LUNA'S POV
We sat there for a while. Quiet.
The kind of quiet that hums in your bones and says everything words never manage to.
Steven's head rested gently against mine. Neither of us moved. I was scared even to blink - like the moment would crack if I did.
Then, softly, he spoke.
"I hate that I care this much."
My breath caught.
He pulled back just a little, just enough for me to see his eyes - raw, unreadable.
"Steven..."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together like he was stalling. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something I probably should've said a long time ago."
I blinked. My heart did a full somersault.
He hesitated, eyes locked on mine like he was preparing to step off a ledge. "Luna, I-"
BZZZZZT.
My phone vibrated violently in my hoodie pocket.
I flinched.
Steven instantly looked away.
I fumbled for my phone, glancing at the screen.
A video from Travis.
Caption: "Bro is this you two???"
I tapped it open.
It was a shaky recording from the party - the moment I stood on the balcony, bucket in hand, with Hardin turning to face me in that dramatic golden light. Someone had zoomed in way too close.
The video ended with a cheeky zoom into Hardin's smirk and a voice in the background going, "She so wants him."
My stomach dropped.
Steven stood up.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath, his voice suddenly back to guarded and sharp. "That's what everyone's gonna see. That stupid moment."
"Steven-wait, that's not what it is," I scrambled up.
He gave a weak shrug, face unreadable again. "Doesn't matter. You should probably go clear that up before your newboyfriend starts thinking you're sneaking off with your best friend."
His words felt like a slap.
"Steven..."
But he was already walking away, guitar slung across his back like it weighed more than it should.
And once again, I just stood there.
Still holding the phone.
But you know what? I was done.
Done thinking.
Done running.
Done wondering if Steven was okay or if Hardin's smirk meant anything.
Done pretending this stupid night hadn't emotionally body-slammed me like a WWE finale.
I dragged myself into the apartment like a zombie on 3% battery — hoodie halfway off, mascara smudged like war paint, and feet aching like I'd danced with guilt instead of music.
I was two seconds from collapsing face-first onto the couch when I saw it: a suitcase in the hallway.
Then I heard a familiar voice from the kitchen.
"Sandra?"
She popped her head out, cereal spoon in mouth. At 1 A.M. Like this was normal.
"Luuuuna!" she beamed like she hadn't ghosted this apartment for almost a month.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, blinking like an emotionally concussed owl.
She came out in fuzzy socks and a pajama set that read 'EmotionallyUnavailable'.
"I live here, remember? Rent, fridge, A majestic pile of untouched textbooks?"
I gave a tired laugh and walked straight into her hug.
She smelled like vanilla body mist and last-minute life choices.
We flopped onto the couch, and it didn't even take a full minute before everything poured out of me.
I told her everything. Right from when I met Hardin. Steven warning me to stay away from him for no reason. The prank. The party. Hardin showing up on the balcony like a walking distraction. Steven storming off. The video. The weird tension I couldn't explain.
I told her everything... except that I still didn't understand what exactly Steven was trying to say before the whole night imploded with that video.
Sandra just blinked at me like I'd admitted I was running away to live in a cottagecore fantasy.
Then, with her cereal bowl in hand, she went full therapist mode.
"Okay, first of all — why the hell didn't you pour the slime? That was the whole point!"
"I panicked, alright?" I groaned into a pillow. "Hardin was just… there. Smirking. Being all confusing and unreadable like a warning sign."
"You paused your villain arc… because of a smirk?"
I gave her the slowest, saddest shrug in history.
She exhaled dramatically and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. "Good thing I showed up. Clearly you can't function emotionally without my presence."
I let out a breathy laugh.
"I'll talk to Steven, if you want," she offered, a bit more gently now. "You didn't do anything bad, right?"
I hesitated, chewing on my lip. "I don't know. It just… it felt like I let him down."
She gave me a look. "You've been besties for how long? He'll bounce back. Just maybe stop ghosting him mid-drama with Tall, Dark, andBroody... I mean dark metaphorically. But let's talk about Mr. Tall Dark and Broody for a second…"
I looked at her, already tired. "What do I even do about Hardin?"
She licked the spoon clean and said, "Here's the deal: Steven's not leaving you. He's just wounded pride in sneakers. Hardin? He's an exam you haven't studied for. You don't have to pass it, but you sure as hell better not fail Steven over it."
Then she grinned. "Also, I need to meet this 'Hardin of a guy'. You always fall for the ones who look like they write diaries in graveyards."
I snorted. "I do not."
She just raised an eyebrow.
We both curled into the couch, Sandra beside me like a blanket of sarcasm and unexpected comfort.
And for the first time that night, even if I didn't have the answers…
I felt just a little bit less alone.
Morning hit me like a semi-emotional freight train.
I woke up on the couch, hair looking like a rejected anime character, Sandra snoring beside me with an empty cereal bowl on her chest like a warrior who had fought the good fight — and lost.
The events of last night hit me like a Rewind:
Party chaos
Failed prank
Hardin smirk
Steven storm-off
Cringe
Confusion
Zero slime
…Regret
I groaned and rubbed my face like I could physically erase the memories. My eyes drifted to Sandra's pajama top — stitched in neon pink letters: "EmotionallyUnavailable." The universe clearly had jokes.
I checked my phone.
Still nothing from Steven.
I bit my lip, thumb hovering over the screen, considering a text — again — but just then, Sandra stirred like a haunted doll coming back to life.
"Mmmfgh... it's morning already," she muttered, eyes closed.
"I'm going out," I whispered, standing and pulling my hoodie over my tangled mess of a head.
And just like that, all traces of sleep evaporated from Sandra's face. She practically leapt off the couch like a soldier responding to a code red.
"We're going together," she declared, already reaching for her makeup bag.
I nodded like a defeated sidekick. And yeah — sure, I was ready in ten, but Sandra? She took another thirty minutes. I didn't complain though. Not when I knew she'd bribe me with Skittles and iced coffee for my time.
We stepped out of our apartment with one mission: Find Steven. Fix this mess. Rescue my dignity.
I tried texting him again.
Still no answer. No "Delivered," no "Read," no blue ticks of salvation.
"Argh!" I groaned, slapping my forehead. "What is he doing?! Hibernating?"
Sandra slid into the driver's seat, brows arched like a queen of calm vengeance. "No worries. We'll get him. I've hunted bigger things. Like final year projects and exes who ghosted me."
I dropped into the passenger seat.
I called Travis next.
No answer.
I nearly headbutted the glove compartment.
"What is wrong with these people?!" I snapped, nearly assaulting the dashboard.
Sandra casually swatted my hand away. "Hey! Take it easy. Don't traumatize Isabel." (that's what she calls her car)
"…Sorry, Isabel," I muttered, forehead pressed to the dash.
Sandra smiled like a proud kindergarten teacher. "Much better."
***
We pulled into the Rec Center where we spotted Travis and a few other guys sweating it out over a game of basketball. Travis looked like someone had dumped a bucket of regret on him.
"See why he didn't answer?" Sandra teased.
I just side-eyed her and marched forward.
We waved him over.
"Hey, girls!" Travis grinned. "Long lost princess, you're back!"
Sandra rolled her eyes. "Hey, Travis. How's it going?"
"Same old. What brings you two here?"
"Steven," we both said in perfect creepy unison.
Travis froze, bouncing the ball once. "Ah… yeah. Steven's not here."
I narrowed my eyes. "Where is he?"
He scratched his head like it owed him answers. "Uh, I saw him this morning. Said he was going out for a bit… guitar slung across his back. He looked… I dunno, moody."
My heart did a backflip.
Travis lowered his voice. "Still fighting?"
I didn't answer.
I just stormed off.
Again.
Because why not? At this point, emotional breakdowns were basically my cardio. I didn't remember Sandra. Or Travis. Or poor Isabel, alone in the sun.
All I knew was that I was tired of this game.