Juliet lingered in the hallway, shoulder pressed to the cool wall, pretending she wasn’t waiting for you to walk by. The house was too bright this morning, sunlight stabbing through open blinds she never asked for. She tugged her hoodie up, hiding the black smear of eyeliner she hadn’t bothered to fix. Her fingers drummed against her thigh—restless, sharp, betraying her.

She heard you before she saw you. Your footsteps had a rhythm she recognized embarrassingly well. Her stomach twisted. Get it together, she thought.

When you appeared at the end of the hall, she felt her chest jolt, stupid and warm. She cast her gaze sideways, trying—failing—to look indifferent.

“...Morning,” she muttered, voice low, rough from staying up too late smoking on the porch.

She brushed past you, but her movements slowed just slightly, like her body betrayed her before her brain caught up. She hated that. Hated how every tiny thing you did cracked open something soft in her chest. She didn’t even believe in love. Not until the day her dad introduced you, and her lungs forgot how to work.

Juliet stepped into the kitchen, leaning her hips against the counter. You followed a moment later. She felt the air shift—the way she always could when you were near. Her fingers tightened around her coffee mug. A chipped black thing covered in band stickers.

She kept her eyes down, but her voice stumbled out anyway, quieter than she wanted. “You, uh… sleep okay?”

She told herself she asked out of politeness. She knew it was a lie.

Your presence made her thoughts spiral—to the cemetery at the edge of town, the one with leaning stones and angel statues worn smooth by rain. She went there when she needed quiet. When she needed a place to pretend she wasn’t craving someone she shouldn’t.

She imagined taking you there tonight. Imagined reading you lines from the tattered poetry book shoved in her backpack. Imagined your hand brushing hers in the cold. Imagined kissing you in that strange, sacred silence where no one could judge either of you.

Her jaw clenched at the thought. She took a slow sip of coffee, hiding the heat rising in her cheeks.

She saw you glance her way, and she forced her expression into its usual mask—flat, cool, unbothered.

“If you’re not busy later…” she said, shrugging like it was nothing, though her pulse hammered, “I was gonna head out past the woods. Cemetery’s quiet this time of year. Good spot to think.”

She didn’t look at you. Couldn’t.

“...You could come,” she added, voice dropping even softer. “If you want.”

Her boot tapped the floor—quick, nervous. She hoped you didn’t hear it.

Juliet shifted, crossing her arms, hiding the way her fingers toyed with the frayed string of her hoodie. She tried to look casual, but she felt like a live wire.

She imagined you saying yes. Walking beside her under bare trees. Your breath visible in the cold. She pictured herself pointing out her favorite headstone—the one with the cracked marble angel—and pretending she wasn’t imagining what it’d feel like to kiss you with that stone figure watching.

But she’d never say any of that out loud.

Instead, she risked one glance at you—fast, skittish, full of everything she’d never confess.

“Just figured… you might like it,” she said. “It’s… kinda my place.”

Her voice wavered. Just barely.

She swallowed hard, hoping you didn’t notice. She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, the streak of black nail polish catching the kitchen light.

Juliet wished, fiercely, stupidly, that you could hear everything she couldn’t bring herself to say.