The lull came after what might've been the fourth or fifth song. Just enough space in the music for breath to return. They were laughing — Lumi twirling and stumbling, Risa fanning herself dramatically with a drink menu she'd stolen.
And that's when Amy's gaze shifted.
There.
Across the room, at the edge of the main arch, Laziel Veylan stood — tall, polished, every strand of silver-blond hair artfully tousled. And beside him, Sara.
Amy's breath stilled.
It was the same as last time. Almost down to the second.
But now, she saw what she hadn't before. Not with emotion dulling her judgment.
Sara wasn't smiling. She wasn't even really engaged. Her arms were crossed loosely, her mouth pressed in a flat line. Laziel leaned in slightly as he spoke, but her body tilted back. She nodded — politely, distantly — and Amy noticed the subtle twitch of her jaw.
Annoyance.
Discomfort.
She hadn't seen that before. She hadn't looked.
Amy's fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her chest ached, but not from jealousy. Not this time.
She whispered, almost to herself, "I need some fresh air."
Lumi glanced over, breathless. "Huh? Amy, wait—"
But she was already gone.
…
The garden was quiet.
A soft contrast to the pulse of music still vibrating faintly through the estate walls. Cool air drifted between the neatly trimmed hedges and polished stone paths, carrying the scent of moon lilies and wet grass. Overhead, light globes floated gently in the air like stars that had come down to rest.
Amy sat on a curved bench near a low fountain, tucked beneath a silver-leafed tree. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers twisting together.
She didn't know why she was nervous.
Except she did.
Because this was the moment she'd waited for — the one she had lived toward. The one she hadn't taken last time.
Sara would be here. Any second now. Because that's how it happened. Because this was the moment that changed everything.
Amy inhaled.
And when she opened her eyes—
Footsteps. Slow. Delicate.
Sara appeared from the path's curve, a quiet silhouette in the moonlight.
She didn't see Amy at first. Her gaze was low, arms lightly folded as she walked toward the bench — toward her bench — and only when she got close, did she pause.
"Oh," she said softly, a little startled. "Sorry— I didn't realize someone was here."
Amy gave her the smallest smile. "It's fine. Plenty of bench."
Sara hesitated. Then, with a quiet breath, sat down on the other end.
A stretch of silence passed between them. Not uncomfortable. Just unsure.
"I've seen you before," Sara said eventually, voice mild. "You're in my year, right?"
Amy nodded. "Same class. Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"I'm… the quiet kind," Amy said with a shrug. "I fade into the walls sometimes."
Sara looked at her more carefully, curious now. "That's a pretty poetic way to say introvert."
Amy chuckled. "I've been called worse."
Sara smiled — and just like that, the awkwardness broke. Conversation started, slow at first, then steady.
They talked about music. Amy admitted her obsession with orchestral remixes; Sara confessed she liked 2000s-era rock because her uncle used to blast it on long drives. They laughed over mutual hatred for cafeteria coffee, debated favorite book genres, and compared sleep schedules (both terrible).
It felt strange.
Not the talking. But how easy it was.
Like they'd known each other for years.
Amy's gaze drifted briefly back to the mansion behind them. Her voice lowered. "I saw you earlier."
Sara followed her eyes, brows lifting.
"With Laziel," Amy added.
That earned a soft groan. "Ugh. Yeah."
Amy tilted her head. "You didn't look thrilled."
"That's generous," Sara muttered, eyes rolling skyward. "He's been trying to act like we're some kind of power duo lately — always hovering, always assuming I'm flattered by it. I told him once it makes me uncomfortable, and somehow that translated into 'try harder.'"
Amy smirked. "Forgive him. He's a fool with a rich complex. He doesn't know how to think."
Sara blinked. Then a beat passed— and she burst out laughing.
It was light and genuine and a little too loud for the quiet garden, but Amy didn't care.
They both laughed for longer than the joke deserved.
After that, things softened.
They talked more. About pressure. Expectations. How weird it was to be seventeen and supposed to know who you're going to be. Sara opened up about her father — his love, his suffocation — and Amy shared nothing about her own family, but still listened with a kind of depth that made Sara keep speaking.
And then it happened.
There was a lull.
The moonlight touched Sara's face just right, and her hair gleamed in golden ribbons over one shoulder. The air between them buzzed with something too full to name.
Amy wasn't thinking anymore.
The words rose from her chest like they'd been waiting in her lungs.
"I like you," she said.
Sara blinked.
Amy's voice was quiet, steady. "Not in a vague, casual way. Not in a 'you seem cool' kind of way. I've liked you for a while. And I know this probably feels sudden, and maybe weird, but… it's true."
Sara stared at her.
Amy felt her own heart thudding like thunder behind her ribs.
She didn't breathe.
And the night waited with her.