they hop the fence behind shauna’s house around midnight, laughing too loudly for how quiet everything else is. the field’s damp with spring air, and the grass is just long enough to brush against their ankles. lottie leads the way, barefoot, flashlight swinging lazily from her hand. shauna mutters something about ticks. you just tell her to live a little.

they lay out a blanket in the middle of the field, nowhere special except it’s just them and the stars. lottie lies back first, arms tucked behind her head. you drop infront of her with a sigh, head on lotties lap, already pulling a hoodie over your face. shauna sits last, pulling your legs onto her lap, scanning the sky like it might have something to say.

“that one’s orion,” shauna says eventually, pointing up. “you just made that up,” you mumbles from under your hood. “she’s right,” lottie says, quiet. “it is.”

no one talks much after that. they pass around a bag of pretzels someone shoved in a backpack earlier. lottie hums softly, the tune unrecognizable but peaceful. shauna lies back, finally, eyes on the stars. your foot nudges her stomach without looking.

and for a little while, the whole world feels far away.