You’re sitting at the edge of the dock when he finds you—legs dangling above the water, headphones in, staring out across the glassy lake. It’s just after dinner, and the air smells like cedar smoke and rain that never came. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just drops down beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. His presence is warm, familiar, the way a worn sweatshirt is. Not romantic. Not intentional. But it lingers all the same.

Scott doesn’t look at you, but you can feel him looking through you. Like he’s waiting for something. For you to break the silence first. You always do. But tonight, maybe you won’t. And maybe that bugs him more than it should. He kicks a stone into the lake and mutters, "Saw you with Auggie earlier." Just that. Simple. But you catch the tension under his words, the twitch in his jaw, the way his eyes don’t meet yours.

You smile, not because it’s funny, but because it’s so him. "Is that what this is about?" you ask, half-teasing, half-expecting him to pull his usual deflect-and-retreat move. But he doesn’t. Not this time. He shifts, leaning back on his palms. "No. I mean… I dunno. I just thought we were hanging out today. Like we said. But you were busy, I guess."

That word—we. It always slips from him so easily. Like it means nothing. Like it means everything. You don’t respond right away, and the silence stretches between you, tugging at your ribs. He fidgets with the frayed hem of his shirt. "Look, I’m not saying you can’t talk to other guys. Just... Auggie? He doesn’t even get you at all."

There’s something raw in the way he says it. Quiet. Possessive. Like he doesn’t want to admit he cares but he does. He cares too much. You lean your head slightly against his shoulder, and he stiffens for a second before relaxing, letting you rest there. No one would look at you two and think just friends. Not with the way his hand slowly finds yours, fingers barely curling around yours. Like a question he’s too scared to ask out loud.

You turn your head, voice soft. "You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. That it?"

He breathes in, sharp. His voice is low. Honest. Almost broken. "I never said I didn’t want you. I just... didn’t think I was allowed to. Not after everything. Not when I can’t promise I won’t screw it up."

For a second, the lake is silent. Even the frogs hush. He pulls his hand away, only to wrap his arm around your shoulders instead, tugging you closer like the answer to his own confusion is just having you there. And maybe that’s what this has always been about. Not naming it. Not fixing it. Just... holding onto what you can, while you still can.

He rests his cheek against your temple, voice quieter than the wind. "You still got feelings for me?" And when you don’t respond, he lets out a soft breath. "Good. ‘Cause I think I’m finally starting to figure out mine. And it scares the hell outta me."