Same Time Tomorrow

Both Alexis Leigh Babcock and Sylvia Rose Connor are 18, in their final weeks of high school.

Blonde Lexi had that smile. That perfect-teeth, too-much-lip-gloss, "I'm-better-than-you" smile. The one she wore like armor, or like a fucking weapon. It gleamed across the quad that Monday morning, slicing through the cigarette smoke that always hung around Syl like a middle finger to the school dress code.

Dark-haired Syl looked like she hadn't slept in days. She probably hadn't. She was wearing her brother's hoodie again--ratty, oversized, the sleeves chewed up--and those combat boots that made her look like she stomped on dreams for breakfast. Her eyeliner was smudged. On purpose. Her eyes locked with Lexi's for a split second.

Boom.

Neither of them flinched, but the static between them? Unreal. The kind that made the air buzz. The kind that made your stomach drop and your thighs ache.

"You gonna keep staring, or you want a selfie?" Lexi's voice was sugary-sweet, all fake-nice and passive-aggressive, like a cupcake with a razor blade in the center.

Syl exhaled smoke in her direction. "Relax, Barbie. Your tits aren't that hypnotic."

That was a lie. They were. They so were.

Lexi's nostrils flared--just a twitch--but Syl saw it. Noticed everything. She was observant like that, like a crow. Nothing got past her, especially not the way Lexi's nipples were hard under that preppy little cardigan, even in the sunshine.

"Jealous much?" Lexi purred. "You could always buy a training bra. Or some actual shampoo."

"Oh, sweetheart," Syl drawled, voice low and smoky, "if I wanted to be like you, I'd eat glass."

They should've walked away. They never did.

By fifth period, they were still circling each other like feral cats in a perfume aisle. Lexi in her tight white blouse and plaid skirt, Syl in ripped tights and a band tee no one could name. Teachers kept pretending they didn't notice the eye contact. The whispers. The tension so sharp it could have drawn blood.

In the bathroom between classes, they collided like it was scripted. Lexi turned too fast. Syl bumped into her. Lip gloss on flannel. A stumble. A grab.

Hands on waist. Nails on ribs. A hiss. A breath caught.

"I swear to God," Lexi whispered, their faces too close, her voice trembling with rage?

Or was it need?

"If you touch me again--"

"What?" Syl's hand was already on her hip, fingers splayed, daring. "You'll melt?"

Lexi shoved her. Syl shoved back. It wasn't a fight. Not really. It was something else. Something filthier. Lexi's cardigan was tugged off one shoulder. Syl's hoodie was caught on a door handle. Neither cared.

"I hate you," Lexi whispered, panting.

"Liar," Syl said, and kissed her.

Teeth clacked. Lip gloss smeared. Tongue and tension and Lexi's back slammed against the tiled wall. Syl tasted like nicotine and stolen gin. Lexi tasted like strawberries and fucking envy.

They pulled apart like the room had exploded, eyes wide, breathing wrecked.

"You tell anyone," Lexi breathed, flushed and furious.

Syl grinned like she just got away with murder. "Please. As if anyone would believe it."

But Lexi didn't move. Not right away.

And Syl's fingers?

Still curled in the waistband of Lexi's skirt.

Syl's hand didn't stop.

She moved lower.

Confident. Slow. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she'd been waiting to do it since forever ago, when Lexi answered a question without raising her hand and looked so smug Syl wanted to strangle her or kiss her--she hadn't decided which.

Lexi let her.

That was the worst part.

She didn't push her away.

She pressed in, breath catching, thighs shifting just enough to make space--like her body was already ahead of her brain. Like permission had been granted hours ago, and this was just gravity following through.

Syl's fingers moved with purpose.

Lexi buried her face in Syl's shoulder.

It wasn't quiet.

But it was contained--barely. Ragged breath, muffled gasps, the soft rhythm of motion against tile and denim and damp skin. Lexi's whole body shuddered like a live wire. Her nails dug half-moons into Syl's arms.

And Syl?

She didn't smile.

Not this time.

She just watched Lexi come apart. Whispering "I got you, princess."

Eyes wide.

Awestruck.

Like she'd stumbled into something too big to name.

Afterward, Lexi sagged against her. Panting. Ruined.

Syl kissed the corner of her mouth.

"I hate you," Lexi whispered again.

But this time, it sounded like a prayer.

Afterward, they sat too far apart.

Lexi was back in the front row, legs crossed tightly, pen between her fingers like a knife, like a lifeline. Her lipstick was smudged, but not badly--just enough to suggest she'd eaten something too sweet and too hot. Her blouse was still buttoned, mostly. Her thighs were still shaking.

Syl was sprawled again like nothing had happened. Like her fingers hadn't just been knuckle-deep in someone she claimed to despise. One boot bounced lazily. Her hoodie was stretched out of shape. Her face glowed like she'd stolen the sun and smoked it.

Neither of them spoke. Not out loud.

But inside?

Lexi was a storm.

What the fuck did I just do.

What the fuck did she do to me.

Why did I like it so fucking much.

Why do I want to do it again.

And Syl--Syl was watching the window like it owed her money, but her eyes kept flicking forward. To Lexi. To the rigid line of her spine. To the little curl of blonde hair stuck to her damp neck. She remembered how her tongue tasted on that neck. How Lexi moaned. It wasn't a sound you could un-hear.

"Time's up," Mr. Fallon said, barely glancing at the clock. "Go home. Or wherever you people go."

Lexi bolted. Grabbed her bag, strutted like she hadn't just fucked her enemy against a door. Like she wasn't soaked through.

Syl followed. Of course she did.

In the hallway, Lexi spun. Fast.

"You ever speak of this," she hissed, "and I will end you."

Syl blinked slow. "Babe, you came so hard I thought you saw God."

Lexi shoved her. Hard. Right into the lockers. It echoed. She didn't let go.

"I hate you," Lexi said again, like it might still be true.

Syl grinned. "I know."

Then kissed her. Soft this time. Just the press of lips. No war. No fire.

Lexi melted.

Just a little.

And when they pulled apart, Syl leaned in and whispered:

"Same time tomorrow?"

Lexi didn't answer.

But she didn't say no.

I want her. I hate that I want her.

LEXI

Her room smelled like vanilla and panic.

Everything was pink and curated--plush rugs, fairy lights, a vision board with glittery letters spelling out VALEDICTORIAN VIBES. And there she was. On her bed. In a tank top that stuck to her still-sensitive skin. Phone in hand. Hairbrush untouched.

She couldn't even look at the physics homework.

Every time she blinked, she saw Syl.

Saw that cocky little smirk, those ruined nails digging into her thighs, that filthy fucking mouth whispering "I got you, princess."

Lexi groaned. Out loud. Rolled over, face-first into a pillow, and screamed.

Muffled, ladylike screaming.

"She's so gross," she hissed, talking to no one. "She's disgusting. She probably hasn't washed that hoodie since freshman year. She listens to music that sounds like a demon jerking off."

She paused.

"She smelled good, though. God damn it."

Her thighs clenched. Reflex.

She hated that her body was still betraying her. Still slick, still needy.

She bit her lip and whispered it, because saying it out loud made it more real:

"I want her again."

SYL

Her room didn't have a color palette. It had posters peeling off the wall and a mattress on the floor. Laundry mountain. Ashtray full. She was lying on her back, smoking with the window open, because if she didn't, the fire alarm screamed at her.

She hadn't moved in an hour.

Not since getting home. Not since her.

Lexi-fucking-Babcock.

God, Syl hated her. That smug, shiny, perfect little bitch. Always raising her hand, always correcting people, always walking like the hallway was her fucking runway.

And now Syl knew what her cunt tasted like.

"I am so fucked," she muttered.

She rubbed her face, groaning like a haunted Victorian woman. "This is gonna ruin my life."

Then she grinned.

A little.

Because Lexi had broken. Shattered like glass in her hands. Clutching at her. Gasping. Begging.

And Syl hadn't even taken her panties off. Just slid 'em to the side like a goddamn degenerate.

Her grin faded.

It wasn't the sex that was haunting her.

It was Lexi's eyes, afterward. Wide. Honest. Like for a second she forgot how to lie.

Syl put her cigarette out. Didn't light another. She lay there in the half-dark, one arm slung over her eyes, whispering:

"I do not like her."

Pause.

Longer pause.

"... but fuck, she liked me."

LEXI

She swore she wasn't going to.

She really, really tried.

She went through her whole nightly routine--serum, eye cream, silk pillowcase, matching pajamas like a goddamn pageant queen. She even lit a candle. Lavender. Calming. Fucking useless.

Because when she closed her eyes, it was Syl.

Again.

That damn hoodie. Those lips. That voice--low, mocking, filthy. The way her fingers moved, like she'd done it a hundred times, like she'd thought about it even more.

Lexi twisted under her covers, thighs rubbing, breath catching. She reached down, flushed and furious.

It was supposed to be quick. Functional. A release.

But she came with a whimper and Syl's name half-formed in her mouth, muffled by the back of her hand.

Afterward?

She didn't feel better.

She felt empty.

More hollow. More raw.

She stared at the ceiling, disgusted with herself.

"I'm not doing this again," she whispered.

But she didn't sleep.

SYL

She didn't usually jerk off to feelings.

She jerked off because she was bored, or high, or pissed off at the world.

Tonight? She was fucked.

Because it wasn't just Lexi's body. It was her mouth--that bratty, biting mouth--and the way she whimpered when she finally gave in. The way her lip quivered when Syl kissed her slow. That little noise she made when her legs shook.

Syl kicked off her jeans and shoved her hand between her thighs like she was trying to erase it. Trying to take the edge off.

She didn't last long. It was brutal. Fast. A groan into her pillow, a half-mumbled "fuck you, Lexi" that sounded more like please.

And then nothing.

Nothing but sweat and guilt and a clock that said 2:43 a. m.

Syl threw her arm over her eyes. "This is so bad," she muttered.

But it was already worse in the morning.

MORNING

Lexi woke sticky, bleary, still sore. She looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the flush in her cheeks, the mess of her hair. She looked... undressed.

She put on the gloss anyway. Picked the shortest skirt in her closet.

Syl didn't even try to pretend. She rolled out of bed looking like hell and didn't care. Same hoodie. Same boots. No bra. She felt like a live wire wrapped in skin.

Both of them walked into school like nothing had happened.

Neither of them fooled anyone.

Especially not each other.

Their eyes locked across the courtyard.

Lexi looked away first.

Syl smirked.

Her smirk lied.

They didn't plan it.

There wasn't some secret text, or hallway whisper, or bathroom stall scrawl that said "meet me, I'm spiraling."

It just happened.

Third period free. The old drama classroom, half-condemned, door never locked. It still smelled like sawdust and shame.

Syl was already there, on the stage platform, legs dangling, chewing on the end of a pencil that definitely wasn't hers.

Lexi walked in like she was being summoned. Head high. Lips glossed. Trying very hard not to scream or bolt or throw her bag at Syl's smug little face.

"You've got a nerve," Lexi said.

Syl blinked, deadpan. "Pretty sure you came on my fingers."

Lexi turned, ready to leave.

"Wait." That cracked edge in Syl's voice--quiet panic, buried in sass.

Lexi didn't look back.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, too calm, too controlled.

"No," Syl said. Then: "Yes. Fuck."

Lexi sighed. Flopped into one of the dusty auditorium chairs like it personally offended her. Crossed her legs. Tapped a manicured finger against the armrest.

"I don't like you," she said.

"Great. Same." Syl leaned back on her palms. "You're a stuck-up little control freak with an ego problem."

Lexi smiled sweetly. "And you're a flat-chested, chain-smoking cryptid with zero ambition."

Syl grinned. "Was that supposed to hurt? You were literally whimpering into my hoodie less than 24 hours ago."

Lexi threw her water bottle.

Syl ducked. It bounced off a spotlight and rolled stage left.

They stared at each other.

Silence.

Breathing.

Lexi spoke first.

"What is this?" Her voice cracked at the edges. "I don't do this. I don't want this."

Syl slid off the stage, slow. Walked toward her with all the grace of a girl trying very hard not to fuck things up.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But it's not just sex."

Lexi's chin lifted, proud even now. "You wish it was."

"I do," Syl said, honest and raw. "But I keep thinking about the way you looked at me after."

Lexi's mouth parted.

"I hated that," she said, too quickly.

"No you didn't."

Lexi didn't deny it.

Syl crouched in front of her, arms on the seat between them, looking up.

"I don't want to like you," Syl said. "I want to keep hating you. It was easier."

Lexi nodded, glassy-eyed.

"Same."

They were so close.

One wrong breath from kissing again.

Instead, Syl stood.

Lexi followed.

Neither moved.

"... Wanna fuck it all up again?" Syl asked, not even trying to be cool anymore.

Lexi's breath caught.

"Absolutely."

They didn't speak on the way there.

Lexi led the way this time, face flushed, steps sharp, like she was marching into battle--or onto a runway. She yanked the heavy black curtain aside like it had personally insulted her. Syl followed, heart pounding, every part of her vibrating with need and nerves and the sinking knowledge that this was going to make everything so much worse.

Backstage was chaos. Forgotten props, shattered mirrors, costumes no one had touched in years. A single string of Christmas lights buzzed against the wall like they'd been left on since 2012.

Lexi turned, arms crossed, chest heaving.

"This doesn't mean anything," she lied, already backing Syl into a pile of fake rocks.

"Yeah," Syl breathed. "Total mistake."

And then they were on each other. Messy. Desperate.

Lexi kissed like she was furious with herself. Like every brush of lips was an apology she refused to say. Syl grabbed her hips like she was holding on for dear fucking life.

Clothes didn't come off. Not really. Lexi's skirt flipped up. Syl's hoodie shoved halfway up her ribs. Lexi was already soaked. Syl was wrecked.

Lexi pushed Syl back, hard, into the black-painted plywood wall. "Sit."

Syl obeyed.

Lexi climbed into her lap like she owned her. Straddled her. Pressed their mouths together with a growl that made Syl's eyes roll back.

"I'm going to regret this," Lexi whispered.

"You already do," Syl whispered back, biting her lip as Lexi ground against her thigh.

There was no gentleness. No slow build.

Lexi used Syl's thigh like it owed her something. Her hands tangled in greasy hair, tugging, panting, moaning, while Syl grabbed her ass and held her steady for every rutting grind.

They didn't kiss much.

It wasn't about that.

It was about the tension snapping. About using each other like the only cure for the disease they'd both caught. Hate-fuck hunger. That awful, beautiful ache.

Lexi came first. Shuddered, gasped, clung tight like she might break in half.

Syl didn't say anything.

Just held her.

Because if she said something, anything, she might admit how much she needed her.

After a long beat, Lexi pulled back.

Wiped her mouth. Fixed her skirt.

"You're still disgusting," she said.

Syl grinned.

"Yeah," she whispered. "But now I know how you taste."

Lexi didn't slap her.

She kissed her. Just once.

Then walked out like a goddamn queen.

And Syl?

Sat there in the dark.

Absolutely fucking ruined.

Wednesday.

It was supposed to be just another day. Just another pretend nothing happened, pretend she doesn't make you shake kind of day.

But Lexi stepped onto campus in jeans.

No skirt. No heels. No perfect pastel princess aesthetic.

Just jeans. A white tee. Minimal makeup. Hair in a lazy bun that still looked like it could destroy lives. And yet--

She looked real.

Too real. Dangerously real.

Like someone you'd sit next to on the floor of your dorm room and confess shit you didn't even know you believed.

And Syl?

Syl showed up clean.

Hair washed. Fresh shirt--black, fitted, no holes. Same boots, but she'd bothered to lace them. Her eyeliner was clean, sharp. Her hoodie? Gone. Replaced by a battered denim jacket that made her look like a punk rock problem.

And suddenly everyone was staring.

Not because they knew.

But because the tectonic plates had shifted.

And everyone felt the tremor.

They saw each other outside of chem class. Same hallway. Same door. Different girls.

Lexi blinked.

Syl smiled. Small. Almost shy. "Hey."

Lexi stared like she was seeing a ghost.

"You--cleaned up."

Syl shrugged. "Figured I'd try looking like someone you'd make out with on purpose."

Lexi visibly flinched. Her cheeks burned.

Then she smirked.

"Well," she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder, "you're not entirely unfuckable."

Syl laughed. Actually laughed.

And Lexi smiled back. Genuinely.

Then she leaned in.

Voice soft. Deadly.

"You're not winning, you know."

Syl raised a brow. "Wasn't aware we were keeping score."

Lexi's eyes dropped--just for a second--to Syl's mouth. "We're always keeping score."

The bell rang. Neither moved.

Then Lexi turned and walked into class without looking back.

And Syl stood there a second longer.

Hand twitching. Lip bitten. Mind screaming.

She wore jeans. For me.

Marisol.

She's the ride-or-die type with hoop earrings big enough to slice a man and a laugh that could end wars. She's seen Lexi cry over math tests and scream at hair straighteners. So when Lexi sits down at lunch with jeans on, looking like a regular girl, Marisol damn near chokes on her boba.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be today?" she demands, eyes wide. "Is this your witness protection look?"

Lexi shrugs, cool as hell. "Just felt like dressing down."

Marisol narrows her eyes. "You never dress down. You do contour to study. Is this about a boy?"

Lexi's eyes twitch. "No."

Marisol leans across the table, slow grin forming. "Is this about a girl?"

Lexi freezes.

Marisol gasps, slapping the table. "Oh my God it is."

Lexi hisses like a cornered cat. "Shut up."

"Oh honey, I'm not judging--I'm thriving. Who is it? Wait, wait--don't tell me. I'm gonna guess." She does a little spin with her smoothie straw. "Is it that hot teacher aide? Or--oh my God, wait. Is it Syl?"

Lexi blinks.

And Marisol screams.

"BITCH. I KNEW IT. I FUCKING KNEW IT. THAT'S WHY YOU CAME TO ENGLISH WITH A HICKEY ON YOUR JAWLINE, I THOUGHT IT WAS A BUG BITE BUT NOW--OH MY GOD--"

Lexi has to physically tackle her across the table to shut her up.

Meanwhile: Jonah.

Jonah is chaos in a hoodie. Tall, wiry, weirdly charming in a "I absolutely stole something from Hot Topic in 2014 and never looked back" kind of way. He's known Syl since middle school detention and lives to stir the pot.

When he sees her in a clean shirt with actual product in her hair, he raises both hands like she just confessed to arson.

"No. No fucking way. Who is she?"

Syl side-eyes him. "Shut up."

Jonah gasps, clutching his chest. "She's real. And she's got you washing your ass and wearing cologne."

"It's not cologne. It's deodorant."

"Which is already progress," Jonah shoots back, grinning. "So what's her name, and when do I meet her?"

Syl lights a cigarette with shaky fingers. "You don't."

Jonah squints. "Wait. Wait. Is this about--no. No way. Babcock? Honor student Barbie? The bitch with the glitter pens?!"

Syl doesn't say anything.

Jonah drops to the cafeteria floor like he's been shot. "I knew it! That day she slapped you in chem, it was foreplay! This is the best day of my fucking life."

Syl flicks ash at him.

He beams. "I hope she pegs you."

"She probably will," Syl mutters under her breath.

Jonah squeals.

It was early. Too early.

The sky was still a soft bruise above the school. Bleary sun just starting to claw its way through the clouds. Campus mostly empty. A few cars in the lot. A janitor unlocking the front office door with a sigh that echoed through the concrete like he hated his life.

Lexi stood by the entrance like she belonged there. Back against the brick. Hair down today, but wild. Just a little tangled, like she hadn't brushed it quite enough on purpose. Oversized hoodie--maybe her brother's, or maybe stolen from a boy she didn't fuck. No makeup. Not really.

She looked casual.

Which meant she looked dangerous.

Syl spotted her halfway across the lot. Backpack half-zipped, one headphone dangling, coffee in a cup that probably wasn't hers. She stopped walking for a second. Just... watched.

Lexi was already watching back.

No words.

Just that look. That silent, electric acknowledgment:

We're doing this.

Even if we don't know what this is.

Syl finally approached, her steps slower than usual. Less swagger, more awareness. Like her feet were walking but her brain was still catching up.

Lexi didn't smirk. Didn't throw some barbed little insult.

She just tilted her head and said, soft as velvet, "Hey."

Syl swallowed. "Hey."

Beat.

Lexi pushed off the wall. Her shoulder bumped Syl's as she fell into step beside her. No invite. No negotiation. Just walking. Side by side. Like they'd done it a hundred times. Like they hadn't just fucked behind the goddamn curtain of their own denial.

Syl peeked at her. "You waiting for me?"

Lexi shrugged. "Coincidence."

Syl snorted. "Sure."

Another beat.

"You smell good," Lexi muttered, barely audible.

Syl glanced over. "Yeah?"

Lexi nodded.

"You don't," Syl said.

Lexi elbowed her. Syl grinned.

They walked in silence after that, passing classrooms, lockers, the ghost of their last twenty fights. Their hands never touched.

But they kept brushing. Knuckles. Elbows. Energy.

The hallway swallowed them like it had no idea what was about to unfold.

And honestly?

Neither did they.

They were almost at the fork.

That stupid spot where the hall split--left toward Lexi's AP morning, right toward Syl's creative writing class she mostly slept through. Every day, that moment loomed like a decision neither of them wanted to make.

They slowed. Both of them pretending not to.

Lexi didn't look at her. She was biting the inside of her cheek, chewing on some thought she was way too scared to say out loud. Her fingers brushed her thigh, then clenched. Her breath came fast, like she was already late even though she wasn't.

Syl stopped walking.

Lexi didn't notice at first.

Then she did.

She turned, brows lifted--ready to make a joke, maybe, or tease, or deflect, anything but deal with how her chest was aching.

But Syl wasn't smirking.

Syl was just looking at her. Like Lexi was some kind of secret sunrise only she got to see.

And then--so slow it almost didn't happen--Syl leaned in.

No performance. No tongue. No groping or biting.

Just lips. Soft. Careful. Knowing.

Lexi's breath hitched. She froze, but not because she didn't want it.

Because it was real.

Her mouth parted. Not in invitation. Just in awe.

And Syl kissed her. Again. Slower this time. Just a brush. Like a promise.

When she pulled back, Lexi's eyes were so wide.

Like she'd just witnessed a miracle.

Or a car crash.

Maybe both.

Syl cleared her throat. Her voice came out rough, honest.

"I think I like you."

Lexi didn't speak.

But she nodded.

Just once.

And when she finally turned and walked toward AP Bio, her fingers brushed her lips the whole way down the hall. Like she was trying to press the kiss deeper. Make it stay.

Lexi -- 8:12 AM, AP Bio

Mr. Carson is droning on about cell membranes. Phospholipid bilayers. Something about semipermeability. Lexi cannot hear a fucking thing.

She's got her pen poised. Her notes are flawless.

And she hasn't written a single word.

Her fingers are still ghosting her lips, every so often. Like they can still feel her. Like the kiss is stored in her skin.

It was soft.

It was real.

And that's the part she can't stop looping: She kissed me like she meant it.

Like Lexi was more than a bitch with good grades and lip gloss. Like she was seen.

Her foot bounces under the desk. Her thighs won't stop clenching.

She crosses her arms to hide the way her nipples are still hard.

And when she finally snaps out of it and looks at the board, she realizes she's drawn hearts in the margins.

Fucking hearts.

She scribbles them out and mutters under her breath, "Goddamn you, Syl."

Syl -- 8:15 AM, Creative Writing

The prompt on the board says: "Describe something forbidden."

Syl drops her pencil.

She doesn't pick it up.

She's got one knee up on her chair, chin on her arm, staring at the window like it's going to deliver Lexi on a cloud of glitter and bad decisions.

She kissed her.

Like an idiot.

Like a fucking lovestruck idiot.

And Lexi didn't even say anything.

She just looked at her like Syl had cracked her open and poured something inside.

Something she wasn't ready for. Something neither of them are ready for.

Syl's palms still feel warm. Like Lexi's hips are still tucked beneath her fingers. Like her breath is still brushing against her neck.

She wants more.

She wants all of her. Every high-maintenance, mean-girl, walking-perfection inch of her.

She groans and drops her head to the desk. Hard.

Jonah throws a crumpled gum wrapper at her. "You good?"

Syl mumbles into the desk, "I'm in hell."

Lunch -- 12:04 PM

They see each other across the quad.

Neither of them moves.

Lexi is sitting with Marisol, laughing too hard at nothing.

Syl is leaning against the wall, one boot up, chewing her lip bloody.

They don't wave.

They don't speak.

They just watch.

And the space between them is a thousand miles wide and buzzing.

It's after school.

The hallways are quiet. The light's gone all honey-warm and melancholy. That sad golden hour that makes everything feel like a memory while it's still happening.

They're outside, near the edge of the parking lot.

Not touching.

But close enough to feel it.

Lexi folds her arms. Shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Hair messy from the wind. She's got that look on her face--the one she gets before a test. Sharp. Focused. A little scared.

She doesn't look at Sylvia when she says it.

"What is this?"

Sylvia blinks. Looks down at her boots. Scuffs one against the curb.

"I don't know," she says, too fast.

Lexi frowns. "You kissed me this morning."

Sylvia shrugs. "Yeah."

"Like you meant it."

"I did."

"Then what the fuck is it, Sylvia?" Lexi's voice cracks. Just a hairline fracture.

Sylvia flinches. Not at the volume--at the name.

She loves the way Lexi says it.

Full, soft, deliberate. Like she's the only one who gets to.

"I don't wanna name it," Sylvia mutters, finally meeting her eyes.

Lexi's breath catches. "Why not?"

"Because the second we call it something, it has rules. Expectations. It becomes a thing that can break."

Lexi's lip trembles. She clenches her jaw.

"So you'd rather it be nothing?"

"No," Sylvia says, stepping closer. "I want it to be real. Not another lie I tell myself."

Lexi shakes her head, furious and aching. "This doesn't feel like nothing."

"It's not." Sylvia's voice is raw now. Honest in a way that hurts. "But I'm not good at... whatever you're asking for. Labels. Boxes. Perfect little answers."

"I'm not asking for perfect." Lexi steps in, almost chest-to-chest. "I'm asking if I matter to you."

"You do."

Lexi stares.

Sylvia softens. Reaches out. Fingers brush Lexi's wrist.

"I don't know what this is," she says again. "But I know I don't want it to stop."

Lexi exhales like she's been punched.

And nods.

Once.

Then lets Sylvia take her hand.

Not a box.

Not a label.

But maybe a start.

It's late.

The campus is empty, moonlit and still. The kind of quiet that makes every breath feel sacred. They're behind the theater, again. That half-forgotten corner of the world that's somehow become theirs.

Lexi is trembling.

She doesn't know why. Or she does, but she doesn't want to name it.

Not now. Not yet. She's not ready.

Sylvia stands in front of her, denim jacket unbuttoned, shirt rumpled, hair a little windblown. She looks like a revelation.

They haven't spoken in ten minutes. They don't need to.

It's all there, vibrating in the air between them.

Lexi steps closer.

"I hate you," she whispers, like a prayer. A confession. A warning.

Sylvia just smiles.

"I know."

Lexi's hands are fists at her sides. She doesn't reach for her. She can't. If she touches her, she's going to fall apart.

And Sylvia sees it. All of it.

So she reaches first.

Cups Lexi's face in both hands, thumbs brushing under her eyes like she already knows what's coming. And then--

Then she kisses her.

Not like the other times.

Not filthy. Not desperate.

But deep. Slow. Shattering.

Lexi melts. Completely. She makes a noise--half-sob, half-sigh--and clutches Sylvia's jacket like it's the only thing keeping her upright.

Tears slip down her cheeks, hot and silent.

Because it's too much. Too good. Too real.

Because it feels like something she can't control.

Because it feels like love.

Sylvia pulls back just enough to see her face.

Lexi's eyes are red, lips parted, jaw trembling.

And Sylvia?

Sylvia grins.

Big. Bright. Brave.

Because this--this--is everything she never thought she'd have.

A girl who sees her. A kiss that means something.

"You're crying," she says, gentle.

Lexi shakes her head. "Shut up."

Sylvia leans in again. Nose to nose. Smile warm and wicked.

"Make me."

And Lexi does.

Right there. In the dark.

With the taste of tears and the weight of everything unspoken.

A kiss to end the world on.

And maybe--just maybe--start a new one.

They're still kissing when it happens. Leaned up against the back wall of the theater, brick pressing into Sylvia's spine, Lexi practically curled around her. Slower now. Softer. Like they're learning the shape of it for the first time.

Lexi's hands have stopped trembling. They're sure now. Steady.

She kisses the corner of Sylvia's mouth, then her jaw, then lower--pressing her cheek against Sylvia's neck like she needs to breathe her in. And she does.

And then her hand drops.

Down. Past the waistband of Sylvia's jacket, the hem of her shirt, brushing the curve of her hip through denim.

And then--

She reaches for the button of Sylvia's jeans.

Not rough. Not frantic.

Just... there.

A question.

Sylvia gasps, barely. Her hands tighten on Lexi's shoulders.

"Hey," she breathes.

Lexi stills. Looks up. Hair falling in her eyes, mouth flushed, eyes shining.

"You don't have to," Sylvia whispers. Her voice cracks at the edges.

Lexi searches her face.

"I want to," she says.

Soft. Clear. Reverent.

Sylvia's breath catches.

No one's ever said it like that before.

No one's ever touched her like that before--not like she's something to be cherished.

"I'm not asking you to prove anything," Sylvia says, quieter now. Almost scared.

"I'm not," Lexi says. "This isn't for you."

She leans in. Kisses the hollow of her throat.

"This is for me."

And her fingers go back to the button. Unfasten it. Gently.

And Sylvia--who's had people take from her, had hands on her body that didn't feel like this--lets her.

Because Lexi doesn't take.

She gives.

And Sylvia wants it. Wants her.

So bad it aches.

There's something sacred here--between the bruised sky and the brick wall, between denim and breath and reverent hands. Not filthy. Not even lustful. Just holy. Like Lexi's touch is a hymn and Sylvia is learning how to pray.

Let's live in that.

It's quiet. The kind of quiet that hums.

Sylvia's jeans are unbuttoned, unzipped, loose at her hips. Her breath comes shallow now, lips parted, eyes wide--watching Lexi like she's witnessing something she doesn't deserve to see.

Lexi is on her knees.

Not because she was told. Not because she had to.

Because she chose to.

And that... undoes Sylvia.

Lexi looks up at her like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like worship. Her hands are warm on Sylvia's thighs, thumbs stroking gently just above the waistband of her underwear. Her mouth is soft, tender, like she's afraid to rush this.

Like she knows the weight of it.

She presses a kiss low on her stomach. Then another. And another.

Sylvia's head tilts back against the wall. She's biting her lip so hard she might bleed. Not from restraint. From revelation.

Because no one's ever made it feel like this before.

No one's ever made her feel like this before.

When Lexi finally peels the denim down, inch by inch, she does it with the care of someone unwrapping a relic. Something sacred. Her hands tremble a little, but her eyes don't waver.

And then--gently, so gently--her mouth meets Sylvia's skin.

And Sylvia gasps.

The stars don't explode.

The world doesn't end.

But something shifts.

Like a veil lifting. Like the first breath after drowning.

She curls forward, fists tangled in Lexi's hair, thighs shaking, heart fucking roaring in her chest.

And Lexi?

Lexi moans into her. Low and guttural, like this is her truth. Like this is her offering. Like this is what she was made for.

Because it's holy, what two women do in the dark.

This--this--is very holy.

Alexis's the one driving.

Of course she is.

Her hands are steady on the wheel, even though she feels like she's floating six inches off the seat. Her hair's a mess. Her lips are swollen. She hasn't looked at Sylvia since they pulled away from the curb.

Sylvia is in the passenger seat, knees pulled up, chin on one, hoodie half-zipped like she got dressed in a fire. Her cheeks are flushed, her neck still damp. She keeps glancing sideways, then down, then out the window like the stars might have something to say.

They don't.

The radio's on, barely--a slow song, some indie voice sighing about touch me like I'm holy.

Alexis shuts it off.

Silence blooms.

Then:

"... You okay?" Alexis's voice is raw. Quiet. Careful.

Sylvia nods. Fast. Too fast.

Then shakes her head.

Alexis glances over.

"Talk to me."

Sylvia exhales. "I just... I don't know what to do with this."

Alexis keeps her eyes on the road. Her fingers tighten on the wheel.

"With me?" she asks. Too casual.

"No," Sylvia says. "With how it felt."

Alexis swallows. Her throat aches. "Yeah."

Sylvia runs a hand through her hair. "I've hooked up with girls before. But that..."

She doesn't finish.

Alexis doesn't need her to.

They're both sitting in it. Drenched in the weight of it. The holy thing that happened in the dark, still pulsing in their skin.

"It was like you saw me," Sylvia whispers. "Not just... wanted me. Like you knew me."

Alexis's jaw clenches.

"I do," she says.

Sylvia turns to her.

"What if this ruins us?"

Alexis finally pulls over.

Parks.

Lets the engine idle.

Then turns, slow, to face her.

"It already did," she says, eyes glassy. "And I don't care."

Sylvia's lip quivers.

She leans across the console.

And kisses her.

Slow. No hunger. Just thank you.

When they part, they're both smiling.

Small.

Real.

And for the rest of the ride home, they hold hands.

No labels.

No boxes.

Just two girls in the dark, touching something holy.

They don't leave Alexis's room.

Not once.

Not for water. Not for food. Not even when her phone buzzes seventeen times and Marisol sends WHERE R U SLUT in all caps.

The fairy lights are still on. The candle burned out hours ago. Everything smells like vanilla and sweat and the faintest trace of skin-on-skin.

They're curled up on Alexis's bed, tangled in one too-small blanket, faces so close they're practically breathing each other's breath.

Sylvia's arm is thrown over Alexis's waist, lazy and possessive. Her nose is buried in the curve of her neck.

Alexis lies on her back, staring at the ceiling like it's a map she's trying to memorize. Her fingers stroke slow circles on Sylvia's hip. Neither of them says much.

Not because they don't want to.

Because they're afraid that if they speak, the moment will end.

But morning comes anyway.

Soft and grey, seeping through the blinds.

They don't move right away.

Eventually, Alexis murmurs, "You smell like a dog park."

Sylvia snorts. "You smell like existential dread and Bath & Body Works."

They grin into each other.

And then they do move.

The shower is awkward. Messy. Laughing and bumping and almost slipping at least twice. Sylvia uses Alexis's shampoo and smells like honeyed grapefruit. AAlexiss wears a towel like a cape and calls herself "Queen of Regret."

They can't stop smiling.

But under it--lingering at the edges--is that dumb feeling.

That what are we even doing? weight.

Alexis opens her closet.

"You can wear something," she says, biting her lip.

Sylvia raises an eyebrow. "Like a skirt?"

Alexis shrugs. "Or, you know. Not your same hoodie from the past six years."

Sylvia ends up in a crop top and leggings that are too tight and too soft and she hates how good she looks in them. Alexis braids a little piece of her hair. Sylvia flips her off. Alexis kisses her forehead.

And when they look at each other in the mirror--

They both feel dumb.

Not in a bad way.

Just in a fuck, I think I like you more than I can handle way.

Sylvia clears her throat. "So... we're not telling anyone, right?"

Alexis hesitates.

And says, "Right."

But her chest aches.

And Sylvia sees it.

And neither of them has the courage to call it what it is yet.

So they hold hands down the stairs.

Let go before the front door.

And walk into the morning pretending they don't already belong to each other.

Darkness.

No sirens. Not yet. Just the kind of black that presses. Like being held down by the void itself.

Sylvia's body is still.

But something in her knows. Something panics.

Then--

Light.

Too bright. Fluorescent and cruel.

The world comes back in flashes.

A face.

A voice.

"She's hypotensive."

"Intubate now--she's crashing."

"Pressure's dropping. We're losing her."

Sylvia tries to speak.

Can't.

Something's in her throat. Something cold. Plastic. Invasive.

Her chest hurts. Not like an injury. Like the air itself is wrong. Like her lungs forgot how to be.

Straps on her arms.

A needle.

Blood.

Blood?

The inside of the ambulance is wrong. Too clean. Too sterile. Too not real.

And the EMTs--there's something off.

Their faces don't move right. One's mouth is open but the words don't match the lips. The other's eyes are black.

Not the pupils. The eyes.

All of it.

Sylvia wants to scream.

But the tube is already down her throat.

Darkness.

Again.

Swallowing everything.