STEVEN'S POV
I was crouched near the power room like a certified villain, waiting for Luna's signal.
The plan was simple:
Stepone: Give those plastic glitter goblins on the dance floor a nice, gooey green bath.
Steptwo: Cut the lights.
Stepthree: Disappear into the night like morally flexible legends.
It was foolproof. Mischief 101. Chaos 101.
We even had those tiny clicky walkie devices that vibrate instead of beep — spy movie style.
But the problem?
Nothing.
No vibration. No panic screams.
No slime apocalypse raining down like divine judgment from above.
Just... party beats and drunk giggles.
I frowned, glancing at my watch.
By now, those barbie dolls should've been screeching like a broken siren in a glitter factory.
Still. Nothing.
I tapped my foot, arms crossed. Maybe someone blocked her path? Nah. I knew Luna. Girl could outmaneuver a stampede of Karens if it meant completing a prank. She's the smartest in mischief.
Still — silence.
My patience, however, was hanging on by a thread.
I pulled out my phone and texted her:
"Status? Did you slip in your own slime or what??"
No reply.
I clenched my jaw, pacing like a madman outside the circuit board.
"What is she doing?" I muttered, teeth tight. "Taking a nap on the balcony? Writing poetry with the bucket? Come on, Luna."
If she bailed on me for snacks again, I swear—Okay no, I'd still forgive her. But I'd be dramatic about it first.
Then I lost it.
I bolted out with the intensity of a caffeine-charged squirrel, heading straight for the balcony where, in my mind, the sleeping prank princess was probably slipping on her own slime and giggling about it.
I climbed those stairs with the speed of a raccoon on fire—whatever that is, it sounds fast and emotionally unstable. Like me. Right now.
But when I got there...
Oh, I wished she had been covered in slime. I wished she had tripped over the bucket and face-planted into her own mess.
Instead, I saw something that picked at my nerves with the fork of betrayal and served me a full-course meal of disgust.
There she was — Luna — standing there, eyes wide and still, like she'd just been caught stealing cookies from hell's pantry.
And right in front of her was Hardin.
Backlit by the dim golden light, smirking like the final boss in a heartbreak video game.
That smug face — like he knew a secret the rest of us hadn't caught up to yet.
I blinked again.
No slime.
No chaos.
Just… them.
Luna.
Hardin.
On the damn balcony.
She was still holding the bucket like she forgot what a prank even was. No screams. No mischief. Just some slow-burning vibe that didn't belong to me.
I saw red.
I stepped out, jaw clenched.
"You forgot the signal," I said, voice sharp.
Luna jumped like she just realized I existed. "Steven— I—I was—"
"Oh, save it," I barked, marching toward her. "Was what? Gonna drop the slime? Or maybe just drop into his arms instead?"
Her mouth opened in horror. "It's not like that—"
"Not like that?!" I snapped, louder now, heat rising up my neck. "We had a plan, Luna! You and me! Chaos. Revenge. Us!"
She winced. "I didn't mean to—"
"But you did," I cut in, voice breaking a little. "You meant to stand here. You meant to look at him like that. Like he's some kind of goddamn forbidden fruit on a marble pedestal."
Hardin finally turned to me, hands tucked into his pockets with that same infuriating half-smirk.
"You done?" he asked coolly.
Oh no.
I stepped up. "Don't talk to me like that, you smug piece of hot-topic poetry."
Luna gasped. "Steven!"
Hardin didn't even flinch. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Interesting. I stayed quiet when I found out she was about to offer someone a slime bath."
I shoved past Luna. "And so what."
"Steven, stop!" she yelled, grabbing my arm.
I shook her off. "You want him? Fine. But don't drag me into it like some sidekick in a teen drama!"
"You're overreacting!"
"I'm watching you fall for the guy we're both supposed to hate, Luna!" I shouted, voice echoing into the night. "You think that doesn't feel like getting stabbed in the back and then told to laugh it off?"
Silence.
Even the party downstairs seemed distant now. Just my ragged breathing and the sound of her guilt swallowing her whole.
I looked at her one last time.
"Next time," I said, voice low and shaking, "find a new partner for your little games."
Then I walked off.
And for once, I didn't care if the lights never went out.
Because everything already had.
I stormed down the stairs two at a time, hands clenched into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms.
I didn't even care that people were staring as I shoved past them — I probably looked unhinged, and maybe I was. I felt like I'd just watched someone set fire to everything we built and called it an accident.
I fumbled with my keys in the parking lot, the cold metal slippery in my sweaty grip.
The car unlocked.
I yanked the door open, slammed it shut behind me, and sat there.
Just sat there.
Chest rising and falling like I'd run a mile, heart punching my ribs, head a mess of static.
"God—DAMN IT!" I slammed my fist into the steering wheel.
The horn blasted angrily, like it was yelling back at me.
I dropped my head onto it, breathing hard, eyes stinging with the kind of rage that had nowhere to go.
She stood there like I didn't matter.
Like he was the gravity and I was some... prank partner with a bucket.
She was supposed to laugh with me. Cause chaos with me. Be mine—
Sometimes, I wish in the way couples are. In the way that mattered more.
We were a team. Weren't we?
I pulled out my phone, hands still shaking.
I stared at her contact.
That stupid picture of her in sunglasses, eating a popsicle, looking like she owned summer.
I hovered over it.
Then locked the phone and threw it into the passenger seat.
I hated this.
Hated how it felt like I was the only one bleeding from something that wasn't even a fight.
I didn't even know what I was fighting for.
But I knew one thing:
She chose to pause the plan.
And I was done being the afterthought.
**************************************
LUNA'S POV
I stood there like an absolute idiot — slime bucket still in hand, like I was cosplaying a deranged janitor at a villain convention.
The silence clung to the air like mist, heavy and weird, wrapping around my throat as I stared at the stairwell Steven had just disappeared through.
Then he spoke.
Hardin.
His voice sliced through the tension like it had been waiting for a dramatic pause. "Won't you run after your man?" he asked, all calm and casual, like he was asking if I wanted fries with that emotional crisis.
I spun to face him, frowning.
Okay, normally I didn't care when people assumed Steven and I were a thing — it happened all the time. We practically shared one chaotic brain cell and a soul forged in mutual criminal-level prankery.
But something about Hardin thinking that?
Ugh. No. I didn't like it.
"W-We're not dating," I said, voice sharper than I meant it to be.
Hardin didn't react the way I expected. His brow lifted — not in confusion, but like he was suspicious. Like I'd just told him unicorns were real and he needed receipts.
"Really?" he asked, slow and skeptical.
"Yes!" I huffed, hugging the bucket tighter against my chest like it could protect me from this interrogation. "People just… assume. But we're not. We're just—"
I paused.
"We're just besties," I finished, less confidently than I started.
Hardin didn't say anything at first. Just kept looking at me like he was trying to read past my skin into something I didn't even know I was hiding.
"Besties," he repeated, that smirk ghosting the corner of his lips. "Explains the missing brain cells."
I opened my mouth to clap back, but the words tripped over the growing knot in my stomach.
And suddenly, I wasn't sure what we were either.