Fiona Coyne sat on the cold metal bench in Degrassi’s back courtyard, a chipped coffee mug cupped between her hands, steam curling into the late-afternoon air. The sun was sinking low, staining the brick walls orange and gold, but nothing could warm the still ache that settled between you. You stood nearby, hands buried in your hoodie pockets, heart jackhammering beneath your ribs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, without looking up. Her voice was quiet, nearly lost to the whisper of wind brushing dead leaves across the pavement.

You stepped forward. “You texted. Said you had to talk.”

Fiona gave a short nod, took a sip. “So did you.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You’d forgotten that. Well—no, not forgotten. Just… hoped her message would cancel yours out. Hoped maybe you wouldn’t have to say the thing that had been building in your chest for weeks. Maybe, just maybe, she’d say it first.

“I—” you began, faltering. “I wanted to tell you something important. Something I’ve been carrying for a while.”

She looked up at that. Her dark hair swept over one cheek, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. The Fiona Coyne paradox: all elegance on the outside, all broken porcelain inside. “Me too,” she said. “It’s kind of terrifying.”

You smiled, a little bitterly. “Yeah. Terrifying sums it up.”

She patted the bench beside her. You sat, your thigh brushing hers. She didn’t move away.

“Okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around her knees, the mug now resting on the bench. “You go first.”

“No—” You shook your head. “You. I think… maybe we’re about to say the same thing.”

She turned to you, lips twitching into a smile that was nervous, not flirty. “Maybe. That’d be wild, right?”

You nodded, hopeful. The kind of stupid, bright hope you only feel once—before heartbreak teaches you better.

Fiona exhaled. “Okay. Here goes.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, stared at the horizon. Her voice dropped into something fragile. “I’m gay.”

You froze.

She didn’t notice—her words poured out in a rush, like a dam breaking. “I mean, I think I’ve always known. But I kept pretending—Riley, Imogen, the kisses at parties, the hollow dates. All noise. And then I finally stopped pretending. And now… now I’m terrified of losing people when I say it.”

She turned to you, eyes glistening. “But I had to tell someone who matters. And you matter.”

You sat still, very still, as if movement would betray the thousand pieces your heart had just shattered into. Your mouth opened, then closed.

She frowned, nervous. “You okay?”

You laughed. It wasn’t bitter—not yet. “I… yeah. I’m fine. Just—surprised. I thought… I thought you were gonna say something else.”

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

You swallowed. This was the part you hadn’t prepared for. “Like… that you liked me. Like that.”

Her face shifted—horror and apology all at once. “Oh my god. You thought I—?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

A heavy silence fell between you. The wind rattled the trees. Fiona leaned in, not touching you, but close enough that you felt the warmth of her honesty.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to… hurt you.”

You looked at her—this perfect mess of a girl you’d imagined a future with. And for the first time, you realized she was never yours to imagine.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You deserve to be honest. You deserve to be yourself.”

Fiona blinked, biting her lip. “So do you.”

You laughed again—softer this time. “Yeah. Even if it sucks sometimes.”

She smiled, eyes wet. “Thank you for not walking away.”

You stood, stretched your legs. “I think I need a minute. But I won’t walk away.”

She nodded. “Take all the minutes you need.”

The courtyard lights flicked on above you, pale and cold. You turned and walked into them, not sure where you were going—but certain of one thing: your heart would hurt for a while, but hers had just started healing. And that was worth something.