"Between friends, unspoken feelings can feel like a fragile thread pulled taut; one denies its existence while the other hides behind its delicate weave, both yearning for the courage to unravel what lies beneath."
Ian and Julian, long-time best fri...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
...a prickling at the back of my neck that I couldn't quite shake. Something wasn't right—I could feel it, crawling under my skin. And then, just as that realization sharpened, everything slipped away. Blank.
The car lurched to a stop on the gravel path, the engine sputtering its discontent.
The beach lay ahead—hazy, cold, and uninterested in the day. Dew clung to the grass and rocks, catching the weak light, while the horizon smudged where the sea and sky refused to separate.
I stepped out, boots crunching on gravel, pulling my jacket tighter. The cold slipped under it, sharp and unwelcome. I reached up, fingers brushing the bruised, swollen line of my cheekbone. Yep, still tender. Louise's magical ointment had taken the sting out, but the dull throb was here to stay, a constant reminder of the great decisions I'd been making lately.
Louise, bless her, had freaked out when she found me. Full-on panic mode—hands shaking, voice sharp, questions flying at me like darts. What happened? Who did this? I'd waved her off with a classic I-don't-know-didn't-see-anything, which was technically true, in the same way calling a mess "organized chaos" is true. She didn't push, but judging by my dad's sudden obsession with my whereabouts, she'd definitely called him. His voice had been tight with frustration last night, like he was one misstep away from driving over here to interrogate me in person.
But now? Standing here with the beach stretching out ahead of me, all moody and endless? None of that mattered. For a second, at least, it was just me, the cold, and the sea.
The beach was as empty as I remembered, the same low stretch of sand where we'd sprinted that night, feet kicking up in the dark, hearts pounding with the thrill of being somewhere we weren't supposed to be. It was private property, they told us later. We were stupid kids. Stupid, reckless kids who didn't care about trespassing laws or the consequences when the cops showed up and we scattered like startled birds.
I walked down to the water, my boots sinking slightly into the sand. The waves lapped lazily at the shore, their rhythm steady and indifferent. The place looked smaller now, stripped of the energy we'd brought to it that night. It felt almost peaceful.
I dug my hands into my pockets and sighed, my breath curling like smoke in the cold air. I didn't know why I'd come here. Nostalgia, maybe. Or just the need to be somewhere else, anywhere but home with its questions and solitude. The sweater I'd thrown on didn't do much against the chill, but I didn't move, just stood there, watching the horizon like it might clear if I stared long enough.
After a while, the cold started to creep deeper, and I shook myself out of it, turning back to the car.
The diner was a few minutes away. I hadn't thought about it in a while, but the memory surfaced as I drove, clear and vivid: us running, laughing, out of breath, adrenaline still coursing through our veins. The way Ian had leaned back, grinning like he didn't have a care in the world. The way we'd ordered fries and milkshakes like nothing had just happened.
