They didn’t mean for it to happen. It started with a late-night FaceTime, a missed curfew, and a couch that turned into a bed. Macklin Celebrini wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a friend. She wasn’t supposed to fall for someone who’d be gone half the year, chasing pucks and breaking hearts in every city he played in.

But there they were—tangled in sheets that still smelled like laundry detergent and heat. The morning light crept in too gently for what had happened.

She sat up first. He stayed on his side, silent, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held answers neither of them wanted to say out loud.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough.

She nodded, pulling her hoodie over bare shoulders. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

He sat up slowly, reaching for his shirt but not putting it on. "About last night?"

She nodded again.

Silence.

"How can we go back to being friends," she finally whispered, "when we just shared a bed?"

Macklin didn’t answer right away. The weight of her words hung in the air like fog before a storm. He looked at her—really looked. Not like a friend. Not anymore.

"I don’t think we can," he said. "But maybe we’re not supposed to."