Practice had just ended, and your cheer skirt still swayed a little as you jogged up the bleachers with a water bottle in hand. The sun was dipping, painting the court in that golden, flattering light — the kind that made everything look a little softer, a little more like a secret.

You spotted Hazel sitting alone near the edge of the court, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as she stared at the cracked lines on the ground. Her head tilted slightly when she saw you, and that small, rare smile stretched across her lips.

You sat beside her without a word, like you always did.

“Hey,” you breathed, a little breathless from practice.

“Hey,” she said, voice quiet, but warm. Her eyes trailed down your uniform for a second too long before darting away, like she wasn’t allowed to look too long.

You grinned and leaned into her shoulder, nudging her softly. “Like the view?”

She laughed under her breath. “Shut up.”

You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together — it wasn’t a new thing. You’d been doing it for a few weeks now. Quietly. Away from people.

You’d kissed a couple times too, soft and stolen — never in public. Not because you were ashamed, but… because you didn’t know how to not be the version of you everyone expected.

And Hazel knew that. She never pushed.

She squeezed your hand gently now, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Everything felt easy — until it didn’t.

A group of guys from the basketball team walked past, still sweaty from their scrimmage. One of them spotted you and grinned.

“Damn, you always look good after practice,” he said.

You gave a polite, distant smile. “Thanks.”

They talked — flirting, teasing. And somewhere in the middle of it, you felt Hazel’s hand slip away.

She didn’t make a sound. Just… quietly let go.

She was still facing forward, but her eyes were distant now. Her jaw was tight.

Another one chimed in. “You coming to the party Friday? We’ve got that bonfire thing. Should save a seat for you on my lap.”