The scrape of my chair legs against the floor was the loudest thing in the room. I leaned back, arms folded loosely, watching her across the table. The silence stretched, a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. I was still chewing over how I’d respond when Avery spoke first.
Her voice was small. "I’m... sorry I keep making you feel awkward."
The way she said it—eyes lowered, lips pressed tight, shoulders curled in—she looked nothing like the Avery I rembered from school. The bratty confidence, the queen-bee spark she carried so effortlessly back then, it was gone. In its place was soone subdued, almost fragile, like a scolded child. And I didn’t know how to handle that.
I exhaled softly, tried to ease the edge in my voice. "Apology accepted."
Her head lifted, surprise flickering across her face. For a mont, she almost smiled. I tipped my chin toward her plate, giving a small nod as if to say, Go on, eat. Then I bent my head back toward my food, trying to pretend this was normal.
I took another bite, tried to let it end there, but the thought pressed harder the longer I kept quiet. Finally, I set my fork down.
"How did you know Celestia wouldn’t be around tonight?"
Avery’s brows lifted.
I leaned back slightly, studying her. "You’ve been here twice now. Both tis—right after Val traveled."
She blinked, lips parting, but no answer ca.
I went on, voice low. "The last ti you were here was years ago, after the fight with Val. Suddenly, now that she’s in London, you find your way back."
She swallowed slowly. "Trent ntioned it while talking with Chad... and Chad told ."
Of course. A roundabout chain of whispers. Trent’s also friends with Chad, the jock Avery’s dating.
My jaw tightened. "Oh. Right."
I looked at her again, sharper this ti. "And does Chad know you’re here?"
She hesitated, her gaze flickering sideways before she shook her head. "I’m sure Celestia also has no idea I was here last ti."
I gave a humorless huff, turned back to my plate. But before I could lift another bite, her voice cut through again, soft but insistent.
The second it slipped out, she bit her lip—like even she realized she’d crossed a line.
"I’m not a bad person, Kai."
The fork hovered in my hand. I set it down slowly and looked at her. Her expression was fragile, but steady.
"I didn’t say you were," I replied.
"Then why won’t you talk to ?" she asked, her words breaking just a little around the edges.
I leaned back, my voice flattening. "I am talking."
The way she stilled—like I’d just taken the wind out of her—made the air shift. Her hands, which had been resting on the table, curled inward. Her lashes dipped low, and when she lifted them again, her eyes were glassy in the lamplight.
A pulse of guilt ran through , but I shoved it down. I had to be clear. I had to be firm.
I let out a slow breath. "I’m in love with Celestia, Avery. Nothing’s changing that. Ever."
Her lips parted, but no words ca.
I pressed on, my tone harder now, each word like nailing shut a door. "I won’t pretend I don’t know what you’re looking for. But hear now—the next ti you show up uninvited, I won’t let you in."
The silence that followed was heavier than anything I’d said.
She froze. Just sat there, still as stone, as if she hadn’t expected to draw the line so sharply. Her throat bobbed with a swallow. She blinked once, twice, and I knew—without wanting to admit it—that there was sothing she was holding back.
Finally, her voice ca out quiet. "...Can I at least be your friend?"
The words dug at . For a second, I looked away, toward the far corner of the room. A long pause stretched before I forced myself to et her eyes again.
"You already know the answer to that," I said.
It wasn’t harsh. Just final.
Her gaze dropped. She gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible, and turned back to her plate. She picked up her fork again, though she didn’t seem to taste a single bite.
The rest of the al passed in silence. Not a comfortable silence. Not even a neutral one. It was the kind that pressed in on you, made every scrape of a fork sound too loud.
I found myself glancing at her every so often. She kept her head down, pushing food around more than she ate it. She looked... smaller sohow. And every ti I caught myself watching, guilt pricked at .
But I couldn’t bend. Not here. Not on this. Val was too important. We were too important.
When dinner was finally over, she set her fork down with care. No scraping. No noise. Just quiet finality.
She stood, smoothing her hands against her skirt, and looked at once more. For a second, her lips parted like she might say sothing else—but she thought better of it.
Instead, she gave the smallest nod, grabbed her jacket and walked to the door.
I didn’t move to follow. Didn’t try to soften what I’d said. I just sat there, rigid in my chair, listening to the faint sound of her footsteps retreating down the hall.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding. My chest felt lighter, but my stomach twisted with sothing sour. Relief, guilt, and the faint sting of having been cruel, all tangled together.
---
I let out a long breath, sinking into the chair, my chest tight with the kind of tension Avery left in her wake.
But no. I wasn’t going to let this pull off course. Not tonight. Not when I’d just crossed one of the first real milestones of my life.
So instead of replaying her words or the look in her eyes, I pulled out my phone. My thumb dragged across the screen, one listing after another, opening before . Apartnts, townhouses, little starter hos tucked into corners of the city. Places I could see myself building sothing in a few years from now—not just for , but for Val, Justina and Kristen.
Their nas weren’t forgotten. They never would be.
The glow of the screen held long past midnight, my mind painting a thousand possibilities of what the future could look like if I worked hard enough, stayed steady enough, and never let myself slip.
Eventually, the weight of sleep pulled under, my phone slipping from my hand.
And as I drifted, it wasn’t Avery’s visit or her lingering words that wrapped around . It was the vision of that future I wanted—the life I was determined to give them—that beca my blanket tonight.
---
To be continued...
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