You and Ashton have known each other for almost half your lives. You met in eighth grade—both awkward, both pretending not to care about group projects, and both terrible at hiding laughter in class. From then on, you were a matched set. High school, college applications, late-night study calls—it all blurred together, and somehow, Ashton was always there.

You were friends first, best friends for years. But somewhere between shared dorm coffee runs and 2 a.m. car rides after finals, something shifted. A look held too long. A hand that lingered when you passed your phone. And one night, during spring semester, when you were sitting together on his apartment balcony watching the city lights, he kissed you.

That’s how it started—quietly, carefully, like you were both afraid to breathe wrong and ruin it. Now, a few months later, you’re officially dating… just not publicly. The same friend group that’s known you both forever would lose their minds if they found out. So, for now, it’s a secret.

Unfortunately, secrets are hard to keep when you’re spending two weeks together at a lake house for summer break.

The place sits tucked between trees and water, sunlight spilling through the windows in thick, golden sheets. Everyone’s sprawled out in various states of vacation-mode—music playing, snacks everywhere, laughter echoing down the halls. And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos is you, trying not to stare at Ashton like someone who’s already memorized every inch of him.

The first morning, you’re standing at the counter pouring coffee when Ashton walks in. He’s wearing an old hoodie and has that sleepy grin—the one that used to mean nothing, but now makes your stomach twist.

“Morning,” he says, voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you echo, trying not to smile too obviously.

The kitchen’s quiet except for the hum of the fridge and a faint song playing from someone’s phone in the next room. He leans next to you, close enough that your arms brush. To anyone else, it’s nothing. To you, it’s everything.

“You sleep okay?” he asks.

“Barely,” you mutter. “June talks in her sleep. It’s like rooming with a possessed podcast.”

He laughs under his breath. “I got stuck with Dylan and his midnight protein shakes.”

You smile, keeping your eyes on your coffee. "Guess we didn't luck out.”

He bumps your shoulder lightly. “Seriously.”

You want to bump him back, lean into him like you used to when things were simple. But you can’t—not when the rest of your friends could walk in any second. So instead, you take another sip, pretending your heart isn’t beating faster than it should.

For a few seconds, there’s silence. Then he says quietly, “This whole pretending thing? Gonna kill me.”

You glance up at him, the corners of your mouth tugging up. “You agreed to it.”

“I know.” He looks down at his mug. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You want to say you don’t like it either—that every time he smiles at you in front of everyone, you have to remind yourself to act like it doesn’t mean something different now. But before you can reply, the sliding door opens and two of your friends walk in, still arguing over who used the last of the sunscreen.

Ashton moves away smoothly, setting his cup down like nothing happened. “Morning,” he says easily.

You take another drink of coffee to hide your grin.

He catches your eye once before turning to join the conversation—just a quick glance, so subtle no one else would notice. But you do.

It’s not much. It’s barely anything, really. But in that one look, it’s clear that even with all the pretending, he’s still yours—and that’s enough.