` ❀ 𝓨es, I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? "I only see him as a friend, " the biggest lie I ever said. Oh, yes, I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? I only see him as a friend, I just tripped and fell into his bed . ݁ ꒱

— 𝓜onths before the nationals, summer – 1996.

Jackie’s house party is loud, obnoxious, and full of people you swore you’d never want to see again.

But here you are.

Shauna’s here too, of course. She's always where you are. Or maybe you’re always where she is. It’s hard to tell anymore—especially when every time you see her, your stomach twists and your chest tightens like some cruel Pavlovian response to the girl who used to know how you tasted when you cried.

You’ve been dodging her all night. Ducking into the kitchen when she walks into the living room, pretending to laugh harder when you feel her eyes on you from across the crowd. It’s stupid. Juvenile. But it’s safer than saying the wrong thing.

Or the right thing.

Everyone knows you hate each other now. The whole team knows. Jackie’s heard your side, Shauna’s told hers, and somehow the story’s the same: heartbreak spun into venom, love rewritten as loathing.

But when you stumble into the upstairs bathroom to escape the noise—just for a second, just to breathe—and find her already inside, sitting on the edge of the tub like she was waiting for you?

You freeze. So does she.

– “I needed a break,” – she says first, voice flat, like she’s daring you to say something.

You scoff. – “Guess we’re still great at being in the same room.” –

– “Guess so..." – she mutters.

The silence is thick. You hear the bass thump through the floorboards, the muffled voices just beyond the door. It’s like the universe pressed pause on everything else.

– “I don’t hate you.” – you blurt.

Shauna blinks. – “What?” –

– “I mean—I say I do. I told Jackie I do. But I don’t. I just—” – You shake your head, fingers curling against the sink. – “I didn’t know how to stop missing you without pretending I was furious.” –

Shauna stands slowly. Walks over like she’s testing ice. Her voice drops, quieter than you’ve heard it in months. – “You think I don’t replay that night in my head over and over? You think I don’t try to rewrite it every time I close my eyes?” –

You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you. Maybe it was inevitable.

Her mouth crashes into yours like a confession and a dare all at once. Her hands are at your waist, your back hits the door, and you know anyone could walk in—but you don’t care. The music is louder now, but not louder than the sound of your breath hitching when she tugs your shirt up, not louder than the way you whimper her name against her lips.

You kiss her like it’s a secret you’ve been dying to tell. She kisses you like it’s the truth she’s tired of denying.

There’s no hate here.

Only heat. Regret. Want.

And the thrill of knowing that any second, Jackie or someone else might open the door and realize what everyone’s about to find out:

You never hated each other.

You just needed the right room, the right silence, the right excuse.

And this? This was all of it.