“Blue Light”

It was Kevin’s idea to sneak in.

The community pool had closed hours ago, but he knew a spot in the back fence where the latch was always loose. You hesitated when he lifted it open, glancing over your shoulder.

“Nobody’s here,” he whispered. “I promise. Just trust me.”

So you followed him through.

The air was warm with that leftover summer heat that sticks to your skin like humidity and memory. You didn’t swim. Neither of you had brought suits. But Kevin just kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge, dipping his legs in the water.

You sat beside him.

The pool lights were still on—dim, soft blue glowing from beneath the surface. The water was still and glassy, barely rippling from your feet.

Everything felt quiet.

No yelling. No questions. No parents slamming doors. No fake smiles at school. Just the hum of the filter, the scent of chlorine, and Kevin beside you, humming under his breath.

“I used to come here all the time when I was a kid,” he said, voice low, like even his words didn’t want to break the stillness. “Before things got heavy.”

You didn’t ask what “heavy” meant.

He didn’t ask why your hoodie sleeves were damp or why your eyes looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

That was your thing with Kevin—he didn’t push. He just showed up.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your legs swaying lazily in the water.

“I don’t feel real most days,” you admitted, voice almost too soft to hear. “I feel like I’m… watching myself from far away.”

Kevin didn’t say, It’s okay. He didn’t say, Don’t feel like that.

He just nodded.

Then reached into his pocket and pulled out two gas station ring pops.

“Here,” he said. “Candy for the ghost girl.”

You almost laughed.

Almost.

You took the blue raspberry one and popped it in your mouth.

Sticky. Sweet. Messy. And somehow… real.

You stayed like that for a long time. Talking about nothing and everything. You told him your favorite song as a kid. He told you about the time he broke his front tooth trying to impress a girl in third grade. You laughed. Like, really laughed. The sound echoed off the concrete and into the empty sky.

At some point, Kevin stood and pulled off his hoodie, then waded waist-deep into the water, fully clothed.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He turned, water reflecting against his shirt, and grinned. “Washing the weight off.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But it helps.”

You didn’t join him, but you did watch. Something about the way the water held him—the way it shimmered over his shoulders and made the night feel endless—made your chest ache in a good way.

When he climbed out, soaked and smiling, he didn’t try to hug you. He just sat beside you again, water dripping onto the pavement.

“You’re not alone, you know,” he said softly.

You nodded, eyes on the ripples.

For once, you believed him.