you can. — Dani

She reads them more than she’d admit. Late at night. In between schedules. On planes. In quiet moments where everything else feels too loud.

She keeps them in a drawer beside her bed. Neatly stacked. Like something important. Because they are.

Another call. This one worse.

You answer, already breathless. 'Hey—'

'Hi! Wait, are you—running?'

'Kind of—' you huff, ducking into a quieter space. 'I don’t have long.'

'That’s okay,' she says quickly. 'I just wanted to hear your voice.'

That lands somewhere deep. 'Yeah.'

There’s a pause. Before — 'I got in.' She blurts out.

You blink. 'Got into what?'

'The program I told you about.'

Your chest tightens—but this time, not in a bad way. 'Dani—that’s huge.'

'I know, I just—' she laughs, breath shaky. 'I wanted to tell you first.'

'You deserve it,' you say immediately. 'You’ve worked for this.'

'I wish you were here.'

You swallow. 'Me too.'

'Hey! Move!' The voice this time is closer. Sharper.

You close your eyes briefly. 'I have to go.'

Again. Every time.

'…Yeah,' she says, quieter now. 'Okay.'

'I’ll write.'

'You better.'

'I mean it.'

'I know.'

The line ends. And this time, you don’t move right away.

Years pass like that. In pieces. In letters sent. In letters kept. In words spoken too quickly and feelings that never quite get the time they need.

And somewhere along the way, you both become different people. Stronger. Harder, in some ways. Softer, in others. Carrying things you don’t fully share.

But still, when your name lights up her phone, she answers on the first ring. Every time.

And when her letters arrive, you read them more than once. Every time. Because no matter how much time passes, some things never really leave.

---

Six years doesn’t feel real until you’re standing in your childhood street again. It’s smaller than you remember. Quieter, too.

The houses haven’t changed—the same driveways, the same fences, the same uneven pavement you used to race your bike over—but everything feels… distant. Like you’re looking at it through glass instead of standing inside it.

You pause at the end of the street for a second longer than necessary. Just taking it in. Then you keep walking.

Your parents’ front door opens before you even knock. Your mom gets there first. She doesn’t hesitate—just pulls you straight into a hug, tight and immediate, like she’s been holding it in for six years.

'You’re home.' She says, voice already breaking.

'I’m home.' You echo.

Your dad’s right behind her, hand firm on your shoulder, pride written all over his face in that quiet way he’s always had. You let them hold you for a moment. Just a moment.

Because even though this is home—your home—there’s somewhere else your feet are already trying to take you.

You don’t stay long. You try. You really do. You sit, you talk, you answer their questions—How was it? Are you okay? Are you staying?—but your attention drifts. Your responses come out shorter than you mean them to.

Because your mind is already three houses down. Always has been.

'I’m just gonna—go see Dani.' You say, standing a little too quickly.

Your mom smiles softly, like she expected that. 'Of course you are.'

The walk feels longer this time. Or maybe it’s just heavier. Every step carries six years of things you didn’t say. Calls that ended too soon. Letters that never made it out of your bag.

You stop outside her house. Same as always. Same porch. Same window you used to throw pebbles at when she wasn’t answering her phone.

For a second, it almost feels like nothing’s changed. Like she might open the door any second, roll her eyes, and go— 'You could’ve just texted.'

You knock. It’s not Daniela who answers. It’s her mom. And for a split second, your brain doesn’t catch up.

'—Oh,' she says, surprised—but then her face softens immediately. 'Oh my goodness… look at you.'

You straighten slightly without meaning to. 'Hi.' You manage.

She steps forward, pulling you into a hug almost as tight as your mom’s. 'You’re back.' She murmurs.

'Yeah.'

She pulls back, holding you at arm’s length, looking at you properly now. And you can see it—the moment she realises how much you’ve changed. Not just older. Something else. Something quieter. Heavier.

'You’ve grown up.' She says gently.

You huff a faint breath. 'I had to.'

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes at that—but she doesn’t push. Instead, she glances over her shoulder, like she expects someone else to be there.

'She’s not here, sweetheart.'

Your chest tightens. '…What?'

'Daniela,' she clarifies softly. 'She moved. A while ago now.'

You blink, trying to process that. 'Moved where?'

'To LA. For her program—well, its not just a program anymore.' There’s pride in her voice now. 'She’s doing really well.'

LA. Across the country. You knew she’d gotten in. You knew things were moving for her. You just… didn’t realise how far.

'Oh.' You say, because it’s the only thing you can manage.

'She talks about you, you know,' her mum adds, like she’s trying to soften the blow. 'All the time.'

That lands somewhere deep. 'She does?'

'Of course.' She smiles. 'She kept all your letters.'

You swallow. 'I—' You stop yourself. 'That’s good.'

There’s a pause.

'You should call her.' She says gently.

'Yeah,' you nod. 'Yeah, I will.'

The walk back feels different. Heavier. Quieter. Like something you thought you were coming home to has shifted just out of reach.

You don’t even sit down when you get back. You go straight to your room. It’s almost exactly how you left it. Same bed. Same desk. Same stupid dent in the wall from when you threw a shoe at it junior year.

Time paused here. Except for you. Except for her.

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone in your hands. Staring at her name. Your thumb hovers over it longer than it should. Because suddenly, it feels bigger than a call. Six years reduced to a ringing tone.

You press it anyway. It rings once. Twice. Three times—

'Hello?'

Her voice. It hasn’t changed. Not really. Still bright. Still familiar. Still her.

You don’t speak right away.

'Hello?' She tries again, a little more uncertain this time.

'…Hey.'

There’s a pause. Then— '...No way.'

Your chest tightens.

'Hey, Daniela,' you say quietly. 'I’m home.'

Silence.

A sharp inhale on the other end.

'Wait—what?' She breathes. 'You’re—are you serious?'

'Yeah. I just got back now.'

'You didn’t tell me?' She blurts out.

'I didn’t—' You let out a breath. 'I wanted to just… get here first.'

'Oh my god,' she laughs, but it’s shaky. Overwhelmed. 'Oh my god.'

You can picture her. Exactly. Pacing. Hand in her hair. Eyes wide.

'You’re home.' She says again, like she’s trying to make it real.

'Yeah.'

'Did you—did you stop by? Did you go to my house?'

'I did.'

'And—' She stops. 'My mom told you.'

'Yeah.'

'I’m sorry,' she says immediately. 'I should’ve—I thought you knew it was in LA, I just assumed—'

'It’s okay.'

It is. It just… isn’t, at the same time.

'I would’ve come back,' she adds quickly. 'If I knew you were coming home, I would’ve—'

'Dani,' you cut in gently. 'It’s okay.'

She goes quiet.

'…Are you okay?' She asks then, softer. Careful.

You look around your room. At the pieces of a life that don’t quite fit you anymore.

'I don’t know yet.' You admit.

That honesty hangs there. Real and unfiltered.

'…Yeah,' she murmurs. 'I get that.'

Of course she does. She always does.

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.

'You sound different.' She says after a moment.

You huff a small breath. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah, you sound older.'

You glance down at your hands. 'Yeah.'

'I mean—it makes sense,' she adds quickly. 'It’s just… weird. In a good way. I think.'

You smile faintly. 'You sound the same.'

'Wow. Rude.'

You let out a quiet laugh. There it is. That ease. Still there. Just buried under everything else.

Another pause. Then— 'I want to see you.'

It comes out before you can think about it. Immediate. Certain. She doesn’t hesitate.

'Then come.'

You blink. 'What?'

'Come to LA.'

Just like that. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

'I mean it,' she continues. 'Come visit. Stay for a bit. You can see everything, meet everyone—'

'I was going to say that.' You interrupt, a little breathless now.

She pauses. 'What?'

'I was going to say I’ll come visit.'

She laughs. Not small. Not controlled. Full. Bright. Disbelieving.

'Of course you were,' she says. 'Still in sync, huh?'

'Something like that.'

Your grip on the phone tightens slightly. 'I don’t really… have anything keeping me here right now,' you admit. 'I just got back and it already feels like—'

'Like what?'

You search for the word. '…Like I’m waiting for something.'

She doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly— 'Then don’t wait.'

That lands. Straight in your chest.

'I’ll come.' You say more certain this time. 'I’ll book it tonight.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

Her smile is audible. 'Okay,' she says, quieter now—but warmer than anything else. 'Okay.'

And for the first time since you stepped back onto this street— Something clicks. Not fully. Not perfectly. But enough.

Because maybe home isn’t a place you came back to. Maybe it’s something— someone— you’re still moving toward.

---

By the next morning, you’re already at the airport. It feels too fast. Too soon. Like your life has skipped a few steps and you’re just… keeping up.

Your bag is light—years of your life reduced to something you can carry over your shoulder. Your phone is heavier. Because she’s in it now.

you: boarding now

You stare at the message for a second before sending it. It goes through instantly. Three dots appear almost immediately.

Dani: already??? you move fast

You huff a quiet breath through your nose.

you: if i didn’t i’d probably talk myself out of it

A pause. Then—

Dani: …yeah. thats fair.

Another message follows right after.

Dani: text me when you land. actually no—text me everything. i want updates

You shake your head slightly, a small smile pulling at your mouth.

you: yes ma’am Dani: don’t call me that you: noted. will continue doing it anyway Dani: i hate you you: no you don’t Dani: …no i don’t

The flight is long. Too long to sleep properly. Too short to process everything. You spend most of it staring out the window, watching the world stretch and shift beneath you, wondering when exactly your life started moving this fast. Wondering when you decided to let it.

When you land, your phone buzzes before you even switch it off airplane mode.

Dani: are you alive

You almost laugh.

you: just landed

The reply is instant.

Dani: okay breathe. don’t disappear. i’m tracking you mentally you: that’s not concerning at all Dani: i haven’t seen you in SIX YEARS let me be dramatic

You don’t argue with that. Because she’s right.

you: getting my luggage Dani: i’m here

You pause mid-step. Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden.

you: already? Dani: i’ve been here for like 20 minutes

Of course she has.

The baggage claim feels too loud. Too busy. People moving in every direction, voices overlapping, announcements echoing overhead. And you’re just… standing there. Waiting. Watching bags circle that aren’t yours. Heart beating a little too fast.

Then your phone buzzes again.

Dani: where are you

You glance up. Scan the crowd.

you: baggage claim 4

You don’t even finish locking your phone before you see her. It doesn’t hit you all at once. It’s slower than that. A recognition that builds. Because she’s different.

Older, obviously. That’s expected. But it’s more than that. She’s… settled into herself in a way you don’t remember. Confident. Grounded. Like she knows exactly where she stands in the world.

Her hair—long, dark, curly—falls naturally around her shoulders, fuller than you remember, framing her face in a way that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

She’s scanning the crowd. Then her eyes land on you. And everything stops. For a second, neither of you move. Like your brains are still catching up to what you’re seeing.

Six years. Reduced to this one moment. Then something in you just goes. No thought. No hesitation. Your body moves before your mind can catch up, weaving through people, your focus locked entirely on her.

She does the same. And then—You’re there. The impact of the hug is immediate. Solid. Real. Her arms wrap around you tight—tighter than you expected, like she’s making up for every second she didn’t get to do this.

You don’t hesitate this time. You hug her back just as hard. And for a moment, everything else disappears. No airport. No noise. No distance. Just this. Her. Warm and familiar.

She pulls back first—but not far. Just enough to look at you. Really look at you.

'Hi.' She breathes, like she’s still not fully convinced you’re real.

'Hi.'

Her hands are still on your arms, like she doesn’t quite want to let go. 'You’re actually here.'

'Yeah.'

She shakes her head slightly, laughing under her breath. 'That’s insane.'

'You’re insane.'

'True.'

There’s a moment. Then her eyes narrow slightly—taking you in.

'You look…' She tilts her head. 'Different.'

'Good different or—'

'Shut up,' she cuts in immediately. 'Obviously good.'

You huff a small breath. 'You look—' You stop, because suddenly the words feel heavier than they should. 'You look beautiful.'

It slips out quieter than you expected. Honest. Unfiltered.

Her expression flickers—just for a second. Something soft. Something caught off guard. Then she shoves you. Not hard. Just enough to break the moment.

'Okay,' she mutters, grabbing your suitcase handle before you can react. 'Don’t start.'

You blink, thrown slightly off balance—but there’s a faint smile tugging at your mouth. 'Don’t start what?'

'That,' she says vaguely, already turning, already pulling your suitcase along with her. 'We’re not doing that right now.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Doing what?'

'Complimenting me like you’ve been gone for six years and suddenly have feelings.'

You almost trip over your own feet. 'I was just—'

'Mm-hm.'

'I was being nice.'

'Mm-hm.'

You glance at her. She’s hiding a smile.

'Come on,' she says, nodding toward the exit. 'Let’s get out of here.'

The walk to her car is easy. Too easy. Like your body remembers how to be around her before your brain does.

She talks the whole time. Not in a rushed way—just… filling you in. Bits and pieces. LA traffic. Schedules. Complaints about early mornings. Random stories that don’t have proper endings.

You listen. Mostly. Because part of you is still just… watching her. Taking in the way she moves. The way she talks with her hands. The way she’s somehow exactly the same and completely different all at once.

She loads your suitcase into the trunk like it’s nothing. You automatically step in to help.

'I’ve got it.' She says.

'I can—'

'I know you can,' she cuts in, glancing at you. 'Just let me.'

You pause. Then nod. Old habits. New dynamics.

You slide into the passenger seat, shut the door. And for a second— It’s quiet. Just the two of you. No noise. No movement. Just… this. Then she starts the engine.

'And—' she says, like she’s been holding it in, 'I need you to meet everyone.'

You glance at her. 'Everyone?'

'Yeah. The girls.'

'…What girls?'

She glances at you like she’s just realised something. 'Oh—right.' A small laugh. 'I didn’t really explain that, did I?'

'No. You didn’t.'

'Okay, well—' she pulls out of the parking space smoothly, like this is second nature now, 'I’ll explain on the way.'

You lean back slightly, watching her. There’s something almost… excited in her energy now. Like she’s been waiting for this part.

'They’re my group.' She adds.

You frown slightly. 'Group?'

'Yeah.'

Then, casually— 'I’m in a girl group.'

You blink. '…You’re in a what?'

She glances at you again—grinning now. 'A girl group.'

You stare at her. '…Since when?'

'Since a while ago,' she says, like that explains anything. 'I told you about the program, right? It turned into something bigger.'

'That’s—' You shake your head slightly. 'You didn’t say that.'

'I thought you knew.'

'I did not know.'

She laughs. 'Okay, well. Surprise.'

You sit back, processing that. 'You’re in a—like, a proper—'

'Yes,' she cuts in, amused. 'A proper one.'

'And you want me to just—what—walk into that?'

'Yes.'

'Dani—'

'They’re going to love you.'

'You don’t know that.'

'I do.'

You glance at her. She’s completely serious. '…I’ll explain everything when we get to my apartment,' she adds, softer now. 'Okay?'

You hesitate. Then nod. 'Okay.'

The car merges into traffic. The city stretches out around you—bigger, louder, faster than anything you’ve known for the past six years.

And beside you—Daniela drums her fingers lightly against the steering wheel, a small, excited energy buzzing through her. Like she’s bringing two parts of her life together. Finally.

And you—You sit there, watching it all unfold. Realising, slowly that you didn’t just come back home. You stepped into something new entirely. And somehow, it already feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

---

The drive settles into something quieter the closer you get to her place. The city hum fades into the background, replaced by something more… contained. Residential. Calm, in its own way.

You don’t realise you’ve been watching her the whole time until she glances over and catches you.

'What?' She asks, one brow lifting.

'Nothing.'

'That didn’t sound like nothing.'

You shake your head lightly, looking out the window instead. 'Just… taking it in.'

She hums, like she understands more than you said out loud.

Her apartment building is nicer than you expected. Not flashy—just… put together. Clean lines, big windows, the kind of place that feels lived in but intentional. Very her.

She grabs your bag again before you can. 'Dani—'

'Don’t start.' She mutters, already heading toward the entrance.

You let it go. Again.

The second the door to her apartment opens— You feel it. Her. It’s everywhere. It’s not obvious at first glance.

The space is neat, modern, decorated in a way that makes sense for someone living in LA.

But then you start noticing things. Small things. Specific things. There’s a photo on a shelf—slightly tucked back, like it wasn’t meant to be the focus. You and her. You’re younger. Probably fifteen. Sitting on the pavement outside her house, covered in chalk dust, grinning like idiots.

You pause in front of it. '…You kept that?'

From behind you, she shrugs. 'Obviously.'

You glance over your shoulder at her. 'Obviously.' You repeat.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

There’s more. A hoodie thrown over the back of a chair that you know used to be yours. A chipped mug you recognise instantly. Even the way she’s arranged things—there’s familiarity in it. A quiet thread of your shared past woven into a life you weren’t there for.

Your chest tightens. Not in a bad way. Just… a lot.

'Do you want a drink?' She asks, heading toward the kitchen like she needs something to do with her hands.

'Water’s fine.'

'Of course it is.' She mutters, grabbing a glass anyway.

You huff a quiet breath, leaning lightly against the counter as she fills it. She slides it over. Your fingers brush briefly when you take it. Neither of you comment on it.

You fall into conversation easily after that. Like muscle memory. She tells you things in pieces. About training. About moving. About the girls. Not everything—just enough to give you a shape of it.

You fill in your side the same way. General. Controlled. You notice it when she notices it.

'You don’t talk about it much.' She says at one point, not accusing—just observing.

You shrug lightly, eyes on your glass. 'There’s not much to say.'

She watches you for a second longer than necessary.

'Okay.'

She lets it go. For now.

Her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances at it, then at you. 'They’re on their way.'

Your stomach does something weird at that. 'Already?'

'I told you they’d want to meet you.'

'That doesn’t mean I’m ready for it.'

She grins slightly. 'Too late.'

The first knock comes sooner than you expect. Then another. Then voices. Multiple. Loud.

The door swings open and suddenly—There are people. Girls, all around your age, filtering into the apartment like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Energy fills the space instantly. Bright. Chaotic. Warm.

'Hi—oh my god, hi.' 'Is this—?' 'Wait, this is—' 'Dani’s been talking about you for years.'

You barely have time to process one voice before another takes its place.

Daniela steps in smoothly, grounding it. 'Guys—' she laughs, lightly pushing one of them back. 'Give her a second, oh my god.'

She turns to you, gesturing between you and them. 'This is—everyone.' She says, which is not helpful at all.

You huff a quiet breath. 'Good introduction.'

'Shut up.'

She does it properly after that. Names. One by one. Faces you try to match quickly. They’re all different—but they all have that same underlying confidence. That same presence.

It clicks. These aren’t just friends.

'And this,' Daniela adds, like it’s the final piece, 'is my group.'

There’s a small pause. 'Katseye.'

You blink. '…Like the crystals?'

There’s a beat. Then a few of them laugh.

'Yes,' Sophia says. 'Exactly like the crystals.'

You nod slowly. 'Cool.'

You end up sitting on the couch, surrounded before you even realise it’s happening. Questions come quickly—but not in an overwhelming way. Curious. Interested. Genuine.

'So you just got back?' 'After six years?' 'What was it like?' 'Did you always know you wanted to do that?'

You answer what you can. Deflect what you don’t want to get into. They don’t push. Not really.

You return the questions too. Because you don’t understand this world at all.

'So you’re—famous?'

That gets a laugh.

'Kind of.' Lara says.

'Kind of?' You repeat.

'It’s weird,' Manon adds. 'You don’t really feel it until you do.'

You nod slowly. 'That sounds… complicated.'

'It is.'

You glance at Daniela. She’s watching you. Not the conversation. You. Like she’s checking—constantly—if you’re okay.

Time passes quickly. Too quickly. The room fills with overlapping conversations, laughter, small moments you don’t fully catch but still feel part of.

It’s… easy. Easier than you expected.

Then Daniela claps her hands once. 'Okay.'

Everyone pauses.

'I love you all,' she says, already ushering them up, 'but you need to go.'

Immediate protests.

'What?' 'Already?' 'We just got here!' 'I haven’t even—'

'Out.' She insists, pushing them gently toward the door.

You blink, caught off guard. 'Dani—'

'I haven’t seen her in six years.' She shoots back, like that explains everything.

It kind of does.

There’s a chorus of dramatic sighs, teasing comments, but they listen. One by one, they filter out.

'Nice meeting you—' 'Don’t be a stranger—' 'We’re stealing you next time—'

The door finally shuts. Silence. It settles slower this time. Comfortable. Real.

Daniela leans back against the door, exhaling. 'Sorry,' she says. 'They’re a lot.'

'They’re nice.' You mean it.

She studies you for a second. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

There’s a pause.

Something quieter now. More focused. You shift slightly, reaching down for your bag.

She watches you, curious. 'What are you—'

You pull it open. Hesitate. Just for a second. Then, you take them out. A small stack. Folded. Worn at the edges. Carefully kept.

Her expression changes immediately. '…What’s that?'

You don’t answer right away. You just… hold them out. Toward her.

'I wrote these,' you say finally. 'Over there.'

She doesn’t take them immediately. Just looks at them. Then at you. '…You never sent them.'

'No.'

'Why?'

You shrug lightly. 'Didn’t know how.' That’s the simplest version of the truth.

She steps forward slowly. Takes them from your hands like they might fall apart. Her fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulls away immediately. She looks down at the stack. At the years you never gave her.

'…Can I read them?'

You nod. 'Yeah.'

She doesn’t sit. Doesn’t move. She just… stands there. Opens the first one carefully.

You don’t watch her read. You can’t. Instead, you lean back slightly against the counter, arms crossing loosely, eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder.

The room is quiet. Except for the soft sound of paper unfolding. Her breathing shifts. Subtle. But you notice.

Time stretches. You don’t know how long she stands there reading. One letter. Then another. Then another. When she finally looks up, her eyes are different. Softer. Fuller. Like she’s seeing something she didn’t before.

'You went through all of that.' She says quietly.

It’s not a question. You don’t answer it like one.

'Yeah.'

She swallows. Tight. '…And you didn’t tell me.'

There’s no accusation in it. Just… something else. Something heavier.

'I didn’t want to put it on you.' You admit.

Her grip tightens slightly on the letters. 'I would’ve taken it.' She says.

You believe her. That’s the problem. There's a pause, then she steps closer. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… certain.

'You don’t have to do that anymore.' She says softly.

You blink. 'Do what?'

'Carry everything by yourself.'

That lands. Harder than you expect.

You let out a slow breath. '…I don’t know how not to.'

She nods. Like she expected that. 'Then we figure it out.' She says.

Simple. Steady. And for the first time since you got back—Since before that, even—You feel something shift. Not fixed. Not healed. But, less alone.

---

The TV is playing, but neither of you are really watching it anymore.

Some over-the-top reality show fills the room—raised voices, dramatic music, someone storming out over something ridiculous—but it’s just noise. Background. Something to keep the silence from pressing too hard.

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch at first. A safe distance. A necessary distance.

Daniela watches you instead of the screen. Not in the obvious way—not staring. But her eyes keep drifting back. Taking you in piece by piece like she’s trying to solve something.

Six years. Six years and you’re right here, and somehow she still feels like she’s talking to someone she only half knows now.

'You’re quieter.' She says eventually.

It’s gentle. Observational. But it lands heavier than anything else she could’ve said.

You let out a small breath through your nose, eyes still on the TV. 'Yeah.'

'That’s not all.' She presses softly.

You don’t answer this time. Your jaw tightens just slightly—barely noticeable, but she catches it. She always did.

'You don’t fidget anymore,' she adds. 'You used to. All the time. Your hands were always doing something.'

You glance down at your hands resting still in your lap. She’s right.

'I got told to stop,' you say after a moment. 'Didn’t look… professional.'

Daniela’s expression shifts. Something about that doesn’t sit right with her.

'And you listen like…' she trails off, trying to find the words. 'Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.'

That one hits. You huff out a quiet, humourless laugh. 'That one’s not something you get told to do.'

Silence stretches between you again—but it’s different now. Tighter. Closer to something breaking.

She shifts toward you slightly. 'Talk to me,' she says, softer this time. 'Please.'

There’s no pressure in it. No demand. Just… her. And that makes it worse.

You shake your head instinctively. 'It’s not—'

'It is,' she cuts in gently. 'You think I can’t tell?'

You swallow. Your eyes flick to hers for just a second—and that’s all it takes.

She sees it. Everything you’ve been holding back, sitting just beneath the surface.

'…I don’t even know where to start.' You admit quietly.

'Anywhere.' She says.

So you do. Not all at once. Not in some big, dramatic spill. It comes out in pieces. Slow. Uneven. Careful.

'There were nights…' you start, voice already tightening, 'where I didn’t sleep. Not because I couldn’t—because I didn’t want to.'

Daniela doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t move.

'I kept thinking if I fell asleep, something would happen. Or I’d miss something. Or—' you stop, exhaling shakily. 'Or I’d dream about it again.'

Her chest tightens.

You stare at a fixed point somewhere past the TV. 'There were alarms. Sometimes real, sometimes drills. You don’t know which is worse after a while.' A small, dry laugh. 'Your body stops caring. It just reacts.'

Your fingers twitch slightly now, like the memory is trying to pull you back into it.

'I had panic attacks,' you admit, quieter. 'A lot of them.'

That one feels heavier to say out loud than anything else so far.

'Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just…' you gesture vaguely, frustrated. 'Everything at once.'

Daniela’s hand inches closer on the couch cushion between you. Not touching. Not yet.

'I used to think about home,' you continue. 'All the time. Like—constantly. Your house. My room. That stupid streetlight that flickered outside my window.'

A faint smile ghosts across your lips for a second. 'Thought if I could just get back, everything would… reset.'

Your voice cracks slightly on the last word. 'But it doesn’t,' you add quickly, almost cutting yourself off. 'It doesn’t work like that.'

Daniela finally reaches out. Just barely—her fingers brushing against yours. Not grabbing. Not holding. Just there.

You don’t pull away.

'I wanted to leave,' you admit, barely above a whisper. 'So many times.'

Her throat tightens.

'But I couldn’t.' Your jaw sets slightly. 'People were relying on me. My unit, my country—whatever you want to call it. I signed up for it. I couldn’t just… walk away because it got hard.'

Daniela’s fingers curl around yours properly now. Firm. Grounding.

'You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.' She says softly.

You shake your head. 'I wasn’t alone,' you say. 'Not technically. But it felt like it.'

That one hangs in the air. Heavy. Honest. Final.

The TV continues blaring in the background, completely disconnected from the moment unfolding on the couch.

You inhale slowly, like you’ve just run a marathon. Then exhale. And just like that—you pull yourself back. It’s subtle, but Daniela feels it immediately.

The shift. The walls sliding back into place. So you change the subject. Abruptly.

'Play me something.' You say, nodding toward her phone on the table.

She blinks. 'What?'

'Your music,' you clarify. 'You said you’d show me.'

She hesitates for half a second—just long enough to realise what you’re doing.

An escape. But she lets you have it.

'…okay.' She says gently.

She reaches for her phone, scrolling for a moment before tapping on a track. The room fills with music.

'My Way.'

It’s different from what you expected. There’s something steady about it. Confident. Grounded. You lean back into the couch, listening properly.

Not analysing. Not overthinking. Just… listening.

Daniela watches you the entire time. Your shoulders drop slightly as the song goes on. Your breathing evens out. Something in your expression softens—just a little. When it ends, there’s a quiet beat.

'…I like that one.' You say.

She smiles faintly. 'Yeah?'

You nod. 'It feels…' you search for the word. 'Certain.'

She tilts her head. 'Certain?'

'Like it knows where it’s going,' you explain. 'Doesn’t second guess itself.'

A pause. 'I think I forgot what that feels like.'

Daniela’s chest aches at that. 'You’ll find it again.' She says softly.

You glance at her. There’s something in your expression now—something open. Vulnerable in a different way.

'You always were good at that.' You murmur.

'At what?'

'Making things sound possible.'

Her breath catches slightly. The moment lingers. Stretches. Shifts into something quieter. Warmer. Closer.

At some point, you’ve both moved without realising. The distance between you is gone now. Your shoulders brush. Then stay.

The TV keeps playing. Neither of you notice what show it is anymore. You glance at her again. This time, you don’t look away as quickly.

'I missed you.' You say.

Simple. Honest. Too honest.

Daniela’s breath stutters. 'I missed you too.' She replies immediately.

You nod slowly, like you expected that. Like it still hits anyway.

There’s something sitting on the tip of your tongue now. Something bigger. Heavier. Six years of it. You can feel it rising—feel the words forming before you can stop them.

'I—' You stop.

Daniela leans in slightly. 'What?'

Your eyes flick down. Then back up.

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. Not fear. Not memories. Something softer. More dangerous.

'I was gonna ask…' you pivot, the words shifting at the last second. 'If you’re—um… seeing anyone.'

Daniela blinks. It takes her a second to process the switch. Then she shakes her head.

'No,' she says. 'It’s… hard. With everything.'

She gestures vaguely—career, schedules, expectations. 'People either don’t get it or…' she shrugs. 'It just doesn’t work.'

You nod slowly. 'Yeah.'

A small pause. 'Figures.'

She studies you. 'You?'

You shake your head. 'No.'

Not a lie. Just not the full truth either. There’s a quiet understanding that settles between you. Unspoken. Unfinished.

The TV volume dips as another episode rolls in automatically. At some point, Daniela shifts again—this time more intentionally. She leans into you. Carefully. Giving you time to pull away if you want.

You don’t. Your body tenses for half a second—instinct—but then… you let yourself relax. Your shoulder presses properly against hers. Her head rests lightly against you. It’s… easy.

Easier than it should be. Easier than anything has felt in a long time.

'You okay?' She murmurs.

'Yeah.' You say quietly.

And this time, you mean it.

Hours pass without either of you noticing. The show changes three times. The city outside quiets. Your conversation fades in and out—random topics, old memories, things you missed, things that don’t matter but somehow do.

At some point, your head tilts. Then rests gently against hers. Neither of you comment on it. Neither of you move away. And eventually, without meaning to, you fall asleep. Still there. Still close. Still unfinished.

---

The first few days pass in a strange, quiet blur. Not uncomfortable. Just… unfamiliar.

Daniela comes and goes. Mornings are usually soft—half-asleep conversations in the kitchen, her hair still messy, yours barely better. She’ll lean against the counter with a protein bar in hand, scrolling through something on her phone while you sit across from her with coffee you don’t really need.

'You can come today, you know,' she says almost every time, casual but hopeful. 'It’s just rehearsals.'

You always shake your head. 'Next time.' You tell her.

It’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you don’t know how to exist in her world yet. So instead, you explore.

Los Angeles is… a lot. Loud in a different way than what you’re used to. Not alarms. Not orders. Just life.

Cars passing constantly. Music leaking out of open shop doors. People talking, laughing, arguing. Street vendors calling out. The smell of food everywhere.

You walk more than you need to. Hands in your pockets, eyes taking everything in.

You stop at random places—coffee shops, small stores, a bookstore you spend nearly an hour in without buying anything. You sit in a park at one point, watching people pass by, wondering how everyone seems to just… belong here.

It’s strange. You spent years in a place where every step had purpose. Now you have nothing but time and no idea what to do with it. And somehow, that feels harder.

By the time you get back to Daniela’s apartment each evening, she’s usually already there. Or arriving not long after you. There’s a rhythm starting to form.

Dinner together. TV on. Conversations that bounce between serious and stupid. It’s easy. Too easy. And that’s what makes it feel fragile.

A few nights in, the question comes. You should’ve expected it. You almost did.

Daniela’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing you this time instead of leaning into your side. The TV is on, muted. Neither of you are paying attention to it.

She’s been quieter tonight. Thinking. You can tell.

'So…' she starts, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. 'What are you gonna do?'

You glance at her. 'About?'

'Now,' she says. 'Like… your future.'

Your stomach tightens slightly. You lean back into the couch, exhaling slowly. 'I don’t know.' You admit.

It’s the truth. The most honest answer you’ve given anyone in a long time.

'I haven’t really… figured that out yet.'

Daniela nods, but it’s small. Unsatisfied. There’s a pause.

'Don’t go back.'

It comes out quick. Too quick.

Your eyes snap to hers. '…what?'

'Don’t go back.' She repeats, softer this time—but firmer.

You stare at her. You’re not shocked. Not really. This conversation feels familiar. Different setting. Same tension.

'You don’t get to just—' you shake your head slightly, a small, disbelieving breath leaving you. 'Say that and not explain why.'

She swallows. Her gaze drops for a second, then comes back to you. 'I just—' She starts, then stops.

Her hands fidget now. There it is. The Daniela you remember.

'I don’t want you to go back there.' She says instead.

'That’s not a reason.' You reply quietly.

Her jaw tightens. 'I know.'

'Then tell me the real one.'

The air shifts. You can feel it. Whatever she’s been holding in—it’s right there. On the edge.

'I already lost you once.' She says.

Your chest tightens. 'You didn’t—'

'I did,' she cuts in, sharper than she means to. Then softer, 'It felt like I did.'

You go quiet. She looks at you fully now. Eyes glassy. Vulnerable in a way she hasn’t been since you got here.

'When you left…' her voice wavers slightly, 'you sat on your bed and told me it was what you wanted, and I—I tried to be okay with it. I tried to support you.'

You remember it. Every second.

'I told myself it was temporary,' she continues. 'That you’d come back and everything would just… go back to normal.'

A small, broken laugh escapes her. 'That was stupid.'

You shake your head. 'It wasn’t—'

'It was,' she insists. 'Because nothing about that was normal.'

Silence falls again. Heavy.

'You wrote me letters,' she says, quieter now. 'Called when you could. And I held onto all of it like it was enough.'

Your throat tightens.

'But it wasn’t,' she whispers. 'I missed you in a way that didn’t feel like just… missing a friend.'

That lands. Hard. You don’t breathe.

Daniela’s voice breaks slightly now. 'And I didn’t say anything. Because you were out there, doing something that mattered, and I didn’t want to make it about me.'

Your heart is pounding. Loud and unsteady.

'But it broke me,' she admits. 'Saying goodbye to you like that.'

Your chest aches.

'And I don’t think I can do it again.'

There it is. Everything is laid out between you. Raw, unfiltered and real. She looks at you like she’s bracing for something. Rejection. Silence. Anything.

Instead—you exhale. A shaky, almost disbelieving sound. 'You picked a hell of a time to tell me that.'

She blinks. 'What?'

You run a hand over your face, laughing softly—but there’s no humour in it. 'Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that?'

Her breath catches.

You look at her properly now. No walls. No deflection.

'High school,' you say. 'That’s when it started.'

Her eyes widen slightly.

'You had a boyfriend,' you add. 'So I… didn’t say anything.'

'Why didn’t you tell me after?' She asks, voice barely there.

You let out a breath. 'Because then I left,' you say simply. 'And it didn’t feel fair to drop something like that on you and then disappear.'

She stares at you. Trying to process it.

'So we’re just… idiots.' She murmurs.

You huff a small laugh. 'Yeah. Pretty much.'

She moves instantly. It’s quick, like she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she waits any longer. Her hands come up to your face, pulling you toward her. And then she kisses you.

It’s not hesitant. It’s not unsure. It’s everything she didn’t say for six years.

You freeze for half a second—then melt into it. Your hands find her instinctively, pulling her closer like you need to make sure she’s actually real.

She laughs softly against your lips, half breathless, half disbelieving. 'You’re staying.' She says, like she’s deciding it for you.

You pull back just enough to look at her. 'I was already thinking about it.' You admit.

Her expression softens instantly. 'Yeah?'

You nod. 'I don’t… belong there anymore,' you say quietly. 'I just didn’t know where I did belong.'

Her thumb brushes against your cheek. 'You do now.'

Something in your chest settles. For the first time in a long time.

'Yeah,' you murmur. 'I think I do.'

She kisses you again. Softer this time. Slower. Like she’s not trying to catch up on lost time anymore—just be in it.

The days after that feel different. Lighter. But also… real. Because now comes the part no one talks about.

Figuring it out.

You start looking for work. Anything. Everything. You don’t care what it is—you just need something that feels like yours. You apply to places you never thought you would.

Gyms. Security. Local businesses. Even a bookstore you passed on your second day in the city.

Daniela watches you through all of it. Sometimes from the couch while you scroll through listings. Sometimes from the kitchen while you fill out applications.

'You don’t have to rush.' She says one night.

'I do.' You reply.

She tilts her head. 'Why?'

You shrug slightly. 'Because I need to build something here.' You say.

That word doesn’t go unnoticed.

Her lips curve into a small smile. 'Here.' She repeats softly.

You glance at her. Then back at your laptop. But you’re smiling too. It’s not perfect. You’re still figuring things out. Still unlearning habits. Still adjusting to a world that doesn’t run on survival.

But now, you’re not doing it alone. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.

---

A few more days pass, and for the first time since you landed in LA, things start to feel… structured.

Not rigid. Not suffocating. Just… moving.

You’ve got a handful of interviews lined up—nothing glamorous, nothing you ever pictured yourself doing growing up—but it’s something. A start. A way to build a life that isn’t dictated by orders or survival.

Daniela makes a big deal out of it anyway.

'You have options,' she says one morning, leaning against the kitchen counter while you scroll through your emails. 'That’s hot.'

You snort. 'Nothing says attractive like ‘entry-level position, must be available weekends.’'

She grins. 'Hey. Stability is sexy.'

You glance at her over your phone. '…you’re insane.'

'Yeah,' she shrugs. 'But you like me.'

You don’t even hesitate. 'Yeah, I do.'

She beams.

Later that afternoon, you make the call home. It’s… easier than you expected.

Your mom answers on the second ring. 'Hey, baby.'

That alone almost knocks the breath out of you.

You lean back against Daniela’s bedroom wall, staring up at the ceiling. 'Hey, mom.'

You can hear your dad in the background asking who it is. Your mom tells him, and suddenly he’s there too, his voice louder, warmer.

They ask about everything. The flight. Daniela. LA. Your plans. And for once, you don’t dodge the question.

'I think I’m gonna stay here for a bit.' You tell them.

There’s a pause.

Not disappointed. Not confused. Just… processing.

'With Daniela?' Your mom asks gently.

You glance out toward the living room, where Daniela’s laughing at something on TV, completely unaware.

'Yeah.'

Another pause.

'I think that’s a good idea.' Your dad says.

Your chest tightens slightly. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' he replies. 'You sound… lighter.'

You swallow. '…I feel lighter.'

And that’s how you know you made the right choice.

That evening, the apartment is full again. Shoes by the door. Laughter echoing off the walls. Takeout containers scattered across the coffee table like none of you have ever heard of plates.

The girls have made themselves at home—like they always do. You’ve gotten used to it quicker than you thought you would.

Manon is sprawled across the couch, dramatically complaining about something while Megan and Lara argue over what to put on the TV. Sophia and Daniela are in the kitchen, debating whether they should’ve ordered more food.

Yoonchae’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, quietly stealing fries from everyone’s containers.

It’s chaos. Warm, familiar chaos.

You’re leaning against the arm of the couch, half listening, half watching. And for once— You’re not on edge.

'So what’s the plan, soldier?' Manon suddenly asks, turning her head to look at you.

You blink. 'Excuse me?'

She grins. 'Future. Career. World domination. What are we thinking?'

You shrug slightly. 'Got a few interviews. Gonna see what sticks.'

Megan nods approvingly. 'As you should.'

'But,' Manon continues, sitting up slightly, eyes lighting up with a very specific kind of idea, 'hear me out—'

Daniela groans immediately from the kitchen. 'Oh no.'

'You join our security team.'

There’s a beat. You stare at her. '…what?'

Manon gestures toward you like she’s just solved world peace. 'Think about it. You’re literally trained for it. We’re constantly travelling. Daniela would get to have you around all the time.'

You huff a small laugh. 'I don’t think it works like that.'

'I’m serious!' She insists. 'It’s perfect.'

You glance toward Daniela—Expecting her to laugh it off. She doesn’t. She’s frozen. Processing. And then—

'Oh my god.'

You blink. 'Dani—'

'That’s actually not a bad idea.'

Your eyebrows shoot up. 'You cannot be serious.'

She’s already moving and grabbing her phone. 'I’m calling Missy.'

'Daniela—'

She’s dialing.

You push yourself off the couch slightly, half laughing, half panicked. 'Daniela, I haven’t even—'

'She’ll know if it’s possible,' Daniela cuts in quickly, pacing now. 'Just let me ask.'

You run a hand over your face.

The girls are watching this unfold like it’s the best entertainment they’ve had all week.

Sophia bites back a smile. Manon looks insufferably proud of herself.

'Hey—yes, hi,' Daniela starts the second the call connects, already slipping into professional mode. 'Sorry, I know it’s late, but I have a question—hypothetically—about security staffing.'

You stare at her. She’s serious. Completely serious. And suddenly— This isn’t just a joke anymore.

The call doesn’t last long. But it’s enough. Enough for Daniela to hang up and turn to you with that look. That look.

'It’s possible.' She says.

Your stomach flips slightly. 'What?'

'She said we’d have to go through proper channels, obviously,' Daniela explains, already walking back toward you. 'Background checks, certifications, interviews—'

'I have those.' You cut in automatically.

She smiles. 'Exactly.'

You blink. Processing. 'You’re not serious.'

'I am.' She says, softer now.

The room has gone quieter. Everyone’s watching. Not in a pressuring way. Just… waiting.

You glance around. At them. At her. At this life that’s slowly, somehow, become yours.

'I already have interviews.' You say, quieter now.

Daniela nods. 'I know.'

'I don’t want to just… drop everything and—'

'You don’t have to,' she says quickly. 'You can do both. See what feels right.'

There’s no pressure in her voice. No expectation. Just… an option. A door you didn’t even know existed.

You exhale slowly. 'Okay.' You say.

Daniela’s eyes widen slightly. 'Okay?'

You nod. 'I’ll… try it. Go through the process. See what happens.'

Manon cheers like she just won something. 'I knew it!' She shouts, pointing at you.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. 'This is insane.'

'Yeah,' Daniela grins, stepping closer to you. 'But it kind of works, right?'

You look at her. Really look at her.

Six years ago, you left her behind without knowing if you’d ever come back.

Now, you’re standing in her apartment, surrounded by people who somehow feel like home, talking about building a future that keeps you here. With her.

'…yeah,' you admit quietly. 'It kind of does.'

The night winds down slowly after that. More food. More laughter. Less chaos. At some point, the girls start heading out one by one—hugging Daniela, waving at you, already talking about seeing you again soon.

Manon lingers the longest. She nudges your shoulder as she passes. 'Told you it was a good idea.'

You roll your eyes. 'Don’t let it go to your head.'

'Too late.' She grins, then slips out the door.

When it’s just you and Daniela again, the apartment feels quieter. But not empty. Never empty.

She leans against you as you both stand in the middle of the living room, looking around at the aftermath—takeout boxes, blankets, half-finished drinks.

'Big day.' She murmurs.

You huff softly. 'That’s one way to put it.'

There’s a pause.

'Are you sure?' She asks.

It’s quieter now. More vulnerable.

'About staying. About all of this.'

You turn slightly, looking down at her. At the girl you grew up with. The girl you left. The girl you found your way back to.

'I’m sure.' You say.

And you are. Not because everything is figured out. Not because it’s easy. But because for the first time, you know where you want to be.

She smiles. Soft. Relieved. And then she kisses you. Slow. Certain. Like she’s not afraid of losing you anymore.

And this time, you’re not going anywhere.

---

Six months later, everything feels… settled.

Not perfect. Not easy. But yours.

The venue is loud. Not the kind of loud you learned to tune out before—this is different. Brighter. Lighter. Full of energy instead of tension.

Fans line the barricades, voices overlapping into one constant wave of excitement. Phones held high, lights flashing, names being called out all at once.

You stand just off to the side of the exit, eyes scanning automatically. It’s instinct now. Routes. Distances. Movement.

You clock everything without thinking—who’s too close to the barrier, where the nearest clear path is, how long it’ll take to get from door to van.

The door opens behind you. You turn instantly.

Daniela steps out first, still slightly flushed from the performance, hair pulled back but already coming loose in soft curls around her face. Sophia follows close behind, calm as ever, with Lara just behind her, mid-sentence about something that clearly cannot wait.

They’re glowing. Tired, but glowing.

You step forward immediately, slipping into place beside them.

'Hey.' Daniela says under her breath the second she sees you, like the rest of the world isn’t right there.

You don’t smile fully—habit—but something softens.

'Hey.' You reply.

Your hand brushes lightly against the small of her back—not enough to draw attention, just enough to guide.

'Van’s ready,' you murmur. 'Stick close.'

She nods, but her fingers hook briefly into yours as she passes. Quick. Subtle. Gone before anyone could really notice. Except you.

'Which way?' Lara asks, looking between you and the crowd, eyes wide but amused.

You tilt your head slightly. 'Left. Stay behind me.'

Sophia gives you a small, appreciative nod. 'Got it.'

You move first. They follow without question. It’s seamless.

You keep your pace steady—not rushed, not slow—just enough to move them through without drawing unnecessary attention. Your body shifts slightly with every step, always positioning yourself between them and the crowd.

A few fans lean forward, calling their names louder now.

Daniela waves with her free hand, smiling brightly, but she stays exactly where you placed her.

You feel it again. That quiet sense of… rightness. Protecting them like this. Being here.

Halfway to the van, Daniela drifts just a little closer. Not enough to disrupt anything. Just enough.

'You’re very serious right now.' She whispers.

You glance at her briefly. 'I’m working.'

She hums, clearly not convinced. 'You look hot when you’re working.'

You almost trip. Almost.

Your jaw tightens as you look forward again. 'Daniela.'

'What?' She smiles, completely unbothered.

Sophia hears it. Of course she does. She snorts softly under her breath but says nothing. Lara, on the other hand, looks between the two of you like she’s just witnessed something illegal.

'Are you flirting right now?' She whisper shouts.

'No.' You say immediately.

'Yes.' Daniela says at the exact same time.

You reach the van. You open the door first, stepping back just enough to let them in while still keeping watch.

'Go.' You say, nodding toward the seats.

Sophia climbs in smoothly, followed by Lara, who is still side-eyeing you like she has questions she plans to ask later.

Daniela lingers. She pauses right in front of you, just for a second. Just long enough. Her hand reaches up, adjusting your collar slightly—unnecessary, but careful. Soft.

'You’re really good at this.' She says quietly.

Your chest tightens. 'Yeah?'

She nods. 'Yeah. I like having you here.'

There’s something in her voice that cuts through everything else. The noise. The job. The moment. Just her.

You glance around quickly—checking, always checking. Then you lean in just slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice. But enough.

'I’m not going anywhere.' You murmur.

Her smile— It’s soft. Certain. Yours.

'Good.' She whispers.

She finally climbs into the van. You close the door behind her, giving the driver a short nod.

As the vehicle pulls away, Daniela looks out the tinted window. Straight at you. She presses her hand lightly to the glass.

You don’t wave. You don’t need to. You just stand there, watching until the van disappears into the night.

Six months ago, you didn’t know where you belonged.

Now? You do. And this time, you stayed.

The first thing Daniela noticed was the sound.

Not the music bleeding out of rehearsal rooms three floors up. Not the dull clatter of road cases getting rolled across concrete. Not the distant, familiar shouts of staff trying to coordinate something big and expensive and late.

This was different.

A sharp metallic crack, the whine of a drill, and then the low, smooth growl of an engine turning over somewhere in the back bay like it had been coaxed into obedience by force of will alone.

Daniela paused just inside the open garage doors, one hand still hooked in the strap of her bag, sunglasses perched on top of her head. The place smelled like hot metal, motor oil, rubber, and that strange clean-burn scent of machinery that had just been worked hard. It was louder than she expected, brighter too-sunlight slanting through the high windows in gold bars, catching dust and steam and the shine of polished chrome.

The company kept this garage half for necessity, half for insanity.

Stage lifts, rigging systems, custom transport platforms, touring trucks, backup generators, specialty trailers, hydraulic equipment-someone had to keep all of it alive. And because their world was also full of people with too much money and very little patience, the garage somehow also serviced personal cars. Luxury SUVs. Modified imports. Vintage nonsense someone bought on a whim because it was pretty. If it had wheels or an engine or a finicky electronic system that would absolutely fail right before something important, it ended up here.

And apparently, eventually, everything ended up with you.

Daniela had heard about you before she ever properly saw you.

Mostly in fragments.

Ask Y/n, she’ll know.

Y/n fixed it.

No, don’t send that to outside service, Y/n can do it faster.

Y/n said the truck’s fine.

Y/n said the truck is not fine and if anyone drives it anyway they deserve what happens next.

The funny part was, no one ever said your name like they were talking about a person. More like a force. A final answer. A problem solver with grease under her nails and zero tolerance for stupidity.

Daniela hadn’t paid much attention at first. She’d figured you were probably forty, grizzled, mean as hell, and built like a cinder block. Some intimidating garage tyrant with a wrench in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Then she’d actually seen you.

And unfortunately, that had made things worse.

You were under one of the show trucks when she first spotted you a week ago, boots sticking out from beneath the chassis, coveralls tied around your waist, black tank top stuck to your back with sweat. Someone had called your name from across the bay and you’d rolled out on one of those little mechanic creepers like it was a throne, one arm braced over your head, the other holding a ratchet.

Daniela had fully stopped walking.

You were absurd.

Hot in the most unfair, offensive way. Strong forearms streaked with grease. Broad shoulders. A neck damp with sweat. Rings on a few of your fingers that somehow didn’t make sense in a garage and yet looked exactly right. Your hair was shoved back messily, like you’d run your hand through it too many times to care anymore. There’d been a smudge of something dark along your jaw, and your expression-

Your expression had been the real problem.

Calm. Nonchalant. Slightly bored.

Like absolutely nothing in the world could rattle you.

Like engines obeyed you because they should.

Like if someone annoyed you, you’d just tilt your head, look at them once, and they’d start apologizing automatically.

Daniela had watched you talk to one of the transport guys, and even from a distance it had been ridiculous. He’d been flustered, gesturing too much, clearly trying to explain something. You’d just leaned back against a tool chest, listening with that heavy-lidded, unreadable face. Then you’d said something short-too quiet for Daniela to hear-and the guy had immediately nodded and hurried off to do exactly whatever you told him to.

That had been the moment.

Because obviously.

Obviously Daniela had taken one look at you and thought, well. There it is.

That is a person who definitely tells people what to do.

That is a person who wins every stare down.

That is a person who probably pins someone with one hand and says something devastatingly calm while they fall apart.

The energy was unmistakable. The vibe was outrageous. Every line of your body said control. Competence. Command.

It was, frankly, irritating.

Especially because Daniela was not the type to get thrown by hot people.

She was usually the one doing the throwing.

So she’d taken the mature route and avoided you for a week.

Which would’ve worked fine if her car hadn’t started making that noise.

She’d bought it three months ago: sleek, low to the ground, glossy black, expensive enough that several staff members had just stared when she first pulled up in it. Daniela liked beautiful things. She liked fast things. She liked things that listened when she put her hands on them. The car had seemed like an excellent decision right up until yesterday, when braking at a red light had produced a wrong-feeling shudder under her foot.

Not dramatic. Not a full failure. Just… wrong.

This morning it had done it again.

A faint jerk in the pedal. A weird catch. Enough that she noticed, and if Daniela noticed something off about a car, she was not going to ignore it.

Which was how she ended up in the garage, standing in the heat and noise with her keys in one hand and her sunglasses still perched uselessly in her hair, trying not to look like she’d come down here because she wanted an excuse to talk to the hottest mechanic she’d ever seen.

A pneumatic wrench screamed somewhere to her left.

A truck horn blared once.

Someone laughed near the parts shelves.

And then, from the far side of the bay, you straightened up from the open hood of a dark green haul truck.

Daniela forgot, briefly, how to be normal.

You had one hand braced on the hood frame and the other holding a rag, wiping grease from your fingers in slow, absent motions that did absolutely nothing to make you less filthy. Your shirt-faded charcoal, sleeves cut off-clung damply to your torso. There was sweat at your collarbone, a streak of black along one bicep, and those same heavy work boots planted apart like the concrete itself had agreed you belonged there.

Someone said something to you. You answered without looking away from the engine. The person nodded and left.

Of course.

Of course you were like that up close too.

Daniela started toward you before she could overthink it.

You glanced over when her boots sounded against the concrete, and that was somehow worse. Your gaze was steady but not intrusive. Calm. Direct. You took her in in one smooth sweep-face, outfit, keys in hand, expression-and then leaned back a little against the truck like you had all the time in the world.

“Need something?” you asked.

Your voice was lower than she expected.

Not rough exactly. Just even. Easy. The kind of voice that sounded like it never had to rise to be listened to.

Daniela slowed to a stop a few feet away.

Up close, the details got more dangerous. Smudged knuckles. A silver chain at your throat. Sweat at your temples. The lazy set of your mouth. The complete absence of fluster. It was deeply unfair, this whole thing.

She crossed her arms instead, partly because it looked cool and partly because it kept her from doing anything idiotic.

“My car’s braking weird,” she said.

You nodded once, like that told you half of what you needed already.

“Weird how?”

Daniela held up a hand, making a face. “Not a helpful weird. A bad weird.”

Your mouth twitched, almost a smile.

“Most car problems are bad weird.”

That got a small laugh out of her before she could stop it.

Right. Great. So you were funny too. Excellent.

“It jerks a little when I brake,” she said. “Not every time. But enough that I noticed. Feels off in the pedal.”

Now your attention sharpened.

Not dramatically. Just enough that Daniela could tell the switch had happened. Casual mechanic to focused mechanic. Your eyes flicked to the keys in her hand.

“What are you driving?”

She named the model.

One of your brows lifted just slightly, not impressed exactly, but registering it. “Fancy.”

Daniela smiled, slow and sharp. “Jealous?”

“No,” you said, wiping your hands again on the rag. “Fancy cars break too.”

Something about the way you said it-flat, unconcerned, entirely unimpressed by price tags or aesthetics-made her want to laugh again. Or maybe just stand here longer than necessary.

You pushed off the truck and walked toward her.

Daniela remained perfectly still.

This was because she was composed.

It had nothing to do with the fact that you moved like you knew exactly where your body was at all times and expected the world to make room for it.

You stopped in front of her, not too close, and held out your hand.

“For the keys.”

Oh.

Right.

She handed them over.

Your fingers brushed hers for half a second, callused and warm and a little rough with the residue of work. Daniela hated that she noticed. Hated more that she noticed without wanting to.

You looked down at the key fob, then back up at her. “You need it checked now?”

There it was again. That tone. Straightforward. Calm. Like if she said yes, it would happen. No fuss. No dramatics. Like things got done around you because you decided they would.

Daniela, who was very used to being the one people adjusted around, found it oddly compelling.

And also annoying.

And also hot.

Mostly hot.

“If you can,” she said.

You nodded once. “I can take a look.”

Daniela tried very hard not to seem too pleased by that.

“Okay,” she said, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere near interested.

You glanced toward the open garage doors, toward the lot outside where her car was parked, then back at her.

“Show me which one’s yours.”

Daniela smiled, small and satisfied, and turned slightly toward the doors.

“Come on, then,” she said.

And you, easy as anything, followed.

****

Daniela heard her car before she saw it.

Not the dramatic kind of hear, not some cinematic roar announcing your return from a test drive like the universe was trying to hand her a problem directly. Just the smooth, low purr of her engine easing back into the bay, controlled and clean, followed by the soft chirp of brakes and the faint crunch of tires over dusty concrete as you guided it into place like you’d known the shape of it for years instead of less than an hour.

She looked up from where she’d been pretending to answer emails on her phone near the office doorway.

Pretending being the key word.

Because in reality she’d been very aware of time passing. Very aware of the garage noise rising and falling around her. Very aware that she’d sent her car away with you and that now, for reasons she did not care to unpack in any healthy or honest manner, every few minutes she found herself glancing toward the open bay and wondering when you’d come back.

Then there you were.

You killed the engine, stepped out, and shut the door with your hip. The sleeves of your shirt were still gone, your forearms still streaked in grease and dust, your hair somehow even messier than before, damp at the temples and shoved back without much success. There was sweat darkening the fabric between your shoulder blades and along your chest. A rag hung from one of your back pockets.

Daniela stared for a second too long because to be fair, the rag tugged on the pants a little and your ass was right there.

Then, before she could decide whether walking over immediately would look eager, you rounded the front of the car with a spray bottle and a rag in hand and-without the slightest ceremony-started wiping down her windshield.

Daniela blinked.

That wasn’t what she expected.

She’d expected maybe a gruff, it’s done. Maybe a list of repairs in that calm voice of yours. Maybe something annoyingly competent and brief that would force her to find some other excuse to linger.

She had not expected to find you leaning over the hood of her very expensive car, one hand braced on the glass, the other moving the rag in clean practiced arcs over the windshield while-

While eating an uncrustable.

For one surreal second her brain simply stopped.

Because your hands were visibly filthy. Not fresh-from-under-the-engine filthy anymore, but still dirty enough that obviously you weren’t going to touch food with them. Which meant you had solved that problem in a way that no normal person would have chosen and yet, somehow, on you, it looked so natural that Daniela couldn’t even call it ridiculous.

The sandwich was trapped gently between your lips.

Not fully in your mouth, just held there while you worked, and every few seconds you would tilt your head back slightly, let the edge of it drop just enough, catch a bite, and chew before nudging it back into place again-all without using your hands once.

Daniela stopped walking.

Just fully stopped, halfway across the concrete.

You looked up while dragging the rag across the top corner of the windshield and caught her staring.

And instead of being embarrassed, instead of rushing to explain, instead of looking even slightly self-conscious, you just held eye contact and took another bite.

A slow one.

Head tipped up just a little. Mouth opening just enough. Bite. Chew.

The uncrustable remained tucked in your lips through all of it.

Daniela felt heat crawl straight up the back of her neck.

This, she thought furiously, was obscene for no reason. This, she thought, was a new low even for her. How was an uncrustable hot to her?

You were wiping down her windshield while eating a sandwich hands-free like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Sweat was sliding down the side of your throat. Your bicep flexed every time you wrung out the rag. There was a streak of black grease near your wrist and another faint smudge near your jaw, and a little smear on your cheek. And the expression in your eyes when you looked at her over the top of her car-steady, calm, unreadable-made it feel somehow worse.

Or better.

Unfortunately.

She got herself moving again and came to a stop beside the driver’s side front quarter panel, crossing her arms because she needed somewhere to put them.

You gave the windshield one last pass, then moved to the side window with the same unfussy focus.

Daniela watched you for a beat.

Then, because her mouth had to do something before her brain exploded, she said, “Lunch?”

You glanced at her and nodded once, the sandwich still held between your lips.

It should not have been as charming as it was.

It was infuriatingly charming.

She watched you finish the driver’s window, then lean back a little and take another bite. This time the corner of the sandwich shifted, and Daniela’s eyes snagged on the faint smear of purple-red jelly left behind at the edge of your mouth.

That was new information she absolutely did not need.

You chewed, swallowed, wiped the last bit of glass with a quick flick of your wrist, then finally pulled the poor crushed sandwich from your mouth with the cleanest part of the wrapper, took two proper bites in rapid succession, and finished it off like this was just a normal Tuesday.

Which it probably was for you.

You crumpled the wrapper one-handed, glanced around, tossed it neatly into a trash bin without looking, and then picked up the rag again to wipe once more at a spot Daniela couldn’t even see.

Of course.

Of course you were thorough too.

Daniela leaned a hip against the neighboring tool cabinet and tried to look like she was not at all distracted by your mouth.

“How bad was it?” she asked.

You made a small gesture with the rag, like one second.

Then you crouched beside the front wheel, checked something with a brief practiced touch, rose again, and finally stepped back from the car.

You gave the hood a light pat, then gestured vaguely toward the front end and said, “Yeah. There was a problem with the-” and then a flood of mechanical terminology followed, easy and matter-of-fact and completely understandable if Daniela had been listening with anything except the part of her brain currently occupied by your lips.

Because there was still jelly there.

Just barely.

A little dark gleam at the edge of your lower lip.

And you were sweaty in a way that should have looked rough and messy but instead just made you look warm and alive and dangerous in that lazy nonchalant way you always did, as though heat and labor only sharpened you into something more unfair.

Daniela realized with a flicker of horror that you were halfway through explaining her brakes and she had not retained a single word.

She caught, “…and here,” as you tapped somewhere near the wheel assembly. “It wasn’t gone yet, but it was heading there. You probably started feeling it because the pedal was compensating.”

Daniela stared.

Not at the wheel.

At your mouth.

You straightened, looked at her, and paused for half a second.

Probably because she had gone visibly unfocused.

Daniela recovered with the speed of a professional.

“I-” She lifted one manicured finger vaguely toward your face. “What is that?”

One of your brows lifted.

“That,” Daniela said smoothly, as if she had not just completely stopped hearing about her own car, “is a fantastic color on you. You should get a lip gloss in that shade.”

Silence.

Then your eyes narrowed just slightly, not suspicious exactly, but deeply unimpressed.

You wiped at your mouth with the back of your wrist, checked the smear there, and looked back at her.

“No,” you said.

Daniela blinked. “No?”

You held up the wrist with the jelly smear still on it like evidence in court. “This is my uncrustable. No making it fancy by being all popstar.”

Daniela laughed before she could stop herself.

It came out brighter than she intended, warmer too. The corner of your mouth twitched in response, which made the whole thing worse in a way that felt medically significant.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head, pushing off the cabinet to wander a slow half-step closer to the car. “Actually, I’m serious. You should try a lip combo like that.”

Your face remained completely flat.

“It’s grape jelly.”

“And?”

“It’s lunch.”

“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

You stared at her for one measured second, then another.

Daniela held your gaze, perfectly composed.

Inside, she was having an entirely separate experience.

Then you glanced toward the trash bin where the wrapper had landed and said, “Your choice of compliment being based on a sandwich is something.”

Daniela smiled, sharp and lazy. “Your choice of lunch being a disk is something.”

That finally got an actual reaction.

Not a full laugh. You did not seem like someone who gave those away casually. But there was definitely a real smile now, small and crooked and gone too fast.

“It’s efficient,” you said.

“It’s circular.”

“It is not circular.”

“It’s close enough.”

You looked offended in a way so mild it was almost theoretical. “It has corners.”

“Barely. Spiritually, it’s a disk.”

You shook your head once, like this conversation had already wandered too far from sanity to be worth correcting, and set the rag over your shoulder.

Daniela watched a bead of sweat trace down the side of your neck and disappear beneath your collar.

Terrible.

Just terrible.

“So,” she said, because she did in fact need to know whether her expensive car was about to kill her. “Can I drive it, or should I start emotionally preparing for betrayal?”

You nodded toward the front wheel. “You can drive it. I cleaned up the issue and tightened what needed tightening. But you were right to bring it in when you did.”

That got her attention back where it belonged.

Mostly.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning another week or two and it would’ve gotten louder, rougher, more obvious. You caught it early.” You shrugged one shoulder. “Good instincts.”

The compliment was simple. It still made her situation worse.

Daniela had gotten compliments from people who wanted things from her, from people who wanted to impress her, from people who wanted to be noticed by proximity alone. She got praise about her work, her looks, her performances, her instincts onstage, her ability to command a room.

But from you it sounded different.

Not indulgent. Not flattering for the sake of it.

Just true.

She found, absurdly, that this mattered.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses where they rested on her head even though she didn’t need to. “I do have excellent instincts.”

Your gaze dipped over her face once, calm as ever.

“Clearly.”

Daniela ignored what that did to her pulse.

A forklift beeped somewhere behind you. Voices rose near the loading dock. One of the other mechanics called your name from across the bay and held up what looked like a metal bracket in question.

You glanced over. “Minute.”

The mechanic nodded and went back to whatever crisis had found him.

Daniela looked at you, then at the car, then back at you.

“You wiped the windows,” she said.

You looked mildly confused by the observation. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

You seemed to consider that.

“They were dirty.”

Daniela stared at you for a long moment.

“You fixed the brakes,” she said slowly. “And then just… detailed my field of vision?”

You gave a tiny shrug. “I was already there.”

Already there.

As though that explained anything.

As though a person being competent enough to casually add thoughtfulness on top of it was normal.

Daniela dragged her tongue slowly against the inside of her cheek.

“You are,” she said, “deeply strange.”

That earned her another flicker of a smile.

“I work here,” you said, like that was explanation enough for all eccentricities.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Apparently.”

For a second the two of you just stood there in the noise and heat of the garage. Her car clicked as the engine cooled. Light from the high windows caught on the black paint and turned the dust in the air gold. Somewhere behind the parts shelving, someone started swearing at a printer. A radio crackled in and out with half a song. It smelled like motor oil and hot metal and clean glass and, faintly, fruit.

You hooked your thumbs into your back pockets and tipped your chin toward the keys, still sitting on the cowl near the windshield where you’d set them while cleaning.

“Want those back?”

Daniela looked at the keys.

Then at you.

Then back at the keys.

“No,” she said, because that was funny to her and also because she wanted to see what you’d do.

One of your brows went up.

She smiled innocently. “I think maybe I should hear the explanation again.”

“You already heard it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

That got a pause.

Then, with maddening accuracy, your eyes flicked over her face and settled. Reading her. Not in a way that felt invasive-just precise.

Daniela had the distinct sense that you knew exactly why she had not heard it.

Which was impossible.

And if it wasn’t impossible, it was unacceptable.

“And why,” you asked in that low even voice, “did you not hear it?”

Daniela held your gaze, refusing to be the first one to blink.

Then she said, with perfect seriousness, “I was distracted by the lip color situation.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then another.

Somewhere in the distance, something metallic clanged loudly enough to ring.

You exhaled through your nose.

Not quite a laugh. Not quite not one.

“Right,” you said.

Daniela smiled wider.

For the first time since she’d walked into the garage, you looked almost faintly thrown-not much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for her. Enough to satisfy something mean and delighted in her chest.

You reached up, finally, and swiped your thumb properly across your lower lip. When you looked at it and saw the last trace of jelly, your mouth flattened.

Daniela watched that thumb very carefully.

Then your eyes lifted back to hers.

“Brake issue,” you said. “The front started wearing unevenly. Small enough to fix now. It probably was aAnnoying enough that you felt it in the pedal. Now it is safe to drive. Bring it back if it starts acting up again.”

Daniela nodded like she had followed every bit of it.

“See?” she said. “That was much better. Very educational.”

You stepped closer-not enough to crowd, just enough to reach past her for the keys where they sat on the glass.

Your arm brushed the air near her shoulder.

Close enough that she caught the clean salt-warm scent of sweat under oil and soap and something metallic.

You picked up the keys, then looked down at her hand.

Daniela, understanding immediately, held it out.

You dropped them into her palm.

Callused fingers brushed her skin again.

This time neither of you moved away right away.

A second. Maybe less.

Still enough.

Then you withdrew and hooked the rag back over your shoulder.

“You gonna be okay?” you asked.

The question should have been ordinary.

Instead it landed low and strange and intimate in a way she deeply resented.

Daniela curled her fingers around the keys.

“Yes,” she said, then added, “though I do think I’m owed compensation for having to witness whatever that lunch situation was.”

Your face remained unreadable. “You mean efficiency.”

“I mean a crime against sandwiches.”

“I fixed your car.”

“That doesn’t make you right.”

“It makes me busy.”

Daniela huffed a laugh and took a step backward toward the driver’s side door.

“You know,” she said, opening the door and then pausing with one hand on the frame, “I still think you should consider the lip gloss.”

You looked at her over the roof of the car, sweat-damp, grease-streaked, impossibly composed.

“No.”

“Tinted balm, then.”

“No.”

“Just a stain?”

“That was jelly.”

Daniela slid into the driver’s seat, sunglasses finally coming down over her eyes. “And yet,” she said, glancing up at you through the open door, “it worked beautifully.”

Your mouth twitched again.

There and gone.

“Drive safe,” you said.

Daniela started the engine. Smooth. Steady. No wrong shudder under her foot when she tested the brake.

Perfect.

She looked up at you one last time, standing there in the wash of afternoon light with your rag over one shoulder and sweat still glinting at your throat, and thought with a mix of irritation and satisfaction that this had gone very badly for her in exactly the way she’d expected.

Then she smiled, slow and bright and dangerous.

“Try not to miss me too much,” she said.

“I will” you retorted without missing a beat.

That was an awful thing to say to her while looking like that.

Daniela stared at you for half a second, then let out one startled laugh and pulled the door shut before you could see quite how much she liked that.

As she rolled out of the bay, she caught you in the mirror already turning back toward the rest of the garage, toward the next machine, the next problem, the next thing waiting obediently for your hands.

Like this had been nothing.

Like she had not just spent ten full minutes trying not to openly stare at your mouth while you explained brake wear with grape jelly on your lip.

She braked at the exit.

Smooth.

Perfect.

Daniela smiled to herself, tapped the steering wheel once, and drove off thinking, very clearly, that her car had not been the only thing with a problem.

She made it exactly one street over before she gave up pretending she was going to be normal about any of this.

The brakes were perfect.

Of course they were.

The pedal felt smooth under her foot, no catch, no shudder, no hint of that wrong little stutter from earlier. You had fixed it exactly the way everyone said you fixed everything-quietly, correctly, with no fuss and no attempt to make a production out of being competent.

Which meant, inconveniently, that Daniela had no practical reason to go back.

And yet.

She sat at the stop sign at the next corner with one hand draped over the wheel, the other tapping once against the glossy leather, sunglasses back on now though they did absolutely nothing to help with the fact that her brain was still replaying the image of you in the sunlight with a smear of grape jelly at your mouth.

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

She should keep driving.

Instead, Daniela cut the wheel hard, made a clean U-turn in the middle of the empty side street, and headed straight back to the garage.

By the time she rolled through the open bay doors again, she had exactly half a plan and all of the confidence necessary to make that someone else’s problem.

The garage was still in motion around you. Same heat, same metallic noise, same hum of people doing expensive things to expensive equipment. Someone had moved a lighting crate near the back wall. The transport truck from earlier was gone from its spot. A red coupe sat up on one of the lifts now with its undercarriage exposed like an autopsy.

You were where she’d left you only in the way a storm could be said to still be in the same county.

Not still, exactly. Just still central.

You were leaning into the open side panel of some equipment trailer, one arm braced overhead, the muscles in your back shifting beneath that faded charcoal shirt as you reached in with a wrench. Sweat darkened the fabric between your shoulder blades. Your coveralls were tied around your hips again, hanging low, and Daniela had just enough self-awareness to know she should maybe not be noticing the way the knot sat there.

Too late.

One of the interns looked up as her car pulled back in and visibly hesitated, like he was trying to work out whether she’d forgotten something or just enjoyed making entrances.

Daniela parked near the doors, stepped out, and shut the door with deliberate calm.

The sound was enough to get your attention.

You looked over your shoulder first, then straightened all the way when you saw her. Not startled exactly. More like mildly curious. You set the wrench down on the edge of the open panel and wiped one dirty hand over a cleaner patch of rag tucked into your waistband.

Daniela started toward you.

Your gaze dropped briefly to the car, then came back to her face.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

The question was practical. Immediate. You were already halfway into problem-solving mode again, eyes flicking once toward the front wheel area like maybe you were about to go right back to work.

Daniela stopped a few feet away and hooked her sunglasses into the neckline of her top.

“No,” she said. “The car’s perfect.”

You nodded once, like yes, obviously.

Which, annoyingly, was hot too.

“Then why’re you back?”

Daniela tilted her head, studying you in the bright spill of afternoon light. Up close again, you looked even more worked-over than before-sweat at the temples, a faint streak of grease still along one forearm, hair shoved back messily by a hand that had probably not been clean when it did it. There was no jelly now, sadly. Just your mouth, which remained a problem in its own right.

She let the silence hang for one beat longer than necessary.

“uncrustables,” she said at last, “are an interesting choice.”

You blinked.

That was it. Just one slow blink. Then one brow lifted slightly.

“Okay,” you said.

Daniela crossed her arms, the corner of her mouth pulling up. “But you can do better.”

There was a pause.

“Me”

A mechanic pushing a tool cart went by behind you. Somewhere farther back a compressor hissed. The whole garage kept moving, but it felt oddly like the two of you had stepped slightly outside it.

You looked at her for a moment with that same unreadable, heavy-lidded calm that had been ruining her week.

Then: “You.. better how?”

Daniela smiled fully now, because there it was-the opening she needed.

“Dinner,” she said. “Come to dinner.”

You stared at her.

Daniela held your gaze. She was used to people reacting faster than this-flirting back immediately, smiling, posturing, rushing to meet her where she stood. But you never seemed to rush anything. You took things in. Turned them once in your hand. Decided on purpose.

It made waiting for your answer far more interesting than it had any right to be.

Finally, you asked, “You asking me out because I fixed your car or because I ate an uncrustable?”

Daniela laughed, startled enough by the line that it came out unguarded.

“That depends,” she said. “Do you want the honest answer or the one that protects my dignity?”

“The honest one.”

“You were already hot before the uncrustable.”

Something in your expression shifted.

Not much. Just a flicker. Amusement, maybe. Or satisfaction. Tiny enough that someone else would’ve missed it. Daniela, who had apparently become a scholar of your face in under two interactions, did not.

“But,” she continued, “the uncrustable situation was so deeply weird that it tipped the scales.”

You angled your head. “In my favor?”

“Massively.”

Your mouth twitched.

Daniela felt absurdly pleased with herself.

You pulled the rag free from your waistband and cleaned your hands a little more thoroughly this time, each finger one by one, though there was only so much a rag could do. “You always this decisive?”

“When I see something I like?”

“Mm.”

“Yes.”

You glanced past her toward the car, then back at her. “You know I’m at work.”

Daniela made a face. “I’m aware. I can, in fact, identify a garage.”

That earned her the smallest exhale through your nose.

“I mean,” you said, “I’m sweaty. Greasy. Covered in whatever that trailer decided to leak on me half an hour ago.”

Daniela’s eyes flicked down and back up with no shame whatsoever. “I had noticed.”

Your expression did that near-smile thing again.

She was starting to think you enjoyed making her work for every inch of visible amusement. Which, honestly, tracked with the rest of you.

“So?” Daniela asked.

You looked at her for another beat, rag dangling from one hand.

Then, simple as anything: “Okay.”

Daniela, who had absolutely not expected you to agree that easily, just stared at you.

You held her gaze, calm as ever.

“Okay?” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “You said come to dinner.”

“And you’re just saying yes?”

“Do you want me to make it difficult?”

Daniela laughed again, softer this time, because there was no winning against that kind of composure except maybe getting to stand near it more often.

“No,” she said. “I definitely do not.”

One of the other mechanics shouted your name from across the bay.

You turned your head enough to call back, “Minute,” without raising your voice, and somehow they still heard you clearly over everything else.

Of course they did.

When you looked back at Daniela, she was smiling in that slow, pleased way she got when something had gone exactly the way she wanted.

“Tonight?” she asked.

You nodded once. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“Where?”

She named a place downtown. You just accepted the information and tucked it away, written on a scrap piece of paper in your pocket

“Okay,” you said again.

Daniela tipped her head. “That easy?”

You leaned one shoulder against the trailer panel, wiping one last streak of grime from the heel of your hand. “You wanted something better than an uncrustable.”

“I do.”

“I’m giving you a chance.”

Daniela actually had to look away for a second, smiling despite herself.

“You’re very confident for someone who ate lunch like a feral little disk enthusiast.”

“Portable,” you said.

“Suspicious.”

“Efficient.”

“Still strange.”

You considered that with a face so serious it made her want to laugh all over again. “You’re the one who came back.”

Daniela looked at you.

“Are you always like this?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Calm enough to be annoying.”

Your mouth twitched. “Mostly.”

God.

She stepped closer without quite deciding to, stopping just inside the range that felt private without being obvious. The air around you was warmer than the rest of the garage, touched by sunlight and engine heat and your body heat besides. Up close, you smelled like clean soap buried under sweat and metal and work. It was deeply distracting.

“You know,” Daniela said, lowering her voice just a little, “I did make a whole U-turn for this.”

“Did you?”

She stared at you. “You saw me come back.”

“I saw the car.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re still here.”

The answer landed with enough precision that Daniela had to fight not to grin too visibly.

“I am,” she said.

You nodded, like that was simply another fact on the table.

Then you reached into your back pocket, fished out your phone, and held it toward her.

Daniela looked at it, then at you.

“Put your number in,” you said.

She took the phone, trying not to enjoy the tiny trust of that too much. The case was plain which was boring. She’d fix that soon. Your lock screen, when it lit under her hand, was a blurry photo of some engine part on a stand. Also of course. Soon enough though, it’d be her.

Daniela typed in her number, added her name, and then-because she was who she was-put a black heart beside it.

When she handed it back, your gaze flicked to the screen. The black heart registered. You didn’t comment.

Coward, she thought fondly.

“I’ll text you the address,” she said.

You slid the phone back into your pocket. “I know where it is.”

Daniela lifted one brow. “Do you.”

“You think I only know this garage?”

Something about that pleased her more than it should have.

“Good,” she said. “Then you can show up on time.”

“I’m usually early.”

Daniela laughed under her breath. “Of course you are.”

Someone shouted your name again, more insistently this time, followed by a muffled curse from the other side of the bay.

You glanced that way, then back at her.

“I should go stop whatever that is before it becomes expensive.”

Daniela took one slow step backward, reclaiming her own space with obvious reluctance. “Fine.”

You didn’t move yet.

She stepped forward before pecking your cheek, light enough for it to have feeling but far too little for anything to smudge on her.

For one small, strange second, the pause between you felt almost domestic in shape. Like you’d been doing this for longer than twenty minutes and one wildly successful repair. Like coming back for each other was already a habit waiting to happen.

Then you tilted your chin toward her car.

“Drive safe.”

There it was again.

That same quiet directive. Not dramatic. Not controlling. Just spoken like it belonged where it landed.

Daniela smiled, slower now.

“Yes, boss.”

That got an actual look from you. Tiny. Sharp. Interested enough to feel like she’d brushed a live wire.

It lasted maybe a second.

Then your face smoothed right back out.

“Seven,” you said.

“Seven,” she echoed.

She turned and walked back toward her car without hurrying, very aware of your eyes on her for at least the first few steps. When she opened the door, she glanced back over the roof.

You were still standing there, rag in hand, grease on your forearms, shirt damp with sweat, sunlight cutting a bright line over one side of your face.

Still watching.

Daniela smiled to herself and got in.

This time when she pulled away, she didn’t look back in the mirror until she was already at the doors.

You were moving again by then, headed back toward the chaos like the center of it had simply shifted to let you through.

Seven, she thought, easing the car out into the street.

Much, much better than an uncrustable.

All copacetic, you were rolling with the girls and their boys (whoever they were), the bodyguards’ sharp eagle eyes stuck on you and keeping you in check. No sweat, you had no ill-tricks in mind. Swinging by to take a look at the many rides cooped up across the Boulevard, you found quickly that the guys were more interested in the rides and the groupies than they were keepin’ their eyes peeled on their own girl friends. No sweat, ‘cause they were kind of keen on you, walking side by side with you as you answered their every curious question. 

How you got there, when, from where, why, and all of those answers were mundane as ever. Nothing dramatic, all boiling down to you taking your life at the fastest speed and never being bored with it. All the while the barrage of questions kept coming, Daniela simply listened and stared at you without uttering too many words — you noticed, you could feel such a strong gaze nearly burning your skin, the little hairs on it standing up right like a soldier ready to salute. And you stared right back at her, curiously observing the lovely features of her face, watching the way her face lit up with a smile when you stared for too long. Tension starting to boil, Lara and Megan even began to notice and tease Daniela about it. 

“You need a second, Dani?” Lara teased, a laughing Megan the background tune for the playful taunt. “I mean, we don’t want to intrude or anything.”

Daniela, in turn, simply slapped Lara’s arm. “Quiet!”

And you couldn’t help but to feel confident. If it was that noticeable, you had no doubt that you weren’t making shit up. Still, you played it cool. Of course you did, you dope, otherwise you’d melt and end up like a puddle under their shoes. Nah, you were cool, composed. Even if her beauty was staggering. And boy you were going to need to keep yourself composed as—.

“Oohhh,” Megan piped up suddenly, bringing the crew to a halt to check out a familiar car. “I like this one.”

A jetblack Mustang that you knew inside and out once upon a time, devoid of decals and flair but polished clean and slick — surrounded by a group of guys who once laughed you right out of that very car. Everyone approached without knowing it, but they’d soon find out once the lanky rich bastard kid grinned cockily after looking at you, coming on up to meet them. 

“Well, well, I see you got yourself a new set of groupies, huh Bullit?” Rock, your rival, said and he couldn’t have more of a shit eating grin on his face. 

It’s a fanfic, of course we gotta have a rival. The interest in the car was quickly swerved by the strange tension between the two of you. You, standing there with hands in your pocket, casually dressed, while Rock himself was taller and too cocky looking for his own good. Yet, that car had history and that history was what brewed up the tension.

“Not groupies, they’re friends,” you said with a soft subtle smile.

Daniela looked at the two of you. “Who is he?”

“Oh, I’m the man that now owns that Mustang,” he approached, his tone playful with the undercurrent of bite in it. Provocation, trying to see if you’d lose your cool or if you were still sore about it. “I won that baby from her,” he didn’t even address Daniela, walking right past her and staring right at you. 

Daniela and Megan turned to stare at you, then at him, then all three the girls stared at each other. 

“I need to know the tea,” Lara said quietly to the girls.

“I know,” Megan shout-whispered. “This is like a movie.”

Rock couldn’t give more of a shit frankly, walking up to you and towering above you. “How you doing?” he asked with a smile.

A brief pause that felt heavier for people than it did for you before your hand came out loose and fast. There was a split second where Big Q and Daniela thought you were going for blows, but no. Instead, your hand was coming up for a greeting, a casual and almost friendly one that Rock took very gladly with a shared chuckle, finishing it off with a snap. Yes, there was a rivalry between the two of you, but that’s what made the scene interesting — mutual respect meets competition and rivalry, sprinkled with the odd camaraderie of the culture, especially when the fuzz trickles in to break up the fun.

Daniela was fascinated, but still confused. Enough for you to notice and chuckle. “That’s Rock, he races too,” you explained, hands going back into your pockets. “That Mustang was mine until he won it.”

“I could’ve bought my own Mustang, but winning it felt better,” Rock grinned cockily, but deep down inside you knew that his old man wasn’t going to comp that kind of car for him – not after losing a couple down the pink slip lane. His head soon whipped to Daniela’s direction, really looking at her — you saw his intention coming from a mile away. 

And it started making your blood boil a tiny bit.

“That’s Daniela, she’s a… friend,” that pause was heavy, unintended, but it was enough to let Rock know there was something going on. Maybe, just maybe, that was a mistake, but with your cool about to be tested you probably didn’t want to piss her off in the process.

And of course, he offered his hand to her. She took it for a handshake, but soon received a kiss to the knuckles of her hand – a move he stole from more charming men, and even you. “A friend, huh?” he lingered there, almost creepily. If Daniela was creeped out or annoyed, she did her damned best to hide it.

Still, you had to break that up somehow. Casually you just steered the conversation away and back to the main event of the night. “You racing that baby tonight?”

He looked away from her, enthralled by a better conversation. “Not for pink slips. Got a whole stack of paper and looking to pile it up,” he paused, looking at the other girls and back at Daniela. A devious idea crossed his mind and you could tell by the millisecond his eyebrows looked amused, and you didn’t like it. “Say, baby. Are you giving up your phone number?”

The mere sound of ‘phone number’ made the two other girls turn to face the man with surprise (more like indignation) before their eyes found yours and looked at you. A soft plea, eyes widening a bit, like they were asking you to step in and make sure that the stammering Daniela didn’t say anything she was going to soon regret. Make no mistake, you were confident that Daniela wasn’t interested, but you knew this man. Like a slithering lizard, sneaking his way through shit and talking the talk — you had to give him that, he could talk his way in and out of scams for kicks. Worse, he could score himself something big in the process just ‘cause he was bored. Lara’s eyes widened more, and her head pointed at the two of them.

An implicit call for you to do something. More like permission to act like a jealous boyfriend just to keep this man away from them. You gladly took it.

“You’d have to win against me to get her number.”

The thumping music in the background could be appreciated from how silent things turned in that group, all eyes on you once that phrase so cooly slipped your lips. That… was not exactly what Lara was asking you to do, seeing her eyes widen more and frown flabbergasted. Megan, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear at the way the simmering tension came to a straight boil. Rock stared at you, now excited and barely able to contain it in his smile.

Daniela, on the other hand, looked at you with subtle awe. Hell, you had no idea how she felt about becoming the prize for a race like this, but there was something… exciting about it. Heat bloomed in her gut as she noticed you putting yourself right in front to protect her – metaphorically – and staked your skills with confidence that not only would you get him to back off but… that you would win her over. This wasn’t really about treating her like a trophy, but rather doing something strangely romantic. And illegal. Maybe that’s why it was hot, the illegality of it, risking being arrested for this. For her.

“Did I hear you right?”

“You did. ‘less those rich kid subwoofers got you deaf already,” you smiled in good-natured teasing.

“You and I, then?”

“For her phone number,” you clarified, hands raised. “Hell, I don’t even care ‘bout your cash. But her number is mine.”

Everyone’s eyes were on the two of you, staring back and forth to take in all the drama that seemed to stop the world around you. Only after a brief pause Rock laughed, patting your arm. “You got guts, you have to race against your own car.”

Deep inhale in, adrenaline starting to make your skin tingle. You would have to race against your own car, after it was tuned up to hell by a kid who got the cash to cost it. Your chances with Daniela resting on your sheer experience, and you could tell Big Q was going to kill you, too, if you lost. Hell, Lara looked like she was about to strangle you herself.

“And I’ll win,” you said.

“This is crazy!” Megan exclaimed, jumping in excitement as she watched on the sidelines the tense moments before the race. Your car already lined up with Rock’s, moments away from the Go ahead. Turning to Lara, Megan can’t help herself. “I should’ve gotten in the car.”

“Nuh uh,” Lara began. “We can’t have you die in a street race. Street race we aren’t supposed to be at, F-Y-I.”

“I would die happy!” Megan joked.

“I would revive you and kill you myself,” Lara laughed, unable to contain the humor of the situation. 

Daniela, on the other hand, watched with curiosity and brimming excitement she could barely contain. Eyes locked in your car, knowing that the silver blur about to pass her was the one she wanted so dearly to get to the finish line first. 

“I’m not making this race easy for you,” Rock said, pulling you out from your thoughts and away from staring at Daniela in the distance. 

At first, you thought he was just trying to psyche you out. Yet, you entertained it for a second. “Wasn’t expecting you to.”

Rock laughed, gripping the steering wheel. “I was half expecting YOU to not go through with it.”

Your eyes didn’t peel from the road ahead, a stretch that would feel like eternity. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Cause you really like that girl,” Rock laughed. “And she digs you. I knew it from the moment she stared at you.”

You were surprised then, slowly going to stare at him. Finding him grinning right at you, arm loosely hanging over the steering wheel with that confidence and familiarity — a seasoned driver now. You knew it somehow before, but you couldn’t say it without any confirmation. The bastard was clever, perhaps a bit too clever. 

The purpose of his bet was twofold, maybe threefold if you sat to think it through with more time. He knew that the true way to measure his driving skills against you was to truly get you wanting this race, using a car that he beat you with. A car under better hands and better imports, maybe. The only way to truly get you to race seriously was to wager something you cared about. Money was always welcomed, but your confidence didn’t make your pulse tremble when big money was at stake. Not anymore, you weren’t green. 

The only way to get you in this state was staking something you truly cared for, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk a pink slip with YOUR Mustang. Daniela was the perfect foil for this; he had found a way to put pressure on you, to get you back into that rush. That devious smile made it clear to you. He was testing you, he was testing himself and — the cherry on top — he was about to take away another thing of yours you really wanted. 

“You know, the girl is beautiful,” he licked his lips. “She looks even prettier knowing she was almost yours.”

Quietly seething, gripping the steering wheel, your gaze went back to the road. Everyone had parted to give you guys the floor, the ending line marked and the crowds gathered across the straight line, ready to witness the showdown of the night. An unusual bet looming atop the two of you, a bright yellow t-shirt hanging loosely from the grip of a man standing in the middle of both cars — a rush of its own you could bet. Quietness set, the roars of the metal beasts all you could hear beneath your beating heart. Chained monsters about to be let loose for their wild run of the night, tires screeching out smoke like bulls scratching out the ground to prepare for the sprint. Everything vibrated, your breathing getting erratic thanks to the brand new rush going down your veins. 

The shirt wiggled for a millisecond, a false start but neither you nor Rock went for it – you’re all veterans now. The psychological war before a race started, the one where you both look at each other and read every miniscule movement. Facial expression, muscle tension. Rock grinned that sordid grin of his, you matched it with a smirk. From the corner of your eye, you saw the yellow shirt start to soar and Rock noticed it too, his muscle coiled—.

Slam, slam—! You stepped on it, the screeching intensified before the car took off like a rocket steady, gunning forward and straight to the line. Zooming right out of the spot in the blink of an eye, your soul left in the starting line, your thoughts adrift with ‘em — so fast that the casuals and amateurs thought you jumped the line, but you didn’t. The experts could see millisecond perfection in that start, blurring the line of cheating and smarts, and Rock pulled out to a slow start, you were a whole car ahead.

You knew better than to celebrate now. 

Speed built in a sharp jam of a stick, head and posture starting to recoil from the strength of the beasts being unleashed. Cheers and shouts all nonsense to the sound of the mechanical crescendo, in the crowd Megan, Lara and Daniela understood the surge of excitement that infected the crowd. Blurred shapes passed you, light streaks painting a gorgeous landscape – your first love since you started racing. Like that black blur of a Mustang that was closing in, the ghost of a past lover, its new master having whipped her into impressive shape.

But you’d rather die than letting him win this one.

Shift, flick, push. A whole new level of power and speed. Physics pulled you back, your grip held on for dear life, controlling the beast to keep it running in a straight line. You shook, feeling that rush of realization, you had this in the bag and that beauty was going home with you. In the blink of an eye you were pulling 160 and that Mustang was smoked in a second, leaving the driver to shout and throw a tantrum,

You crossed that finish line and you fully came to, a broad smile in your face and the bliss of a winner washed over you. 

The wild beast satisfied, pulling to a smooth halt and soon surrounded by the adulation of the enthusiasts and racers alike. You’ve done it again, but they had no idea that you came out of that car breathing heavier than usual, grasping the clean air you could muster like you were just experiencing a new high. 

Eyes magnetically pulled past the crowd and to the girl of your dreams, standing far away from the adoring crowd but smiling. Winded, like she had been holding your breath until she saw you. Something shifted within the two of you and you could both feel it. Turning around at the tip-tap of a finger on your shoulder, Rock was seething but oddly proud of you. “You got lucky this time.”

Warmth swelled within your gut. “You have no idea.”

He hummed, a chagrin smile pulling his lips before he walked away with his entourage, leaving you to shake hands and dap-up the admirers congratulating you, soon making your way through to the people you cared most about. “That was fun!” Megan exclaimed, giving you the most delicate dap-up you’ve ever seen in your life. “Now can I drive your car?”

“NO!” Lara and Daniela retorted immediately, coming into view. 

It made you laugh how immediate their disapproval was. “One day, Megs. I have to teach you, though,” you winked at her, feeling Daniela slap your arm and get your attention that way. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You better be sorry,” Daniela began, looking right at you and playfully squaring up. “I would’ve died if I had to, like, give that guy my number.”

“He was creepy,” Lara shuddered.

“Yeah,” you had to agree. Sometimes he was… you know. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,” you said to Daniela, your tone lowering in honesty. “I just couldn’t let him get the idea he could win you.”

Daniela went from playfully angry, to sheepishly smiling. “Guess I owe you my number now, don’t I?”

The smile on both of your faces couldn’t get bigger without it being obvious. “Do you want to give it to me?”

Gaze dropped to your lips, like she was pondering whether or not to tease you about it. Yet, her gaze lingered for a moment too long before they went back up, like her breath was taken away and she had lost all track of thoughts and time. Luscious lips parted, she was about to say something and you listened very carefully.

“THE COPS!”

Huh, that’s really weird–. 

The moment that message registered you were in ‘Go’ mode, ready to ditch every man for himself, looking around to see everyone scramming and dragging friends and people to their cars. But you steadied yourself in that millisecond and remembered that Daniela and the others were your responsibility. 

“Shit,” Daniela breathed out. 

Distant sirens, trouble right on the tip of your tail; the stakes high all of the sudden. You could truly lose your car, Daniela’s and — above all — get these girls in trouble. You gently grabbed her arm and brought her back to you and closer. “Get in your cars and follow me, you’ll be fine. GO.”

The crew all scattered just like you did, especially Daniela who would not be caught dead without her Mustang anywhere – let alone by the cops. Trusting you, they all hopped into their vehicles. You jumped into yours, ready to roll until you got the jumpscare that was Megan’s smile. Megan was already inside your car, in the passenger seat just grinning with excitement. Somewhere in the moment the people called that the cops were about to appear, the girl heard the perfect opportunity to ride with you, telling the bodyguards and the boys to fuck off — they dipped before anyone else. Lara, on the other hand, couldn’t even drag the girl out so she sought for the next best thing. To get in the car with you, since the boys already left.

“What the fuck?!” You said in a hasty breath, still getting in and fastening your seatbelt.

Megan was having her life. Lara was buckling her own seatbelt while groaning. “I’m going to kill you when we’re out of this, Megan.”

Doors closed, doors locked, you could see the people running past you and many of the cars jamming out of there. Distant sirens became evident, soon to get closer. 

“You could’ve gone to Daniela’s!” Megan protested.

Speaking of, Daniela had just reached her car, doing a smooth hood slide to reach the driving side. Hell, you couldn’t help but to stop and gawk at that maneuver, real Dukes of Hazzard, getting in even faster than they ever did. 

“Hello?” Megan laughed out loud. “Did you guys see that?!”

Lara had to give the girl props before slapping your shoulder to wake you the fuck up. “GO!”

Twisting the key, the car started immediately, Daniela pulled out of the line first with fast acceleration, whipping around fast and in seconds was waiting for you. Okay, maybe she’s a driver in the making. Snapping out of it, you unleashed your beast of a car without waiting for a single fucking soul, knowing Daniela would tail right behind. That red Mustang followed behind you in a pinch, swerving out of the last few cars that were just pulling out. The blaring sirens inching closer, lights turning from a bleary vision in the distance to full clarity, it was now or never. With all the smoke, y’all were out of the spot, but the chase was on. 

Megan’s delighted laugh and Lara’s tiny yelp upon being pulled by the speed made it all the more hilarious to you, but your eyes couldn’t even take a look at their faces. So fixated were you on the empty roads, the Mustang trailing behind you and the cinematic streetlights that you couldn’t help but to savor this intense moment. Cops nowhere to be found yet, but you weren’t going to risk it with the girl’s under your metaphorical roof. 

Anytime you sharply turned a curve, Daniela was right behind you and never missing a beat; pushing through every dingy, barely lit shortcut gorgeously. It was beautiful, like a coordinated dance of high caliber. Soon a stop light on an empty intersection came and you slowed down to a sharp stop. Silence reigned for a moment, the cops a distant memory. Maybe you were safe. 

Daniela pulled up next to your car, popping her head out from the window. “Megan, are you fucking insane?!” Her voice echoed across the empty road.

Megan laughed and popped her own head out. “You’re acting as if this trip wasn’t your idea!”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you looked at Daniela. This was all her idea? Color yourself surprised, but you shouldn’t be surprised since she has quite the eye for cool cars. And evidently, was very competent at driving one.

“S-shut up! Where is Lara?!”

The window rolled down so cinematically, and one would half expect Lara to appear with wind blowing her hair and that regal presence making her look like you were her chauffeur. Instead it revealed a slightly hunched and guiltily smiling Lara waving at Daniela, the very person who objected to Megan getting into the car dragged into it. “Hiii~”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I panicked and I couldn’t drag Megan out of the car!” Lara defended herself while Megan propped back to her seat and giggled at the chaos she unleashed. 

“W-where’s everyone else?!” Daniela’s voice rose in pitch, so confused.

“I told them to fuck off!” Megan laughed out.

You laughed along with them, enjoying the show. But then your sharp senses brought you back up. A supernaturally tuned sense that told you when a cop car was cruising by, or going to. Nothing in the distance yet, but your eyes were focused.

“I think they would’ve got us caught faster,” Lara reasoned.

Daniela was about to protest before she thought about it better. “They do drive like grandmas.”

“They do!” Megan echoed.

Eyes widened, the vibes were ominous suddenly. “Quiet, everyone back in!” 

Both girls obeyed with the enviable speed of girls who were used to hiding fast. Heavy silence carried, interrupted only by the low rumble of both cars. Just from the darkness of the horizon appeared a car, sirens off and no lights, one that hadn’t been alerted of anything but one that slowly came to a stop at the light. Law abiding law, something you seldom see these days. Right there, across from you with so much ground to cover. It was like a stare of, you know them and they probably knew you. 

“Megan, call Daniela.”

“What–.”

Lara offered her phone to you, having already started calling Daniela. You grabbed it and held it up to your ear, glaring sharply at the cop car. “You there?”

“What do we do?” The woman wasn’t scared so much as she was anxious, nerves shaking her voice, like she was containing herself and trusting you with the course of action.

You could almost smirk at that, but now wasn’t the time. “If they turn on their sirens, we’re speeding right past them.”

“Where to?” A shaky breath to steady herself.

You sat on it for a second, starting to notice the stop lights changing but the cop car not trudging forward. This was bad. “An empty warehouse in Fakesville avenue, if we get split up we’ll meet there.”

“Okay,” she said sharply, composed and confident. “Take care of my girls or I’ll kill you.”

You couldn’t help but to chuckle at that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

The cop car started to sluggishly make its way forward, like the yellow shirt wiggling — a false start, no sirens just yet. 

You could see from the corner of your eyes that Megan was sinking in her chair, checking the seatbelt. Too much excitement now, it was too real. You slowly and quietly handed the phone back to Lara, feeling Lara’s slightly shaky grip. “Shh, just relax,” you cooed softly for both girls. “I’m getting you both to safety. No matter if it costs me my life.”

“Don’t say thaaaat,” Megan whined quietly, feeling bad for you.

“Sorry,” you nervously chuckled out. “A bit dramatic huh?”

Then you could see it, in the split second it took for those lights to start shining, you prepared. Lara and Megan held onto whatever they could, Daniela steadying her nerves and sharply glaring at the cop car as it moved. That moment was an eternity, it almost hurt how much it felt like it slowed down. Gripping the steering wheel, inhaling deeply, you just patiently waited for that moment.

The tacit ‘Go!’ came blaring loudly in the shape of a strident siren, the call of trouble closing in.

The millisecond when that siren echoed the empty road, you saw Daniela’s car zoom forward first, acceleration like a motherfucker — precise timing that truly made you wonder if this girl was hiding something more than talent behind that smile. You weren’t a slugger yourself, stepping on it fast and only half a car behind her as you both zoomed past the cop. Loud sirens, bright lights, and a lethargic metal carcass hauling ass to turn around and catch up to the two of you.

The chase was on, the nightlife in this nowhere town the perfect backdrop for a chase like this. The poor, lone fucker walking down the streets could only see both of your cars dash past for a second, the cops lagging behind. A story to tell his buddies come morning.

For a moment you were worried for Daniela though. Would she be able to take the pressure of a chase like this and control her beast? She surprised you, that woman cut the corners beautifully, swerved and handled that car like she was born to race and you could only watch and follow her surprisingly lead. Hell, for a moment you swore you saw the woman drift and snap right back straight like a pro. The cop could barely keep track, nearly losing you many times if it wasn’t for the fact that he, whoever he was, was desperate for this kind of bust.

But Daniela was sharper than you thought, at one point taking a sneaky, last-second-decision shortcut and blended into the darkness of it, leading you to lose track of her and bait the cop out of her way and into yours. A beautiful maneuver that had kept her out of the cop’s radar, an every man for themselves tactic if there ever was one. You were almost proud of her!

Among the loud engine, loud sirens, all you could do was shout atop it all with a question.“You guys sure Daniela doesn’t race?!”

“I’M NOT SO SURE ANYMORE!” Lara said in a high, strained, stressed voice that frankly sounded funnier than intended. 

“She likes her speed!” Megan shouted back, still holding on for dear life.

“I can fucking tell,” you laughed out. That woman was fascinating to you, and you couldn’t help but to get to know her better. But for that, you have to make it out without handcuff as bracelets. Locking back in, you quickly made sure her smart tactic didn’t go to waste.

“Hold on tight girls,” you shouted, kicking shit into gear and beginning to pull all the stops and abusing of your top speed.  Tires screeching, turning sharply, the girls only moaned and yelped at the suddenness of each one. A moment that stretched forever and seemed never ending, but you knew what you were doing. You were doubling back to that empty intersection.

“I’m about to throw the FUCK up!” Lara moaned, holding for dear life.

“Can you do that in a bag? I just cleaned this bitch!” You said. Rear view mirror checked, you still had only one cop car on your tail but you had to think fast before he got reinforcements.

So, you did the sensible thing to do on a long empty strip. You began to slow down. 

Suffice to say Megan and Lara were confused and worried, not knowing how to wiggle out of this one, thinking they were going to get caught.

But you slowed down more. Slow enough for the cop to speed past you and pull a maneuver. Turning the car to block your way and get you to stop, even fixing to get out of the car to aim at you if necessary. And they would’ve managed if you weren’t you. Stepping right on it, pedal to the metal, total control of the chariot as you swerved around past the sucker and hit that nitro for all its worth. The distance between the two of you growing so big that the cop knew that he couldn’t even get close to you anymore. That rush making your body shake, making the girls melt into their seats and making you disappear in the horizon within seconds. 

Like a shooting star, you were a goner and they had lost sight of the ‘perp’. The oldest trick in the book and the sucker fell right for it, it almost made you laugh. 

The speed eventually slowed down and you were back to normal once you noticed no cops around. For now. Driving carefully like a normal citizen, the only thing that drew attention to the few civilians around was the lights and decals in your car. Now, you were straight headed for the meeting spot. 

Looking back to make sure Megan and Lara were alright, you noticed the girls not even sitting but rather ducked away from view — both out of shock and fear. Between laughter you told them to sit back up and ring up Daniela. But it wasn’t necessary, not when she pulled back into the streets when she saw you, tagging alone calmly like she didn’t just narrowly escape the fuzz.

“We made it?” Megan asked, sitting back up and looking around before pulling down her window to greet Daniela as she pulled up next to you.

“I think this is the afterlife,” Lara sighed out dramatically.

Daniela pulled her window down and shouted. “Happy now, Megan?!”

“Super happy!” Megan shouted back, sticking her head back out and letting the breeze hit her hair and dry the sweat off her forehead. “We gotta do this more often.”

A whole car ahead, that’s what your opponent saw just before the finish line, surrounded by enthusiasts cheering; your mind coming to the moment that thin white line was crossed. Pride and ego through the roof. In that moment you felt connected to the boastful gladiator that persevered through the horrors, Achilles winning the war that made him useful, an athlete beat all against the odds — a win like this in this life is hard to find. 

But all that was in your mind was that woman. That gorgeous woman, with full lips, shining eyes and the aura of a goddess.

Your tuned-up car stopped to a smooth halt, soon surrounded by the adulation of the enthusiasts and racers alike. You’ve done it again, but they had no idea that you came out of that car breathing heavier than usual, grasping the clean air you could muster like you were just experiencing a new high.

Indeed, a rush like that is hard to find. 

And you just scored her number.

Let me take you back and paint this night proper.

Twinkling lights sprinkled across the dark sky, lulling the common folk already nesting and sleeping after a long day of work, across town from where the nuclear families slept was the street racing scene bustling and buckling. Tuned-up cars all gathered amounting together more than millions in cash, skilled drivers that live for the thrill of the streets mingling with car enthusiasts who could never dare to cross the line of the law, bumping music and scoping out connections with either hot babes, hot dudes or cocky chumps with their pockets loose. Chit-chat about after parties, past races, dream cars and rolling cash, the familiar shit discussed while the fearless races decided to take the streets. 

Arriving to the meet-up you were straight stylin’, gliding through with your spaceship of a car — a silver Lancer Evo 7, violet tribal decals and vinyls, brand new tires and violet neon underglow that made your ride look like it floated ethereally. Good looking even to the inexperienced eyes, your signature embodied in decal and your skill preceding you in reputation; tonight was exciting, yet you didn’t expect what you’d find in there. Among the many faces you recognized and the many faces you beat, there was a group of fish out of water that caught your sharp eyes. 

Riding slowly you nodded your head in greetings, smiled to the friends of yours, to the old faces that returned, and simply cruised to observe who this new group of folks were under the pretense of finding a spot to park your ride in. A couple of stocky built dudes donning black on black, a couple of them scrawny rich kids that looked like they arrived at the meet-up just to feel or see something new that their parents wouldn’t approve, and a distinct trio of ladies. Popstar-like beauties, slender and confident with the newest-latest, personal style vibrantly shining through, emanating an aura unlike most influencers and celebs you’ve seen before, all of them enthralled by the unmistakable beauty of a modded Toyota Supra that wasn’t racin’ tonight. 

Consider your interest piqued, you had your first stop for the night. Leisurely you drove to a spot to park not far from the zone you were interested in, pulling your rumbling car to rest easy and quietly. The moment you slipped out of your car you were greeted with a couple of old friends and fans, handshakes and dap-up sufficed where usual conversation would — with a small smirk you simply said you were racin’ tonight, ready to stack on cash, but you had something to tend to first. With just a look, they smiled too, understanding what it meant and leaving you to it.

You made your way through to that familiar Supra, watching the stockily built men (who you soon pin-pointed as bodyguards) lock eyes with you and keep you in their sights. Not uncommon, they are tourist visiting your territory and know fuck all about you; watching you walk with a hand into your pocket and the other one free flowing easy could give any sharp eyed observed strange vibes, especially when in charge of three gorgeous ladies and their ‘meh’ entourage. Suspect anyone, or they’ll die – that’s one thing you might have in common with them after all. 

As you approached closer they half expected you to get straight to the girls, but you faced them first and shook their hands proper, a courtesy – a simple show of respect — to welcome them to your realm. You introduced yourself, one of them had heard of you, they were waiting to watch the race and you couldn’t help but to feel the pressure to impress deliciously squeeze your gut, keeping you sharp. You spoke to the guards though, and asked what was up. A group of influencers and popstars undercover to get a taste of the underground away from the glitz and glam of their complicated lives, itching to taste the excitement of fast cars, maximalist tune-ups and inevitable chase from the fuzz.  A good hearted chuckle came outta you, so you had to ask.

“You guys got a ride?” 

Quinton (or Big Q), the security guard who warmed up to you the quickest, pointed to three civil, street legal rides. Two slick, black Sedans and a vibrant red Mustang convertible. No decals, no vinyls, a clean cut vehicle but the Mustang was your weakness. A stylish car, full of power, and one of your first (Rest in Peace to it, lost in one of your first races). The whistle that came outta you made Big Q chuckle and call for someone, while you approached it and looked at it closer. Damn, that beauty was hard to beat, even with your current ride.

“Yo, Dani, this one likes your ride!” was what you heard, half expecting the owner of the ride to be one of those broccoli top boys drooling over the Supra.

But by the gods when you turned, you saw the perfect match for that Mustang. Her curly hair, a wavy warm chocolate brown fountain; soulful eyes to match and a set of plump lips from paradise. She walked on forward with normalcy, but for you it was slow motion! A confident model stride that almost struck you down like a swift thunderbolt more than the Mustang itself. 

“You like it?” Her sweet voice pierced through the curtain of chit-chat, roaring engines and distant music — shattering the cycle of thoughts on your mind and bringing you right back to the heart of the meet-up. A curious, interested smile right there to greet you.

So you composed yourself, returning the smile. “Of course I do, it’s my dream car.”

“Really?” She smiled a little wider now. “It was mine too!”

“Shit, well you got lucky,” You chuckled, glancing into her eyes and feeling yourself getting lost in them. Oh boy, it was so easy to swim in them and read the little intricacies of her gestures and expressions, how sweet she looked — but before you could drown in them, you sparked up more conversation. “You’re not racing tonight, right?”

She laughed a little, and what a gorgeous laugh it was. “I don’t race, I think my manager would kill me.”

Manager, huh? Curiosity piqued again, arms crossed and head tilted, you didn’t even need to say anything before she knew to clarify.

“I, uhh, I’m a singer, I can’t be seen racing,” she playfully rolled her eyes, leaning against the hood of her car. 

“No shit?” You feigned some surprise, having already picked up a clue by the mere looks of it. After all, she reeked of riches but not of attitude. And you dug that. Still, never hurt to get clarified… after all, she could be someone totally different. “Around these parts?”

“Are we not welcomed?” She playfully questioned with a lower tone, eyebrow cocked upwards and head partially tilted. “A girl’s gotta have some excitement, too.”

You paused for a second in amusement, chuckling before walking on forth to get a little closer and matched her energy, speaking lower for a little more secrecy as well. “Oh you guys are welcomed, just hold onto your wallet and pink slip,” you tutted. “You’ve got a good ride,” you looked around to notice lots of the moving bodies coming to and fro catching a glimpse of the car, especially the racers that knew to appreciate a fine machine… Or rather… “Looking at it though, they might wanna take you for a spin with it.”

She gasped a little and chuckled. “Well, they better get in line. Only I can drive this baby,” she said, patting at the car.

“I wasn’t goin’ to ask,” you laughed and paused, pondering if your boldness would be the right move, but when noticing too many people glancing your way, you couldn’t help the comment that came out. “But I’d love to ride with you.”

A beat, you waited for the expression to show on her face, as soon as the message registered. Surprisingly, her smile didn’t fade, but something twitched in there. Interest? Amusement? Hidden annoyance? You couldn’t know, and she stared right at you that way. A feathery ghostly touch fast-traveling down your spine, you were totally shaken.

Make no mistake, you weren’t often nervous but damn this girl was good at making you suddenly feel very aware of the way your heart skip-skipped in its cage, the kind of rush that you always associated with hitting top speed and nothing else in life. Deep, subtle inhale, you couldn’t take that stretching silence between the two of you. So, you stretched your hand and offered your name first – a courtesy, like letting her know that you had no need to hide anything, and thus she didn’t need it either.

A brief glance to your hand, then a delicate handshake on her end. 

“Daniela Avanzini,” the name a sweet song to soothe the soul. “Pleasure to meet you,” then that heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile, your hand as firm as you could muster under her quaking presence. 

She didn’t know you, but you’ve heard of her before. Often lumped together with a group of other girls (who you assumed were the girls with her), and the sole driver of this car. The girl who had your dream car, and the girl who seemed like your dream in tangible form. 

One thing you knew for certain was to play it cool, to keep treating her just like a normal person — with respect and measured curiosity. “So, Ms. Avanzini, if you’re not racing, then you’re watching the race?” And just to be a little shit, you tried leaning against the Mustang as well, leisurely but carefully.

A pause, observing you quietly before biting her lower lip and looking around. No protest, nothing. Bingo. “Yeah, I think I might stick around for it,” a brief pause before looking back at you. “You’re—.”

Abrupt interruption in the shape of a moving mass, straying away from the popular Supra back to the red fancy vehicle. Two girls, three dudes and three bodyguards in tow, all having different conversations — the cacophony making any chatter between you and Daniela cease, hanging the tension between the two of you and the curiosity in the air.

“Dude, when is the race starting?” One of the guys said, approaching Daniela and almost ignoring you entirely ‘till he noticed you sitting next to her — presumably the seat you had he wanted to take. And you must’ve looked like a ghost, ‘cause the kid looked a bit surprised and a little frightened, frightened enough to grab his buddy and pull him away a little bit under the pretense of seeing other cars around the spot. 

But you were so distracted by something better happening. “Who is thiiiiis?” one of the girls sing-songed with a charming smile. Someone you did recognize only vaguely, a lethal face card with a powerful voice that could cut through the chatter. For some reason, you would’ve recognized her faster if she was bald—. 

Daniela rolled her eyes playfully and with a limp hand she pointed at the girl. “This is Lara, she’s with me.”

Damn, where do these girls come from? Tanned skin that looked smoother than silk, piercing eyes that screamed royalty. Standing out with her usage of cultural accessories, her mere presence and energy made it glow ethereal gold. Intimidating? You fucking bet, but you still stood up and shook her hand firmly like you did with the bodyguards. 

“Is this one of the racers?” the second girl asked, her face escaped you, but she looked just as striking as her friends. Pink curtain hair to contrast the brown mane, her eyes brimming with wild interest — like she definitely would race if prompted, doing it for the lore. Mind you, she had a presence like her friends but jesus christ you felt like you couldn’t leave this one unattended for long, a thrill seeker in the shape of a hottie — a weird girl who just happened to be a model. 

“This is Megan,” Daniela pointed out. “Please, don’t let her into your car.” 

You fucking knew it.

“Aw c’mon, I want to race!” Megan said, pouting a bit. 

The girls protested so vehemently with a “No!” while the boys laughed, like they secretly hoped you would teach her how to race for kicks – or money. Let’s be honest, if she chucked up the dough for a lesson you would accept right then and there. Especially after seeing a Mustang this close you had to have it again. Still, you shook her hand and introduced yourself, no offers of a lesson.

But ‘cause Megan couldn’t let it go, she asked again: “No, seriously, are you one of the racers?”

Anticipatory silence built, as if they were curious to see what your answer was – and you could almost see Daniela hoping Megan would behave herself regardless of the outcome. “Yeah,” you said casually. “I’m actually about to go up on the line.”

“Really?” Daniela said with surprise. “So, you have a ride?”

You pointed at your silver spaceship of a ride with your thumb and all their heads leaned to the side to see it. Some whistles, some nods of approval, few inquisitive looks to truly make out the details of its visuals.

“So,” Daniela started, head tilted. “If you have a car, why do you want me to take you for a ride?” The question was playful, with squinty eyes to boot, but the subtle ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of her friends made it seem like the question was heavier than that, like they caught you trying to slide into the woman’s DM. 

“I love Mustangs,” you clarified with a shrug, not untrue.

Daniela laughed and shook her head. “I can’t simply let you in, that’s my baby!”

Megan raised her hands. “She, like, nearly kills ME when I tried getting in it!”

Lara nodded and made a grimace. “And Megan kinda liked that,” she added to you, leaning forward a bit.

You weren’t just going to give that up though. “I know, I know. Tell you what, is there any way I can win you over?”

Another set of Oooohs followed right after, but your eyes were fixed on Daniela’s and no one else's. 

“Win me over?” Daniela repeated, giggling. 

“Yeah!” You replied with full honesty, laughing too.

“We do need a guide to stick around with us, Dani,” Megan smugly looked at her, pouting. You saw her pitch right away, wanting proximity to a racer to potentially get a lesson, determined to finish the night off with a test drive. 

Lara rubbed the bridge of her nose with a smile, also understanding what was up, and Daniela couldn’t help but to deeply inhale and lick her lips, also with a smile. Megan’s antics were, at the very least, mad funny to all of them. 

You raised your hands passively, an offer of peace. “We don’t have to be besties or anything,” you chuckled and briefly paused, looking around a bit. “I figure I show you guys around, tell you who to keep your eyes peeled about and my only request is not driving y’alls car or anything. Is just a little tiny bit of trust. Enough to ride with you just for a second, don’t need much more than that.”

Frankly, that wasn’t a lie but it was deeper than that. You didn’t offer to drive the car, let alone drive it with her at the passenger seat like most would. You offered to let her drive you around, to look at it rumble and run its civilian course smoothly, but beneath that simple request was more. It was proximity to Daniela, a chance to get to know her more, to keep her around your presence and continue breathing that intoxicating aura of ethereal perfection — to feel the way your heart kept leaping with every one of her smiles. It certainly was more than just the car, it was a chance for something that gripped you — a rush like never before. And it seemed she liked that, or at least you hoped, with those micro-expressions in that locked gaze of hers, that slow blinking and attention. You hoped they weren’t lying to you. 

“You must really like Mustangs,” Daniela softly and cheekily said, a clear undercurrent in the way she said it. Implicit, like she was truly saying ‘I must really interest you.’ 

And with a smirk, you nodded. “I really do.”