The street was quiet except for the sound of their shoes on pavement and the far-off thump of music from the house they’d just left behind. Johnny kicked a loose rock with the toe of his trainer, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie like he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

Which, lately, was more often than not.

She walked beside him, arms folded tight across her chest like she was holding herself together.

They hadn't spoken since they slipped out of the party.

Not since she saw him kissing someone else. Again.

Not since he caught her watching and looked away like it didn’t mean anything. Like she didn’t mean anything.

He could feel the tension rolling off her in waves. He thought maybe if he just kept walking, it would pass. But then she stopped.

Right there in the middle of the street. Right under the streetlight.

"Tell me that there’s nothing going on between us.”

Johnny froze.

Her voice didn’t tremble, but it cracked down the center like glass.

“Tell me that this thing—” she gestured between them, sharp and small “—the way I feel, that this is all in my fucking head.”

He blinked, mouth parting, but nothing came out.

“I mean it,” she said, and now her voice did tremble. “Say it, Johnny. And I'll go in there and laugh with all our friends and we can go home and never talk about this ever again.”

She took a shaky step toward him, eyes burning.

“Tell me if I’m fucking crazy.”

Johnny’s heart thudded once, hard and low.

Because he could lie. He could. He could smirk, make a joke, shrug it off the way he always did. He could walk her home like nothing had happened and keep pretending it didn’t hurt when she smiled at other lads, too.

But tonight, there was something in her eyes that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. And if he stepped wrong, she’d fall—and this thing they’d never had the courage to name would go with her.

He swallowed.

Then said—quietly, honestly, almost broken:

“You’re not crazy.”

She didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.

He stepped closer.

“You’re not crazy,” he repeated. “You’re just…braver than I am.”