The night air hit them like a cold slap as they stepped out the back door, cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat from the party. The bass thumped faint behind the walls, muffled laughs spilling out every time someone opened the door. Alex pulled his hoodie zipper up, hands in pockets, walking slow down the cracked sidewalk. Mia fell in beside him, her arm brushing his once or twice, like accidents.
Campus was quiet this late, just streetlights buzzing and the occasional car rumbling past. Puddles from earlier rain reflected the moon, broken every time they stepped through one. Neither said shit for the first few blocks.
Finally, Mia broke it. "So... Lena. She was your girl?"
Alex nodded once, eyes on the ground. "Yeah. Two years."
"What was she like?"
He exhaled slow, breath fogging. "Funny. Real. Didn't take shit from nobody, but soft when it mattered. Laughed at my dumb jokes. Made me think I could be better than the streets."
Mia listened quiet, no interrupting.
They hit the quad, empty benches and dark trees. Alex stopped by one, leaned against it instead of sitting. Mia stood, close, hands in her jacket.
"How long ago?"
"Eight months." His voice rough, like it scraped his throat. "I was running with the wrong crew. Rivals rolled up, sprayed the car. I ducked. She didn't."
Mia nodded slow. "That's heavy as fuck."
"Yeah." He barked a short, bitter laugh. "Court said college or jail. Therapy too. Like talking fixes bullets."
She stepped closer, till he could smell her shampoo over the party booze. "You blame yourself."
"Damn right I do."
"Alex..." Her hand found his arm, grip light but firm. "Shit happens in the streets. You didn't pull the trigger."
"Didn't stop it either." He looked at her finally, eyes dark and tired. "Why you digging like this? Most people hear 'dead girlfriend' and run."
"Because I get it." She shrugged, looking away toward the dorm lights. "My dad. Drunk driver. I was twelve. Mom says it was an accident, but I still wake up pissed at the world some days."
He studied her face, the usual smirk gone, just raw for once.
"That's different," he muttered.
"Is it? Pain's pain." She turned back, eyes locking his. "You walk around like you're poison. But you're not. You're just... hurt."
Alex pushed off the bench, started walking away again. She kept up easy.
They ended up by the rink, dark and locked, glass doors reflecting them side by side. He stopped, staring at his blurry image.
"On the ice... it's the only time it shuts up. The noise in my head."
Mia leaned next to him, shoulder against the door. "I saw. You play like you're fighting demons."
"Maybe I am."
Silence stretched, comfortable for once.
The she said quiet, "You don't have to fight alone, you know."
He glanced sideways. "You offering?"
"Maybe." Her smirk flickered back, small. "Or maybe I just like pushing your buttons till you crack."
Alex huffed a real laugh this time, short but genuine. First one in forever.
She reached up again, fingers brushing the scar. "This from the same night?"
"Nah. Older. Knife fight when I was sixteen. Stupid shit."
"Adds character." Her touch lingered, thumb tracing the line slow.
Heat sparked low in his gut, mixing with the cold air. He didn't move away.
"Mia..."
"Yeah?"
He leaned in slow, like testing water. She met him halfway. Lips brushed soft at first, testing. Then harder, her hands fisting his hoodie, pulling him close. His arms went around her waist automatic, backing her against the rink door gentle.
Kiss turned hungry fast. Months of nothing, now this—warm and real and alive. Her body pressed to his, curves soft under her jacket. He tasted beer and mint on her tongue, felt her breath hitch when his hand slid up her back.
They broke apart breathing hard, foreheads touching.
"Shit," he muttered.
"Good shit or bad shit?" she asked, voice husky.
He kissed her again, quick and firm. "Good."
She smiled against his mouth. "Walk me to my dorm?"
"Yeah."
They went slow, hands brushing, then linking fingers without saying it. Dorm lights glowed ahead, a few kids smoking on steps.
At her door—East Hall, third floor—she stopped, key in hand.
"Wanna come up? My roommate's at the party till morning."
Alex stared, heart thumping harder than in overtime.
Thought of Lena flashed, guilt twisting sharp.
But Mia's eyes held his, no pressure, just open.
He nodded once.
Inside, her room was messy—clothes on the floor, posters of bands and debates, string lights soft. Door clicked shut. She kissed him again, backing toward the bed, pulling his hoodie off slow.
Clothes hit the floor piece by piece. Skin on skin, heat building. Her nails dug his back when he kissed down her neck, his hands mapping curves like new ice.
They moved though rough and gentle, gasps and whispers filling the quiet. For the first time in months, Alex felt something besides pain. Felt wanted. Alive.
After, tangled in sheets, her head on his chest, fingers tracing his tattoos—old gang ink he hated now.
"You okay?" she whispered.
He stared at the ceiling, arm around her tight.
"Yeah," he said finally. "For once."
Ghosts were still there, lurking.
But tonight, they stayed in the shadows.
And the weight? Lighter than ever.