The water shimmered under the porch lights, soft waves lapping at the pool's edge. It was close to midnight, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the dark, and they were the only ones still awake — her family long gone to bed, trusting Gibsie like he was one of their own.

They’d been floating lazily for the past hour, flicking water at each other, trading stories and teasing smiles. Her laugh still echoed in his chest, warm and light like the night air.

Gibsie pushed his wet hair back, watching as she swam toward him, her shoulders slicing clean through the water, moonlight dancing along her skin. She stopped just in front of him, arms resting lightly on his shoulders, breath mingling with his.

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” she whispered, amused, but her voice was soft. Curious.

His hands found the edge behind him, gripping it like it would ground him, but it didn’t. Nothing could.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice low and bare, without any of his usual jokes to hide behind.

She didn’t hesitate.

She moved forward, fingers slipping into his damp hair, and kissed him.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything they’d been tiptoeing around since they were seven — fierce and aching and full of everything they hadn’t said.

Gibsie made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, shock and want tangling together, before he kissed her back like he was drowning and she was the only thing keeping him above water.

The pool rippled out around them. The night held its breath.

And for a moment, it was just them — hearts pounding, mouths pressed together, the line between friendship and something else entirely disappearing under the stars.