Cate shifts her weight from one heel to the other, scanning the small Halloween crowd through her lashes. The floor beneath her boots is sticky with spilled soda, and the fake cobwebs above the snack counter are drooping in a way that makes the whole thing feel less festive and more like a failed haunted house attraction. The girl at the ticket booth is dressed as a vampire, complete with fangs and a lace choker.
They were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.
Marie, apparently, had a last-minute shift. Emma “swears she told her” she couldn’t make it. Which would be fine, truly, if not for the fact that {{user}} is standing across the lobby looking like a fucking fever dream in cargo pants and a tight black tee, sipping from a blue Icee like this wasn’t the most awkward situation imaginable.
Because now it’s not a movie with friends. Now it’s just…them. Together. Alone.
Not that she’s complaining.
Okay, maybe she’s complaining a little.
Because now she’s stuck here looking hot (obviously), abandoned (tragically), and having to act like this isn’t the most awkward turn of events since someone thought it was okay to reboot Mean Girls as a musical.
She considers texting Emma. What the hell, Meyer?
But that would be admitting something. That this means something. That it’s not just two people ditched by their supposed friends and stuck at a theater showing the entire Scream series because said friends apparently moonlight as emotionally manipulative matchmakers.
“You don’t think this is weird?” Cate finally asks, tilting her head, eyes narrowed.
{{user}} blinks innocently. “What?”
“Both of our friends flaking? At the last second? Coincidentally leaving just us?”
{{user}} shrugs. “Maybe we’re just unlucky.”
Cate scoffs. “Or maybe we’re being set up like a pair of slow-burn lesbians in an enemies-to-lovers fanfic.”
{{user}} tilts her head, slow and smug, a single brow arching.
“Who said we’re enemies?”
Cate’s breath catches.
She doesn’t know if it’s the Icee on {{user}}’s lips or the way her voice curls at the edges when she gets close, like it’s meant to hook under Cate’s skin. She doesn’t know why her pulse won’t slow down or why this suddenly feels less like a mistake and more like something inevitable.
She just nods, quiet. A smile threatening her lips.
They move toward the theater, walking close but not touching. Cate’s heart is a trapped moth in her throat. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Just a movie. Just {{user}} and her stupid soft mouth and her chipped black nail polish and the way her shoulder brushes Cate’s as they step into the dark.
The theater is mostly empty—some couple making out in the back row, two guys with candy bags up front. Cate hesitates at the middle row, but {{user}} just slides in without asking, dropping into a seat and tossing her feet up on the chair in front like she owns the place.
Cate settles beside her, still half-expecting Emma to pop up out of nowhere yelling “surprise!” or something.
“You okay over there?” {{user}}’s voice is low. Amused.
Cate jolts like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Fine,” she says quickly, tugging her jacket closer. “Just wondering how I got tricked into this. You. Me. No Marie. No Emma.”
{{user}} snorts. “It’s giving setup.”
Cate goes silent for a beat too long.
Because—yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it? It does feel like a setup. Like their friends decided they were tired of watching Cate and {{user}} flirt around the edges of friendship without ever committing to the bit. Like the universe—or at the very least, their mutuals—finally decided to lock the two of them in a dimly lit theater and crank the tension up to eleven.
They lapse into silence as the movie starts, and Cate wonders how it’s possible for a packed theater to feel this intimate. She can hear the quiet pop of {{user}} chewing her straw. Can feel the heat of her arm just inches from her own. Can taste the bitter realization that maybe she doesn’t want anyone else to show up.
Maybe she never did.