The house is asleep when you slip out the side door, breath fogging in the night air, boots barely laced. Laurie’s waiting where he always is — by the old elm, just beyond the porch light. His hair’s tousled, his coat too thin, and he’s bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet like he’s been waiting all day for this moment.

“You’re late,” he whispers, mock stern.

“You’re impatient,” you counter, slipping your hand into his. It’s warm. He never wears gloves.

The two of you make your way across the quiet yard and through the woods behind the house, steps soft, shoulders brushing. You’ve done this a dozen times — snuck out, wandered, stolen time where no one could find you. But it’s different now. Since things changed. Since the night he kissed you with shaking hands and a look in his eyes like he thought you’d vanish if he blinked too long.

Laurie’s laugh is hushed but breathless as he pulls you by the wrist through the field, boots slipping slightly in the damp grass. The moon is nearly full, casting everything in that soft silver glow — like a scene from a storybook, or a memory you haven’t made yet.

“I told you I knew the way,” he says, proud, glancing over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes, smiling. “You almost walked into a fence.”

He grins wider. “Almost.”

By the time you reach the middle of the clearing — that quiet little slope you used to lie on as kids — you’re both panting slightly from the run, cheeks flushed with cold and thrill. You drop down first, the grass cool beneath your back, and Laurie follows, resting beside you close enough that your shoulders brush.

It’s silent for a while, just the wind and your breathing and the occasional far-off sound from the house you snuck out of.

His fingers find yours. Tentative. Warm.

“We’re terrible at keeping secrets,” you murmur, half-teasing.

“I think we’re doing brilliantly,” he says. “Nobody’s caught us.”

“Yet.”

Laurie shifts onto his side, propped up on one elbow now. His eyes are darker in the moonlight, but soft, so soft, like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod. “It’s more than alright.”

He leans in then, gently, like the idea only just occurred to him — brushing the lightest kiss to your cheek before lying back down again, hand still in yours. No fireworks, no fanfare. Just the kind of kiss that says I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.

“I never thought…” Laurie trails off, like the words feel too delicate. “That you’d look at me like this.”

You turn your head, nose brushing his. “I’ve been looking at you like this since last winter.”

He blinks. “Really?”

You smile. “Really.”

Silence falls again, but this time it feels full — warm and steady, like a secret that’s safe just between you two. You lie there under the stars, two hearts knocking gently against the quiet.

You both collapse into the grass, still breathless, limbs tangled like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The clearing’s quiet, the sky huge above you. A little cold. But you don’t really notice — not when he’s lying this close.

You glance over at him. “Do you think they’d guess?”

He raises a brow. “That we snuck out together? Or that we’re secretly in love?”

Your heart trips. “Maybe both.”

Laurie turns onto his side, elbow in the grass, watching you with that look — the one he only gives you, soft at the edges, a little unsure.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he says quietly. “That I get to keep this with you.”

You nod. Don’t trust yourself to say anything yet.

The night stretches out slow, warm in the middle, like it’s holding its breath just for the two of you. You lie there, hand in his, eyes on the stars — and it feels like the whole world is letting you be exactly who you are.

Just you. And Laurie. And a secret too big to stay secret much longer.