JUNO (sabrina carpenter x you)

chapter 22

Y/N's POV

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I'm seeing things. It couldn't have been her. She wouldn't have shown up... would she?

The thought stabbed through the haze of twinkle lights and murmured conversations like a needle threading its way straight through my spine. Sharp. Icy. Familiar in a way that made me nauseous. My breath hitched, catching somewhere in my chest as I scanned the shifting bodies around us, the ambient chatter of guests rising and falling like the tide. She was gone—left behind in every sense, emotionally exorcised, cut from my life like a tumor. And yet...

That face. Those eyes. That look.

It was a flicker—barely there—but it had lodged itself in the back of my mind like a splinter under the skin, stubborn and stinging.

I blinked rapidly, vision dancing with golds and reds as we stepped deeper into the venue. The Vines was glowing, dim and intimate, dressed in deep cranberry velvet and the warm, romantic hue of hanging Edison bulbs. Strings of miniature snowflake lights cascaded down the walls like falling stars, and somewhere in the background, a delicate jazz version of "Last Christmas" twirled through the air. It should've felt magical.

Instead, my heart was pounding like I was walking into a war zone.

My fingers must've twitched, because Sabrina's grip on my hand tightened just slightly. Warm, anchoring. She always knew. Her thumb brushed mine absently, and that tiny gesture pulled me back to the floor under my feet, just long enough to keep moving forward. One step, then another.

Laurie gasped audibly as we entered the main hall, spinning like a kid in a museum, marveling at the ceiling—a sprawling mural of winter scenes painted in the style of old European cathedrals. "Okay, but this place is sexy," she whispered, completely in awe.

Paloma was already halfway across the room with the precision of a woman on a mission, calling over her shoulder, "If I don't return in five minutes, assume I've married the bartender."

Sabrina laughed beside me, her arm now curled loosely around my waist, face pressed briefly to my shoulder. "This is already my favorite night," she murmured. "It feels like a dream."

I tried to mirror her happiness, but the smile I wore felt like it was made of glass—shiny and fragile, one wrong move away from shattering.

I wasn't fully present. I was here in body, but my mind was somewhere outside, stuck in that half-second of eye contact. Stuck in that face I'd sworn I'd never have to see again.

And she noticed.

Of course she did.

As we neared the roped-off area for performers and staff, Sabrina slowed her steps and tilted her head to look up at me, concern already blooming in her eyes.

"Baby," she said softly, the way she always did when it was just me and her—no cameras, no show. "You good?"

I faltered, the lie already halfway to my lips. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Too quick. Too clipped.

Her brow furrowed, but her tone stayed gentle. "That didn't sound like a 'fine' fine."

My eyes flicked to her team waiting a few feet away—people with headsets and clipboards and time-sensitive nerves. We didn't have time for this. Not now. Not with everything about tonight mattering so much to her.