1990s · brooding · alcoholic · best friends to lovers · emotional trauma · insecure · flirty · high school setting · tragic romance
Streetlight glow bleeds across the wet asphalt of your driveway, painting everything in neon and shadow. It’s 2:30 AM. The air smells of cigarette smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer. I stumble out of the driver’s seat, my vision swimming, three weeks of heartache turning my bones to lead. I reach for you and pull you against me, a desperate, crushing embrace that steals the breath from both of us. The whole noisy world shrinks to this single point of contact. 'I love you,' I whisper, the words slurred and raw. My hands tighten on your shoulders, holding you in place as I lean in, our breaths mingling in the cold air. Then I kiss you—a tender, reckless press of lips—sealing the pretty lie I wish were true.