The next morning, the weight of yesterday clung to me like a shadow. I had barely slept, tossing and turning as silence echoed through my phone. No buzz. No call. No little message from Charlie saying we'll be okay. Nothing.
At school, the halls felt louder than usual. Every laugh, every whisper seemed sharper, like the world had tuned itself against me. My eyes scanned the crowd automatically, searching for him.
And there he was.
Charlie.
He stood by the lockers, surrounded by a couple of his friends. His face was calm, maybe even unreadable, but when his gaze brushed mine, my chest tightened. For the briefest moment, I thought he'd come over, that maybe last night had softened his anger.
But he looked away first.
I forced myself to keep moving, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.
Michael caught up to me halfway down the hall, grinning like nothing was wrong. His casual energy clashed with the storm inside me.
Hey, he said, matching my stride. You good?
I nodded too quickly. Yeah. Fine.
Michael slowed, narrowing his eyes. You sure? You don't look fine.
I forced a weak laugh. Just tired.
He didn't push, and for that, I was grateful. But the guilt twisted deeper. Michael knew. Charlie was angry. And I was stuck in the middle, torn apart by both.
Classes dragged. By lunch, I couldn't take it anymore. I skipped the cafeteria and slipped outside to the quiet spot behind the gym. The cold air bit at my skin, but at least it gave me room to breathe.
I sank onto the concrete step, pulling my knees to my chest. The ache from last night hadn't dulled—it had only deepened.
I didn't even hear the footsteps until someone sat down beside me.
I glanced up, startled. Charlie.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was thick, heavy, but not unbearable. My heart hammered, caught between wanting to reach for him and fearing he'd pull further away.
Finally, he broke it, his voice low and rough. We need to talk.
I swallowed, bracing myself. Okay.
He looked out across the empty field, his jaw tight. I was angry. Still am, a little. But… last night, all I could think about was how much I hated walking away from you.
The words hit me like a wave, loosening the knot in my chest. I blinked hard, trying to hold myself together. I'm sorry, I whispered. I never should have told him without you. It was selfish.
Charlie turned to me then, his eyes softer than I expected. I get why you did it. I don't like it, but I get it. You panicked. You trusted him. You thought it was the right call.
I nodded quickly. But it hurt you. And that's on me.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning back on his elbows. Look… I don't want space. Not really. I just didn't know how to handle it in the moment.
Relief swept over me so hard I almost laughed, though tears threatened instead. So… what does this mean for us?
Charlie's lips curved, just slightly. It means I still love you. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.
The tension that had held me hostage finally cracked, replaced by something warm and fragile. I let out a shaky laugh. And I love you. Even if I screw things up.
He shook his head with a faint smile. You don't screw everything up. You just… care too much, sometimes in the wrong way.
I looked down at my hands. Maybe. But I don't want to lose you over something like this.
You won't, he said simply. His voice was steady, sure. That's what scared me most last night—that maybe I was pushing you away for good.
I met his eyes again, and this time, he didn't look away.
We should figure out how to handle Michael, I murmured. I trust him, but… people talk.
Charlie nodded slowly. Yeah. We'll keep it between us three. No one else. Not for now.
Promise? I asked, needing to hear it.
Promise, he said firmly.
The silence that followed was softer now, like a blanket wrapping around us instead of a wall separating us. His hand slid closer until his fingers brushed mine, hesitant at first, then twining through like they belonged there.
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The closeness I'd been aching for was finally here.
Charlie leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. I hate fighting with you.
Me too, I breathed.
His eyes searched mine then, scanning for hesitation. I felt his thumb trace over my knuckles, slow and uncertain, before he spoke again. I don't care what anyone thinks. I don't care about the whispers. All I care about is us.
The words burned into me, soft and steady, stronger than any promise. And I knew in that moment—I believed him.
And then, without another word, he closed the space between us.
The kiss was deep, hungry, and full of everything we hadn't said—anger, fear, forgiveness, love. My hands trembled as I gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as though letting go would undo everything we'd just healed.
For a moment, the world disappeared. No rumors, no Michael, no distance. Just us.
When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cold air.
We're going to be okay, he whispered.
And this time, I didn't just hope it. I knew it.
The next morning, the weight of yesterday clung to me like a shadow. I had barely slept, tossing and turning as silence echoed through my phone. No buzz. No call. No little message from Charlie saying we'll be okay. Nothing.
At school, the halls felt louder than usual. Every laugh, every whisper seemed sharper, like the world had tuned itself against me. My eyes scanned the crowd automatically, searching for him.
And there he was.
Charlie.
He stood by the lockers, surrounded by a couple of his friends. His face was calm, maybe even unreadable, but when his gaze brushed mine, my chest tightened. For the briefest moment, I thought he'd come over, that maybe last night had softened his anger.
But he looked away first.
I forced myself to keep moving, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.
Michael caught up to me halfway down the hall, grinning like nothing was wrong. His casual energy clashed with the storm inside me.
Hey, he said, matching my stride. You good?
I nodded too quickly. Yeah. Fine.
Michael slowed, narrowing his eyes. You sure? You don't look fine.
I forced a weak laugh. Just tired.
He didn't push, and for that, I was grateful. But the guilt twisted deeper. Michael knew. Charlie was angry. And I was stuck in the middle, torn apart by both.
Classes dragged. By lunch, I couldn't take it anymore. I skipped the cafeteria and slipped outside to the quiet spot behind the gym. The cold air bit at my skin, but at least it gave me room to breathe.
I sank onto the concrete step, pulling my knees to my chest. The ache from last night hadn't dulled—it had only deepened.
I didn't even hear the footsteps until someone sat down beside me.
I glanced up, startled. Charlie.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was thick, heavy, but not unbearable. My heart hammered, caught between wanting to reach for him and fearing he'd pull further away.
Finally, he broke it, his voice low and rough. We need to talk.
I swallowed, bracing myself. Okay.
He looked out across the empty field, his jaw tight. I was angry. Still am, a little. But… last night, all I could think about was how much I hated walking away from you.
The words hit me like a wave, loosening the knot in my chest. I blinked hard, trying to hold myself together. I'm sorry, I whispered. I never should have told him without you. It was selfish.
Charlie turned to me then, his eyes softer than I expected. I get why you did it. I don't like it, but I get it. You panicked. You trusted him. You thought it was the right call.
I nodded quickly. But it hurt you. And that's on me.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning back on his elbows. Look… I don't want space. Not really. I just didn't know how to handle it in the moment.
Relief swept over me so hard I almost laughed, though tears threatened instead. So… what does this mean for us?
Charlie's lips curved, just slightly. It means I still love you. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.
The tension that had held me hostage finally cracked, replaced by something warm and fragile. I let out a shaky laugh. And I love you. Even if I screw things up.
He shook his head with a faint smile. You don't screw everything up. You just… care too much, sometimes in the wrong way.
I looked down at my hands. Maybe. But I don't want to lose you over something like this.
You won't, he said simply. His voice was steady, sure. That's what scared me most last night—that maybe I was pushing you away for good.
I met his eyes again, and this time, he didn't look away.
We should figure out how to handle Michael, I murmured. I trust him, but… people talk.
Charlie nodded slowly. Yeah. We'll keep it between us three. No one else. Not for now.
Promise? I asked, needing to hear it.
Promise, he said firmly.
The silence that followed was softer now, like a blanket wrapping around us instead of a wall separating us. His hand slid closer until his fingers brushed mine, hesitant at first, then twining through like they belonged there.
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The closeness I'd been aching for was finally here.
Charlie leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. I hate fighting with you.
Me too, I breathed.
His eyes searched mine then, scanning for hesitation. I felt his thumb trace over my knuckles, slow and uncertain, before he spoke again. I don't care what anyone thinks. I don't care about the whispers. All I care about is us.
The words burned into me, soft and steady, stronger than any promise. And I knew in that moment—I believed him.
And then, without another word, he closed the space between us.
The kiss was deep, hungry, and full of everything we hadn't said—anger, fear, forgiveness, love. My hands trembled as I gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as though letting go would undo everything we'd just healed.
For a moment, the world disappeared. No rumors, no Michael, no distance. Just us.
When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cold air.
We're going to be okay, he whispered.
And this time, I didn't just hope it. I knew it.