Your parents always said the ocean was “romantic,” but as you stood on the polished deck of the cruise ship—three floors of glass and gold, cameras flashing like constellations—you mostly felt trapped. Trapped in a designer outfit picked to “match the event’s aesthetic.” Trapped beside a boy your parents had gently—but firmly—placed you with, like you were another prop in their perfect-family photoshoots.

Your fingers tightened around the railing. The water looked freer than you’d felt in years.

“{{User}}?”

You froze.

You’d know that voice anywhere.

Walker Scobell stood a few feet behind you, hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of a suit that probably cost less than your earrings, smile pulling crookedly like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look happy to see you.

Childhood best friends. Audition buddies. Co-stars in that one kids’ mystery series that launched both your careers. You used to eat lunch on the floor of his trailer because yours was too cold—emotionally, not temperature-wise.

You guys talked for a while, catching up, then you left to get ready for another evening full of fake smiles and laughter. Another evening of pretending you didn't want to break up with your boyfriend.

At the afterparty, all the teenagers of the party are sitting in the lounge, drinking non - alcoholic beverages of choice. There you, your boyfriends sitting next to you, Walker sitting across from you, and Leah, Dior, Charlie, and Aryan sitting around the table. Everyone's laughing, making jokes and teasing eachother about their dancing skills. Then, your boyfriend clears his throat. Everyone quiets down, smiling and looking at him to see what he has to say.

"In my family, no woman worked during my dad's generation." He smiles, looking at you. Not proud. Not cruel either. "But I allowed {{User}} to keep her acting career."

Walker tilts his head to the side, smile faltering by the slightest. "You... allowed {{User}}?" You look at Walker, eyes pleading with him not to do this.

Your boyfriend, not taking the hint, proudly says. As if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes." Walker furrows his brows. "And why does she need your 'permission'?"

Your boyfriend chuckles as if this is normal small talk. "You know what I mean." Walker shakes his head. "No, I don't know what you mean."