"Dude, you've been upset about Lena for two weeks now. We gotta talk about it."
We were holed up in the corner booth of our local bakery, the one just down from the street from school and across from the dodgy cafe that always smelled like burnt coffee. It was our usual spot when we wanted to hang out every Friday after school and pretend we had our lives together, nothing screamed emotional stability like overpriced baked goods and full-sugar iced coffee.
Zach sat across from me, slouched deep into the booth like he was trying to disappear into the vinyl. He had a half-squished cream doughnut on the napkin in front of him, and he just kept poking at it with one finger like it had personally wronged him. His phone was upside down on the table, which was rare; Zach never didn't check his notifications. It was like watching a dog ignore a stick.
"Look, what happened happened," I said, grabbing the sauce bottle for my meat pie. "And now you have to stop sulking about it, dude. Seriously."
He didn't answer straight away. He just let out this long, quiet sigh and finally leaned back, arms crossed like that would somehow protect him from having this conversation.
"I didn't mean to hurt her," he muttered, eyes fixed on the glass display case across the room. "It wasn't, like, some evil master plan."
"No one's saying it was," I said between bites. "But bro… ghosting her at the lake? That's brutal. You know she waited for hours, right?"
Zach winced like the words physically hit him. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, but it flopped right back into place. Typical.
"I know, alright?" he muttered. "I know I fucked it. I just… couldn't do it."
"Couldn't do what, exactly?" I pressed, lowering my voice but keeping my tone firm. "What the hell happened that night?"
He hesitated. I could see him debating whether to say anything at all. That was the thing with Zach: he loved to talk crap, but when it came to real feelings, he clammed up tighter than a locked diary. But today, he cracked. Just a little.
"I panicked," he finally said. "I'd never felt that serious about someone before. And Lena… she's not just a hookup or some random chick. She's real, y'know? Like, she actually saw me. And I thought… I don't know, maybe if I stayed away, I could stop it before it got worse."
"Before what got worse?" I blinked. "Zach, that's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. You liked her. She liked you. That's literally the whole point of dating."
"I thought I'd mess it up anyway!" he snapped, louder than he meant to, eyes flicking around to see if anyone heard. A few old ladies by the cake fridge side-eyed us, but Zach didn't care enough to apologise. He just slumped back in the seat and rubbed his face with both hands. "I've never done this whole relationship thing properly, Pax. It was always just games. Flirting. Stupid dares. But with her? I didn't know how to be."
"Yeah, well, you not showing up kinda proved that," I said, softer this time.
He looked at me, guilt heavy in his expression. That cocky persona he wore like armor? Gone. Just a fifteen-year-old idiot who made a bad call and didn't know how to fix it.
"I wanted to text her. I really did. I even opened the app a dozen times that night… but what the hell do you say when you've already broken someone's heart?"
I leaned back, chewing on that for a second. I got it, honestly. Zach wasn't heartless, he was just scared. Scared of vulnerability, scared of not being in control. But Lena had been brave enough to care, and Zach hadn't met her halfway. That's what made it hurt.
"You start with 'I'm sorry,'" I said simply. "You say it, and you mean it. And maybe, maybe, she gives you the time of day again. Or maybe she tells you to fuck off forever. But at least you'll know you tried."
Zach didn't respond. He just stared at the mangled doughnut in front of him. Then, slowly, he picked it up and took a bite, cream smearing across his lip in a stupid, clumsy mess.
"God, this is dry as hell," he mumbled through a mouthful.
I snorted. "You're the one who ordered the sad-boy snack."
He rolled his eyes but finally, finally, cracked the smallest smile. It wasn't much. But it was something.
~~~
Taking the train to Newcastle every weekend was a routine I'd gotten used to, but that didn't mean I liked it. The early wake-up, the hour-plus ride, the weird stares from strangers when I dozed off with my hoodie pulled up over my head… it all kind of sucked.
I stared out the window as the train rattled along, the grey-blue blur of the coast just beginning to peek through the gaps between buildings. Same trip every week. Same destination. Same job.
My phone buzzed in my lap, screen lighting up with a text.
Dad- Hey mate, could you open up the shop? I'm running a bit late
I sighed through my nose and thumbed out a quick reply.
Pax- Sure
Typical Dad. He was always "running late" now. Translation: probably stopped to chat with one of his fishing buddies or got sidetracked fixing something he should've replaced years ago. Ever since the divorce, the shop had become his everything. And I guess that made me his unofficial backup.
I leaned back in my seat and pulled at the corner of my thumbnail, irritated by that one little flap of skin that never stopped bugging me. I knew I should've just cut it this morning.
The train jolted slightly, then slowed down. The screen above the door flashed:
Next Station: Newcastle
Here we go.
I stood up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stepped off the train once it came to a full stop. The platform smelled like a mix of ocean spray and faint diesel. Familiar. Not exactly comforting, but at least predictable.
I tapped my travel card against the scanner and headed toward the pier. Seagulls circled overhead, crying out like little idiots, and the wind off the beach was strong enough to push my hair back out of my face. I pulled my hoodie tighter around me.
Dad's fishing shop sat just off the pier, wedged between a bakery that sold overpriced muffins and a surf shop that nobody really shopped at unless it was school holidays. The windows of our store were smudged with salt from the sea breeze, and the old OPEN sign tilted slightly, the string half broken. I should fix that.
I dug the keys out of my pocket, walked up to the door, and unlocked it. The scent of bait, brine, and old tackle hit me as soon as I opened up. I flipped the lights on and walked behind the counter, letting the door swing shut behind me with a hollow thud.
This place had been part of my life since I was fourteen. Not by choice, Dad started bringing me in after the split with Mum, saying it was "good for me" to learn about responsibility. What it really meant was that I was free labour. And now? I was the only employee.
I tossed my bag under the counter, grabbed the broom from the back room, and started sweeping up sand and dried seaweed tracked in from the day before. Another Saturday. Another shift. Another reminder that while most people got weekends off, I spent mine gutting fish, stacking bait, and dealing with crusty regulars who smelled like motor oil and ocean spray.
But hey, at least it kept me busy. Gave me something to do. Something to focus on that wasn't school, Zach's drama, or Lena's meltdown echoing through the school halls like a bad song on repeat.
"Hey there, handsome."
The voice was smooth, teasing, and unmistakably hers. I looked up from where I was sweeping near the bait fridge, and there she was… Mira, leaning casually against the front counter like she owned the place.
Same cheeky smirk. Same sun-kissed skin. Same lazy confidence in her posture that made her look like she'd just strolled in from a surf ad.
"Mira," I said, almost without thinking. A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth as I set the broom aside, brushing a hand through my hair to smooth it down. Useless. It never stayed flat anyway. "Hey, Mi."
She looked the same as she had back at camp, except now there was a little more edge to her eyes, like she'd been busy living while the rest of us were stuck in school dramas. She wore a faded white singlet with some old band logo I didn't recognise, and a pair of beach shorts that were still damp at the hem. Sand clung to her calves. Her wavy black hair was up in a ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face.
She smelled like the ocean. Not the gross, fishy part, like salt and sunscreen and wind in your lungs. Comforting, nostalgic, and something weirdly grounding.
She rested her arms on the counter, propping her chin up like she had all the time in the world.
"So," she asked, eyes gleaming, "how was school this week?"
I laughed dryly, stepping closer and leaning on the other side of the counter to face her. Her fingers brushed mine, warm and familiar. It made my chest feel a little less hollow.
"Oh, you know," I sighed, "the usual bullshit. Tests, teachers, and I'm back to being Zach's part-time therapist."
Mira chuckled, low and soft, clicking her tongue like a disappointed parent.
"Damn," she said, giving my hand a little squeeze, "what'd he do this time?"
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "Just… being a complete asshole to this girl at school. Lena. He left her hanging over the summer, like, stood her up by the lake during camp. No call. No message. She waited for him for hours."
Mira's face twisted a little, like she'd just bitten into a lemon.
"Oof. That's low, even for Zach."
"Right?" I said, feeling a rush of frustration I didn't realise I was holding in. "And now she's pissed, obviously. Publicly called him out in class. Everyone's talking about it. And Zach? He's moping around like he's the victim."
Mira snorted. "Classic male behaviour."
"Facts," I muttered. "It's like he doesn't even get why she's mad. And now he's sulking every lunch break, asking me if she still hates him."
She tilted her head slightly. "Do you think she does?"
"I mean… probably." I shrugged. "But I don't blame her. If he'd done that to me, I'd have launched him into the sun."
Mira laughed, that bright, belly-deep laugh that made me forget how tired I was. "And that's why I like you, Pax. You've got standards."
"I try."
She laced her fingers through mine properly now, resting her chin on the back of my hand.
"You've been working too much," she said, softer this time. "You look exhausted."
"Yeah, well… Dad's always late these days, and someone's gotta run the shop." I gave a half-shrug. "It's not like I've got other plans."
Her eyes flicked over me for a moment, thoughtful.
"Maybe after your shift," she said, "you and I could hit the beach. Just for a bit. Walk along the pier. Grab gelato or something. My treat."
That made me smile. A real one.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "I'd like that."
"Cool." She leaned in and kissed my cheek, leaving behind a whisper of salt and warmth. "Then it's a date."
Mira's fingers traced lazy circles on the back of my hand, and for a second, I wasn't in the fish shop anymore. I was back at camp, back in that weird twilight haze between December-January, where everything smelled like eucalyptus trees and mosquito spray.
Our "thing" (if you could even call it that) started around the third day of camp. She was sitting alone on the bleachers near the oval, eating red frogs out of a hoodie pocket like it was the most normal thing ever. I sat next to her and said something dumb, probably about the frogs being smuggled contraband or some lame joke about her hoodie having a vending machine installed. Whatever it was, she laughed. Like, really laughed. Head tilted back, eyes crinkled. It was addictive.
From then on, it was like gravity. Late-night walks after curfew, hiding under the canoe racks, whispered conversations by torchlight. Kisses stolen in the shadows. Her hands in my hair. Mine tracing the curve of her back under the glow of the firelight.
There were... moments. A lot of them. A lot of heat. There was a night we snuck out during a thunderstorm, soaked and shivering, trying not to laugh too loud as we ducked into an empty boat shed. We didn't talk much that night. Didn't need to. There was a lot of touching, a lot of skin, and enough tension to short-circuit the whole camp's power grid.
But we never labelled it. That was the thing with Mira. It was all vibes. No pressure, no questions, just… whatever felt good in the moment.
Of course, that meant we never defined what we were, either. She went back to Newcastle. I went back to being Zach's emotional janitor. And here we were, months later, still floating in this weird limbo where we held hands and kissed hello but didn't call it dating.
Honestly? I didn't mind. She didn't play games. She didn't make me pretend to be someone I wasn't. And after everything with Lena and Zach's drama infecting every corner of my life, Mira felt like the one place I could actually breathe.
Still, sometimes I wondered what would happen if I asked her, really asked her, if she wanted to be something more.
But then she'd flash me that smile, and I'd forget the question entirely.
"Oi, Mira! We gotta go!" a voice called out from the shop entrance, the bell above the door jingling slightly.
I smirked, not even needing to look up. That voice was unmistakable.
Mira turned toward the front and rolled her eyes playfully. "Hayden, you know you don't have to yell like some undercover criminal."
Sure enough, Hayden strolled in, well, more like slunk in, dressed in his usual getup: oversized black hoodie swallowing his frame, baggy jeans half-dragging on the floor, and that permanent 'I-don't-want-to-be-here' expression. He had earbuds in one ear and a phone practically glued to his hand, and always by Mira's side whenever he could, being her brother and all.
Classic Hayden.
"Sorry for interrupting your little rom-com moment," he mumbled, glancing at me with a smirk before heading toward the door again.
Mira shook her head with a laugh and turned back to me. "Guess that's my cue," she said, stepping closer.
She reached up and kissed my cheek, soft and warm, her scent, sea salt and sunscreen, lingering in the air like summer itself. "I'll see you after your shift?"
"Sounds good," I said, trying not to grin like a total idiot.
I watched her walk out, Hayden trailing behind her, already talking her ear off about something. Probably music or the latest show he was obsessed with. Mira tossed a quick wave over her shoulder just before the door closed behind them.
And just like that, the shop was quiet again.
I picked up the broom I'd abandoned earlier and got back to sweeping, though the smile stayed on my face for a while longer.