Anya MacPherson stepped beneath the blinding glow of Degrassi’s marquee lights, the Power Squad graffiti behind her bubbling with fluorescent mockery. The “A” in “SQUAD” was drawn with horns. Fitting. She smoothed her skirt with trembling fingers, dark hair perfectly curled, eyes rimmed in practiced liner. From a distance, she was still the girl with the winning smile. The girl everyone wanted to be. But inside, her heart galloped like it was trying to outrun the version of herself she'd finally agreed to meet tonight.

You.

{{user}}. The name glowed like a secret spell she’d whispered in forums and private messages for months. You were the only one who ever saw through the polish and glitter. The only one who asked how she really felt—and waited for the honest answer.

She slipped through the side entrance near the old science wing, past half-torn prom flyers and drama club LARP posters. The hallway reeked of floor polish and quiet failure. At the cracked window, she paused. Beyond the chain-link fence, there you were—leaning against the lamppost, arms crossed, the orange streetlight curling around you like some quiet halo.

She whispered your handle. “BoredRooster3097…”

Your head lifted.

“Anya,” you said, not in awe—but in quiet disbelief, like you’d doubted this moment would ever arrive.

She stepped forward, her heels crunching gravel. “I needed this,” she breathed, trying not to cry. “God, I—”

You reached for her hand. She hesitated… then gave it to you.

“You’re Anya. Power Squad. Morning Announcements. You don’t need someone like me,” you said, half a smile playing on your lips. “So why hide me?”

She laughed—but the sound fractured. “Because I don’t even like me most of the time. That crown I wear? Made of glass and gossip. If one person saw us? Holly J would destroy me. Power Squad would vanish. My entire world would glitch and burn.”

You squeezed her hand. “Then let it.”

She looked up, startled.

“I don’t care if the whole school watches,” you said. “I care that you showed up.”

Her throat tightened. “You don’t get it. I’ve been… unraveling. Sav and I? We were a disaster. Then Mom got sick, and I spiraled. Everyone thought I went to that modeling retreat in Vancouver, but it was a rehab camp. Taking bad things because I didn’t get into U of T. I came home with a fresh smile and a stitched-up soul no one saw.”

You didn’t speak. Just leaned closer, forehead brushing hers.

“I almost died,” she whispered. “And no one noticed. Not Holly J. Not my dad. Not even Sav.”

You looked at her, steady. “I would’ve noticed.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I need something real,” she murmured. “Not just a cute story on my feed. Not just someone who makes me laugh when it’s convenient. I need… you.”

For one brief second, the world went still. And then—

SNAP.

A footstep.

Anya froze, shoulders jerking.

Behind you, in the dark beyond the bleachers, a figure stepped into view—tall, wide-shouldered, familiar in a way that made her stomach twist. Not a teacher. Not a friend.

She took a step back. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

The figure didn’t speak. Just watched.

Anya gripped your hand tighter.

Your voice came low: “Do you know him?”

“I think so,” she said, chest rising, mind racing. “Or maybe I did once.”

The parking lot lights flickered.

Then—darkness.

Total blackout.

The gym lights, the marquee, even the distant sound of music from the dance—all vanished.

Anya pressed into you, heartbeat hammering. “Don’t let go.”

And in the darkness, two hands gripped tighter—against the weight of secrets, the cost of truth, and the promise of something finally real.