If Only (GxG)

Chapter 35 Fray

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Alison's POV

It started on Friday, as these things so often do. One of those grey London mornings where the sky sagged low and soft, and the air hung heavy with that damp chill that didn't quite turn into rain, but clung to your skin all the same. The kind of weather that made the streets smell like concrete and coffee and last night's chips.

Amy and I were walking out of class, arms linked loosely like we always did when we didn't feel like rushing anywhere. Our laughter still floated in the air between us—something silly Ross had muttered under his breath while we were meant to be focusing on analysis techniques. Something about our teacher looking like he moonlighted as a villain in a Victorian ghost story.

"He honestly does though," Amy was saying, her face lit with that mischief she wore so well. "Like he's just waiting for someone to find the cursed portrait in the attic."

I snorted. "Or to inherit a crumbling estate and die under mysterious circumstances."

"He'd haunt it himself just for the drama," she said, and we both dissolved into laughter, our boots scuffing the wet pavement as we turned down the main road.

Things had been good lately. Really good, actually. School was busy, but manageable. Work at the bookshop hadn't been unbearable, and my coursework was under control for once. Even home had been... peaceful. For now. And Blake—well, Blake was still very much Blake. Brilliant, complicated, magnetic Blake. And being hers, and having her as mine, still made my chest ache in the best kind of way.

But even when life's good, it doesn't always leave much room for breath.

The past few weeks had blurred together—school, work, home, Blake. Everything layered on top of everything else, and I hadn't realised just how long it had been since Amy and I had actually stopped to just... be.

So when she nudged me with her shoulder and said, "We need a girls' night," it felt less like a suggestion and more like the best idea I'd heard in days.

I turned to her, smiling already. "Yes, please. Pub?"

"Obviously," she said, already tugging her phone from her coat pocket. "Friday?"

I nodded. "It's a date."

She grinned at me, thumbs flying across her screen as she added it in. "I want a pint of something warm and disappointing and at least one plate of chips we won't finish."

"I want sticky tables and bad music and to complain about our coursework like we didn't do it to ourselves," I said.

The cold wind whipped around the corner, tugging at our scarves as we reached the bus stop. Amy tucked herself in closer beside me and looped her arm through mine again.

We stood there for a moment in the stillness, the city moving around us, buses growling past, horns in the distance, the comforting noise of London's heartbeat. And for the first time in a while, I felt like I could stop. Not because anything was wrong—but because something as simple as a Saturday night with Amy sounded exactly like what I wanted.

Not a distraction. Just something lovely. Easy.

A good thing in a life that, lately, had been full of them—but rarely still enough to notice.

I told Blake about the girls' night over the phone that evening, curled beneath my duvet like I was ten again, whispering secrets to the dark. The call wasn't long—she picked up on the third ring, her voice low and flat, like she'd just stepped away from something heavy and hadn't quite put it down.

"That sounds nice," she said when I told her.
No warmth. No teasing. Just... nice.

No Can I pick you up after?
No What are you wearing?
Not even a Send me photos.