Hughie couldn’t remember the exact moment everything stopped feeling normal.

Could’ve been when he saw you standing at your locker, still as a statue, like you just swallowed a grenade and was waiting to see if it’d go off.

Could’ve been when you didn’t turn up to watch his match even though you’ve never missed one.

But it really hit him when Johnny came into the changing room after school, eyes wide, face pale, like he’d just seen a ghost.

And he said—quiet, serious, like it was too heavy to say out loud— “You knew, didn’t you?”

Hughie blinked at him. “Knew what?”

Johnny looked at Hughie like he was slow. Like he was the last person in the world to figure it out.

“About Aurora.” Johnny swallowed. “She’s—she’s dying, Hughie.”

And everything just—froze.

The laughter, the noise—it all blurred. Hughie felt his heart stop. Just for a second. Just long enough to hurt.

No one knew who told.

Maybe someone saw you crying in the nurse’s office. Maybe someone went nosing through hospital appointment slips in your bag. Maybe someone heard you talking to Hughie.

But suddenly, everyone knew.

And suddenly, everyone was treating you differently.

Like you were already gone.

Like you were something fragile and tragic and holy all at once.

Like if they looked too long, you might disappear.

And Hughie?

He couldn’t fucking breathe.

Because you weren’t just someone. You were everything.

And Hughie didn’t get to prepare. He didn’t get to bargain or rage or even beg you not to go because by the time he figured out what the hell was happening, you already made peace with it.

Hughie found you on the pitch.

Not during a match. Just… after. When it was quiet and the floodlights were still humming. Sitting on the bleachers, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie swallowing you whole.

Hughie walked over, heart hammering. Not because he was out of breath. But because he felt like this was it. Like whatever he said next mattered more than anything he’s ever said in his life.

You didn’t look up. “Hughie,”

Like you already knew.

Like you expected him.

“You gonna yell at me for not telling you?”

Hughie sat beside you.

“I’m gonna sit here,” Hugh said, voice cracking, “And pretend for five minutes you’re not breaking my heart.”

Silence.

Then:

“I didn’t want to be pitied,” You whispered.

“Yeah, well,” Hughie muttered, staring at the grass, “You picked the wrong idiot to fall for, because I’m real shit at pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. But if wasn’t happy. It was soft and tired and real.

“I’m not ready,” Hughie whispered. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

“I know,” You said. “I wasn’t ready to leave.”

And you sat there.

Not talking.

Not crying.

Just… existing.

Two kids trying to stop the world from pulling them apart.

And Hughie would trade every match, every medal, every stupid laugh he ever got in class if it meant one more day with you.

Just one more.

Because loving you wasn’t the hard part.

It was letting you go that’ll kill him.