The air in school felt different.
It wasn't anything anyone said. No looks. No words. Just a lingering awareness—like the city itself had caught wind of something unspoken and was waiting to see if it would combust.
Simon walked the crowded hallway in a daze, his earbuds in, the music turned low. It wasn't enough to drown out the static in his head. Every time he saw Elena across the quad, sitting on the lawn with her cheer team, or laughing by the vending machine with Eddie, it made his stomach twist.
She was so good at acting normal.
Too good.
He wasn't.
That afternoon, they crossed paths outside the science wing. She was walking one way. He, the other. No one else was around.
For a split second, she looked at him—just a glance. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something. Then she walked past him like he was invisible.
The restraint was brutal. But necessary.
They had promised—no contact at school.
But it didn't make it easier.
Especially not when Eddie showed up later during lunch and smacked Simon on the back like they were still boys.
"You coming to the game Friday?" Eddie asked, mouth full of fries.
Simon barely managed a nod. "Yeah."
"Cool. We're gonna wreck those guys. Elena's organizing some crazy halftime thing too—cheer pyramid with flips and everything."
Simon tried to smile. "Sounds fun."
Fun.
That wasn't the word for what he felt anymore.
By the time he got home that evening, the apartment was empty. Elena's bedroom door was open, the lights off. Her cheer uniform was draped over the back of her desk chair.
He closed her door quietly, trying not to breathe it in—the scent of her perfume hanging in the air like a dare.
She came home late.
Hair wind-blown, cheeks flushed from laughter. She tossed her bag on the couch, kicked her shoes off, and greeted him in the kitchen like nothing burned between them.
"Practice was insane. Coach is pushing hard for the championship this year."
Simon stirred his hot chocolate. "You look tired."
She shrugged, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. "You should see my bruises."
He looked up, pulse spiking. "Where?"
She lifted the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a faint purple mark on her side.
Simon stared a little too long.
She caught it.
Something shifted in her eyes.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"No," he admitted. "I hate pretending we're nothing."
Elena's lips parted. "Simon…"
"I don't need us to label this. I just need to know it's real for you too."
She took a step forward. Then another.
"Everything about you is too real," she said. "And I don't know how to carry it anymore."
He moved around the counter slowly, until they were face to face in the quiet kitchen.
"Then let me help," he said.
Her breath hitched. "If we keep this going…"
"I know."
"We won't be able to hide it forever."
"I'm not asking you to hide."
That caught her off guard.
"You'd be okay if people found out?"
"No," he said. "But I'd be okay if it meant I didn't have to lose you."
For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock.
Then she whispered, "Kiss me."
And he did.
Not hurried. Not desperate. But deep—like he wanted to memorize the shape of her.
They didn't sleep together.
Not yet.
Instead, they lay in his bed that night, tangled up in each other's arms, fully clothed but skin burning everywhere they touched. Her head on his chest. His fingers tracing the line of her arm. The window open, letting in the sound of distant sirens.
It felt like the kind of peace you know won't last—but take anyway.
Around 3 AM, Elena whispered into the dark:
"I had a dream we told Mom."
Simon went still. "What happened?"
"She cried."
He exhaled slowly. "Of course she did."
"Not because she was angry," Elena said. "Because she was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of what we'd become."
Simon pulled her closer. "We're not broken, Elena."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't pull away either.