Lana's POV:

After school always feels different when he’s been near me. 

It’s stupid, honestly. I hate that it’s true.

But the hallways still smell like him, like cedar and winter and something sharper, something I’m scared to name out loud. I walk through them with my head down and my thoughts loud, like my brain refuses to let me forget the morning.

His hand on my back.

His eyes on me.

His forehead kiss. 

I’m still warm from it.

Unfortunately, my friends don’t let me enjoy even a SECOND of denial.

Evelyn nearly tackles me the moment I step out of the main doors. “You walked with the school menace to class,” she announces, too loudly. “Discuss.”

Jude smacks her elbow into Evelyn’s ribs. “No. Don’t discuss. We’re ignoring it. Pretending it never happened. Wiping it from history.”

Stella hugs her books to her chest and sighs dreamily. “It was romantic. The forehead kiss almost made me faint.”

I groan. “Oh my God, please stop.”

“No,” Evelyn chirps, linking her arm through mine. “Come on, we’re grabbing croissants. I deserve pastries for surviving this level of emotional gossip.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I mutter.

“Yes,” Jude says flatly. “That’s the problem.”

We walk toward the little cafe across the street from campus, the one with the green awning and the ivy crawling up the bricks. Students always crowd there after school, but somehow Evelyn has a way of slicing through rooms like she owns everything inside them, and we end up with a table anyway.

Stella orders hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Jude gets black coffee, obviously. Evelyn orders four different pastries all “for sharing,” which means she’ll eat them alone. 

I sit there, trying very hard to pretend my heartbeat isn’t still racing from something that happened hours ago.

“So,” Evelyn says, propping her chin on her hand. “When did he become obsessed with you? Like, timeline please.”

“He’s not obsessed.”

“Babe,” she says sweetly. “He stared at you like you were the last oxygen molecule on Earth.”

I choke on air. “I—what? No he did not.”

“He did,” Stella says softly.

Jude nods once. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Stop,” I mutter. “Just stop. He’s not—he’s not anything.”

Evelyn pops a piece of croissant into her mouth and smirks. “Tell that to the way he shielded you from that random junior boy who got too close.”

“That was an accident—”

“Tell that,” Evelyn continues, ignoring me entirely, “to the volcanic jealousy that practically vibrated out of him.”

Stella sips her hot chocolate. “He didn’t blink when the professor yelled at him for being late. But the second you walked in after him, he straightened up like a soldier.”

Jude grimaces. “He’s getting weird.” 

“He was always weird,” Evelyn says.

“Yes,” Jude agrees. “But now it’s… purposeful weird.”

I sink lower into my chair. “I hate this.”

“No you don’t,” Evelyn sings.

Jude rolls her eyes. “Okay, no more boy talk. Especially not that psycho.” 

Stella and I nod eagerly. 

Evelyn clasps her hands dramatically. “Okay, first order of business: I need someone to explain why the chem teacher hates me. I swear he snarls when I breathe.”

Jude snorts. “Because you put glitter glue in his lab coat three months ago and pretended it wasn’t you.”

“That was an act of kindness,” Evelyn argues. “He needed sparkle.”

Stella giggles into her scarf. “You nearly gave him a heart attack, Ev.”

“He gave himself a heart attack by being joyless.”

“Maybe,” Jude says, “but you still traumatized him.”

Evelyn waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll live.” 

Stella reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a half-finished watercolor painting. “Can I show you guys something? I’m working on this for the winter art show.”

The mood instantly softens, all three of us leaning closer.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Stella, that’s gorgeous.”

It is. Soft blues and pale golds, delicate trees dusted in faint glitter, like winter made gentle.

Evelyn gasps. “You’re stupid talented. And I mean that in the most supportive way possible.”

Stella blushes. “It’s not done.”

“It doesn’t need to be,” Jude says, surprising all of us. “It’s just… really good.”

Stella beams quietly.

Talk drifts, not to boys. To life.

Stella tells us about her little sister’s obsession with frog stickers.

Evelyn rants about French homework and how the author of Candide “definitely needed hugs.”

Jude gives a detailed account of a girl in her fencing class who tried to fight her mid-lesson for calling her footwork sloppy.

“And she was sloppy,” Jude says, taking a vicious bite of her croissant. “She almost stabbed herself.”

“Maybe she was expressing herself,” Evelyn suggests.

“Yeah,” Jude says. “Expressing incompetence.”

We burst into laughter.

It feels real, warm, belonging.

Girly in the best way, chaotic, emotional, supportive, half-arguing, half-laughing, entirely ours.

Evelyn leans back in her chair. “Okay, new topic: Carnival outfits. Who’s wearing what for the Crimson Carnival?”

Crimson Carnival at Velgrave Royal Academy is an event and lasts for a week, excluding the weekend of course. It’s the last five days of December every year, like a tradition, each day has different activities and festivals. 

Stella brightens. “I bought a dress for day one! It’s silver. I’m worried it’s too sparkly.”

“Impossible,” Evelyn decrees. “Sparkle is a lifestyle.”

Jude rolls her eyes. “I’m wearing black for the first day.”

“You always wear black,” I point out.

“Consistency is sexy,” she replies.

“And you?” Stella asks me, eyes soft and curious.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit.

Evelyn gasps. “Then we’re going shopping. Immediately.”

“No we are not—”

“Yes we are,” she sings. “I refuse to let you show up in a sad beige sweater. I’m putting my foot down.”

Jude nods. “For once, I agree with her.”

“What’s wrong with beige?”

“Sad,” Jude repeats. “Oh, and we need five outfits for five days! I have only planned two so far…”

Evelyn gasps. “Easton has a party in his useless huge ass mansion tonight! Y’all wanna go?”

“Are we even invited?” Stella laughs. 

“We don’t need to be, have you seen his parties? I’m sure he doesn’t even know the people who go there to fuck. Besides, I love to annoy the fucker.” She explains.

We all laugh, their idiotic rivalry is very much public. 

I nod. “I’m in, nothing better to do anyways.”

Jude looks at me like it's a bad idea but nods nonetheless. 

The conversation dips into boba flavors, someone’s dog’s birthday party, a rumor about the school board stealing cafeteria money for a secret wine fridge, another rumor about a teacher sleeping with the principal, and Stella’s theory that the librarian used to be a spy.

Evelyn tells a story about tripping in front of the entire basketball team and playing it off by pretending to tie her shoe even though it didn’t have laces.

We’re laughing so hard that people are staring, but in the soft way, the way that says I wish my friendships felt like that.

For a moment, my heart is light.

Untangled.

Until Stella pauses mid-sip of her hot chocolate and tilts her head toward me.

“Lana,” she says gently, “are you okay today?”

Evelyn and Jude quiet down immediately.

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“You’re laughing,” Stella says softly, “but your eyes look tired.”

My throat tightens.

Evelyn leans forward, but doesn’t tease this time. “Want to talk about something? Not him. Just… you.”

And suddenly I feel it, that ache under my ribs I pretend isn’t there.

The exhaustion, the way everything feels heavy.

The way being alone in that big house makes the silence too loud.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

Jude gives me a look that says she’s not buying it but won’t push. “You don’t always have to be.”

“Yeah,” Evelyn murmurs. “We won’t judge.”

Stella places her hand over mine briefly. “You can tell us anything.”

And I could.

But I can’t.

Not right now, not with this knot of confusion and fear sitting in my throat.

So I squeeze Stella’s hand back and whisper, “Thank you. Really.”

They accept it.
They let me breathe.

They let the conversation drift to music and nail polish and whether or not we should dye Evelyn’s hair rose gold for the fun of it.

It’s good.

It feels like girlhood in its purest form, messy, bright, chaotic, full of laughter and warmth and realness.

Exactly what I needed, even if I can’t say it out loud.  

After finishing up our drinks, eating the pastries, we all head out for a walk back to school. We hug, exchange goodbyes and I start to drive back home. 

I put music on to make it better, ‘Art Deco’ by Lana Del Ray. I hum along to it, and just as I was about to take a left turn on the highway, my speed was high, a big, black motorbike stopped right in front of me. 

My eyes widen as I gasp, hitting the brakes, I barely manage to stop before I crash into it. 

The car jerks forward with the force of the stop, my head almost hitting the steering wheel. My heartbeat punches against my ribs, loud and violent. For a second, I can’t breathe. When I look up, I see none other than the menace Aiden Reeve. 

The world shrinks into two things: My shaking hands on the wheel.

And him.

Tall. Dark. Helmet under his arm. Standing in front of my car like he owns the road, the air, me.

He turns slowly, and even from behind the glass I can see it, his unfocused eyes, the slight sway in his posture, the stupid half-smirk that means he’s drunk or close to it.

My breath snaps.

Oh no.

No. No. I am not doing this.

I shove the door open so hard it bounces back. “Aiden, what the actual hell is wrong with you?!”

He turns fully, helmet dangling from his fingers. His eyes are slightly glassy, the faintest wobble in his stance.

Of course. Of course he’s been drinking. 

“Lana,” he says, voice low. Too soft. Too familiar.

“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to say my name like that right now. You nearly died! I nearly killed you!”

He moves toward me. “I knew you’d stop.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You knew I’d stop? That’s your explanation?! Are you insane? Do you… are you actually brainless?”

His jaw ticks. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You never think straight!” I shout. “You just do whatever dramatic, possessive thing pops into your head and expect the world to adjust!” 

Aiden’s expression hardens, like I’ve kicked something vital.

“Possessive?” he repeats, voice sharpening. “Is that what you think this is?”

“That’s exactly what it is!”

He recoils like I slapped him. “I’m looking out for you.”

“I don’t need that!”

He steps closer, eyes burning. “Yeah? Because earlier today you looked like you could barely breathe.”

I freeze.

His voice drops. “You think I didn’t notice?”

My throat tightens. “That’s not your business.”

“You ARE my business,” he snaps.

“No!” My voice ricochets off the empty road. “I’m not. I don’t belong to you. I don’t want you. I DON’T WANT YOU, Aiden!”

His nostrils flare. “Then why do you shake when I touch you?”

I go still.

He instantly realizes what he said, but he doesn’t take it back.

He stands there, breathing hard, waiting.

My cheeks burn with fury. “You arrogant—”

“And today?” he cuts in. “You blushed for an hour.”

“Because you ambushed me! Because you confuse me! Because you’re… you’re too much!”

His eyes flash. “You think this is easy for me? You think I’m doing all this because I want to scare you?”

“You ARE scaring me!”

Something in his expression fractures. “I would never hurt you.”

“You almost did!” I scream. “Tonight! You just stood in front of my car! Who does that?!”

“You weren’t answering,” he fires back. “I wanted to talk to you before you disappeared again.”

“My life isn’t something you get to track like a hunting dog!”

He stiffens. “Wow.”

I don’t stop.

I can’t.

“I don’t need a man to ‘check on me.’ I don’t need a man at all!”

His voice whips through the cold. “Then why do you always run when it gets real?”

I stare at him, stunned.

Aiden steps closer, jaw tight, eyes fierce. “You think I don’t see it? The way you shut down the second you start feeling anything? The way you pretend you’re fine when you’re breaking inside?”

“Shut up.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not shutting up. Not tonight.”

“I said—”

“You lie to your friends, you lie to everyone, and then you act like I’m the problem because I don’t let you lie to me too.”

My breath catches painfully.

He keeps going, quiet, angry, raw. “You say you hate me. Fine. You say you don’t need anyone. Fine. But stop pretending you don’t feel something. You’re not built like that.”

My vision blurs with angry tears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yes,” he growls, stepping even closer, “I do. And it kills you.”

My voice cracks. “I hate you.”

His expression flashes with hurt, but he swallows it. “If hating me makes you feel safer, go ahead.”

“That’s not—”

“But don’t lie to my face and say you don’t care.” His voice is low, cutting. “Because I was two seconds away from getting hit by a car, and the first thing you did was run to me.”

My chest aches, hands shaking. 

I can’t breathe.

“Stop it,” I whisper.

“No,” he says again, voice hoarse. “For once, you stop lying.”

I flinch like the words are physical.

He sees it.

The anger in his face drains into something tired and bruised.

“Lana,” he says quietly. “I’m not trying to trap you. I’m just… trying.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” He swallows. “I wish you did.”

The silence that follows is devastating.

Then, slowly, he puts his helmet on.

For the first time since I’ve met him, he doesn’t look at me with defiance. Or arrogance. Or mischief.
Just… exhaustion.

“Get home safe,” he says.

And this time, he's the one who walks away.

He starts the bike, the engine growls.

He doesn’t look back.

Not once.

I stand there in the cold, shaking, the echoes of our fight, the adrenaline still vibrating through my bones.

I’m not sure if I’m more rattled by what he said or by the fact that I wanted him to stay.

I’m scared he might actually listen.

He’s just swung his leg over the bike when something in me breaks.

“No!” I shout.

Aiden freezes.

My voice comes out sharp, brittle, shaking. “You don’t get to walk away after throwing all that at me.”

Slowly, he straightens and turns. His jaw is locked, his eyes darker than the road behind him.

“You told me to,” he mutters.

“Well I changed my mind,” I snap. “You don’t get to unload your bullshit and leave.”

“My bullshit?” he echoes, stepping closer again. “You’ve been screaming at me for ten minutes straight, Lana.”

“Because you almost died!”

“And you almost hit me!”

“BECAUSE YOU STEPPED IN FRONT OF MY CAR—”

“I WAS TRYING TO TALK TO YOU!”

“YOU COULD’VE CALLED!”

“I DID!”

The air between us vibrates with the force of the shouting. And he doesn’t seem tipsy anymore, looks sober actually.

“You think I want to do this?” he fires back. “You think I like chasing after someone who acts like caring for her is a crime?!”

“It IS a crime when I don’t want you to!”

Aiden’s nostrils flare. “You didn’t look like that when I kissed your forehead this morning.”

My breath stumbles. I gape at him.

“Oh, you are—you are actually so full of yourself—”

“And you’re full of LIES!” he snaps, pointing at me. “There. I said it. Someone had to.”

My hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me because you’re obsessed—”

“I am NOT obsessed!”

“You’re literally drunk and standing in the middle of the road waiting for me like some dark Disney villain!”

“Because you IGNORE me!”

“Because you suffocate me!”

“I suffocate you?” he laughs, harsh and humorless. “You barely let anyone breathe near you!”

“That’s because I don’t need anyone!”

He steps so close I feel his breath freeze on my skin. “And that’s your big lie.”

I shove his chest. Hard.

He barely stumbles, just sets his feet and glares down at me like I’m a spark about to hit gasoline.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap.

“Funny,” he bites back, “because you only say that when you’re about to cry.”

My eyes sting violently.

I hate that he notices.

I hate that he’s right.

I hate everything.

“So what?” I choke out. “You think you’re the only one allowed to feel something?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Are you even capable of letting yourself feel anything?”

The words slam into me.

My voice drops to a whisper made of fire. “Screw you.”

He leans in, eyes sharp and furious. “Screw me? I’m the one trying here. I’m the one showing up. I’m the one you keep pushing and pushing—”

“Because you don’t LISTEN!”

“I do listen!”

“NO YOU DON’T!” My voice cracks. “You hear what you want. You turn everything into some twisted sign that I secretly want you—”

“Maybe because every time I pull away, YOU come closer!”

“That’s not… that’s not true—”

“Oh really?” he growls. “Then why didn’t you drive away when I got off the bike? Why are you still here?”

My lips part.

Sharp silence. 

He watches the answer flicker across my face, and he hates it.

“You don’t even know what you want,” he says, voice low, cruel from frustration. “You run, you freeze, you pretend you’re empty. You act like needing someone is a weakness.”

“It IS,” I hiss.

“No,” he snaps. “It’s human.”

“I don’t want to be human! I don’t want to depend on anyone! Because people leave. They always leave!”

Aiden’s anger falters, only for a second.

Then it explodes again.

“Maybe you’re not scared of me,” he says quietly. “Maybe you’re just scared of yourself.”

Something inside me detonates.

I shove him again, harder this time.

He catches my wrist mid-motion, eyes blazing.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Aiden—”

“No,” he repeats, voice like steel. “You don’t get to hit me because you don’t like the truth.”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“No you don’t,” he whispers back, furious.

“You ruin everything.”

“You push everyone away.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“You make me sick.”

“You make me lose my mind.”

We’re both breathing like we’ve run a marathon, faces inches apart, every word a spark in dry brush.

For one suspended second, it feels like the world is about to crack open between us.

Then, Aiden drops my wrist like it burned him.

“You want me gone?” he growls. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I already did.”

“Say it again.”

The night is cold.

My breath is shaky.

My voice is barely there.

“Leave,” I whisper.

Aiden’s jaw clenches so hard I hear it. His eyes flash with something like pain, real, raw.

Then, finally, he steps back.

Once.

Twice.

Turns around.

And this time when he walks toward his bike, he’s not angry.

He’s broken.     

******

To Be Continued. 

Poor babies☹️but dw y’all its coming soonnnn😛

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