Friday afternoon settled in with a sluggish kind of weight. Forks was wrapped in mist, the edges of everything blurring into gray. Aiden leaned against the lockers, watching rain bead along the windows like the town itself was quietly crying.
Rosalie found him between classes — her expression unreadable, though her tone was hopeful.
"Hey," she said, walking up beside him. "We're playing baseball tonight. It's supposed to thunder, so... perfect weather."
She smiled, not forced, but cautious, like she didn't want to push. Her golden eyes searched his face for an answer she might not want to hear.
Aiden hesitated.
"Sounds fun," he said, voice low. "But I've got plans."
Rosalie's smile faltered for a flicker of a second. "Oh. With who?"
He shook his head. "No one. Just... stuff I need to handle."
She studied him — too perceptive for his comfort. "You've been... off lately. Is everything okay?"
Aiden nodded, but it was a lie they both heard loud and clear.
"I'll see you Monday," he added, turning before she could probe deeper. Rosalie didn't stop him — just watched him walk away.
The rest of the day slid by in a strange haze. Connie was around, as always now — hovering on the edge of every hallway, slipping past him at his locker, her gaze a slow drag across his spine.
But this time, he didn't avoid her.
He didn't approach her either. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff — knowing the fall was inevitable, but waiting for the wind to push.
She didn't do anything obvious. No sudden moves. No outbursts. Just that same quiet intensity — a predator playing house.
Jessica and Angela still buzzed around her like they weren't sure whether to be charmed or concerned. The boys, as usual, didn't notice the cracks.
But Aiden did.
Something was off. Not just with her — around her. The way shadows seemed to stretch in her presence. The way conversations paused just long enough when she walked by. The way his instincts never quite let him relax when she was near.
By the time the final bell rang, the whole school felt like it was holding its breath.
Aiden stepped out into the drizzle, hands deep in his jacket pockets. He could feel the weekend stretching in front of him — uncertain, thick with unanswered questions and a tension that never fully left his chest.
He didn't know what Connie was planning.
But she wasn't done.
And neither was he.
The next day the sky's drizzle had turned into a whispering mist by the time Aiden knocked on Jessica's door. He balanced a grocery bag in one hand — snacks, sodas, and a few guilty-pleasure candy bars. The porch light blinked twice, as if annoyed, and then the door swung open.
Jessica grinned like she'd been waiting at the window all day.
"Finally!" she said, stepping aside. "We were about to vote you off the island."
"Is that tonight's movie? Reality TV horror?" Aiden quipped as he stepped inside.
The warmth of the house hit him immediately. The living room was a warzone of pillows, tangled blankets, and snack bags already half-opened. Angela sat cross-legged by the coffee table, sorting candy. Ben and Eric were deep in some kind of animated debate, while Mike hovered near the couch with a slice of cold pizza like it was a microphone.
"Okay!" Mike said, throwing up a hand the moment Aiden entered. "Settle this for us, man. Best movie genre. Go."
Aiden blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… suspense thrillers?"
"YES!" Angela said immediately, high-fiving him. **"Finally, someone with taste."
"No way!" Ben groaned. "Thrillers are just dramas with better music."
"Horror, obviously," Eric cut in. "Jump scares, blood, psychological breakdowns? That's the peak of cinema."
Jessica wrinkled her nose. "You just like watching people make stupid decisions and die. Rom-coms, thank you very much."
Mike laughed. "You mean the same movie copy-pasted with new actors every year?"
"Better than space soap operas with bad CGI," she shot back, gesturing at the sci-fi DVDs in Eric's hand.
Angela raised a gummy worm in salute. "Mystery, hands down. Keeps your brain working."
"What about noir?" Aiden said with a smirk, grabbing a drink and sliding onto the couch. "Moody detectives. Cigarettes. Moral ambiguity."
Jessica rolled her eyes. "Wow, deep pick. You're such a film snob."
"Better than your 'kiss in the rain' playlist," he countered.
Laughter followed, and for a moment it was all banter and warm lighting and too many voices talking over each other. Normalcy wrapped around Aiden like a soft blanket—messy, loud, imperfect, and real.