LUNA'S POV
"Besties," he repeated, that dangerous smirk flirting with his mouth. "Explains the missing brain cells."
I opened my mouth to argue — to say something witty, clever, or at least sarcastic — but nothing came out. The words were there, but they jammed in my throat, caught somewhere between the fading sound of Steven's footsteps and the soundless weight of Hardin's gaze.
He stepped forward, the light catching the edges of his jaw, his eyes still shadowed. He was standing close now, too close for my brain to function correctly.
I clutched the bucket tighter.
He tilted his head just slightly. "But if he's not your man," he said, voice low, smooth, dangerous in that way only he could manage, "then who are you pulling stunts like this for?"
I blinked.
The bucket suddenly felt ten times heavier.
"I—I wasn't doing it for anyone," I stammered. "We just… it was just our plan. Steven and I. A joke."
"Mm," he hummed, unconvinced. "You looked real committed to the chaos a second ago. Then you froze. Like something... or someone... got in the way."
My face burned.
He wasn't wrong.
Because the truth was, the moment I saw him standing there — arms resting on the railing, watching the madness below like he owned the night — I'd frozen like an idiot. The plan slipped right through my fingers, just like the moment I stepped into his shadow.
"I didn't know you'd be here," I blurted.
That smirk deepened. "And if you did?"
I swallowed.
Would I still have dumped slime on people's heads? Or would I have come up to the balcony earlier — just to catch him alone?
I hated how I didn't know the answer.
Then I heard that maddening chuckle of his — low and infuriating. He ruffled my hair like I was some emotionally unstable puppy, then stepped past me — slow, casual, deliberate. Just close enough for his fingers to graze mine, leaving a trail of static that lit up my skin.
"Clean up your mess, young lady. Don't be such a pest," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Then, with a glance over his shoulder, he added, "Or don't. It's cute watching you squirm."
Then he was gone — down the stairs like nothing happened, leaving me on that balcony, heart pounding, hands trembling around a forgotten bucket of slime.
That was when it hit me — Steven.
My eyes widened. "Steven!"
I dropped the bucket like it had burned me and bolted down the stairs, my boots thudding against the wood as the bass of the party music pounded beneath my heartbeat. The party was still alive — too alive — laughing, dancing, a mess of colors and noise. But I wasn't.
I felt hollow.
I didn't care about the music or the glitter or the drunk Barbie girls shrieking at nothing. I just needed to get to where Steven had parked his car.
But when I got there…
His car was gone.
I froze. The blood drained from my face like someone pulled the plug. Cold panic slithered down my spine.
"No, no, no…" I muttered, fumbling with my phone and quickly ordering a cab with shaking fingers.
In the back seat of the cab, I pulled up his messages, praying he'd texted something else.
There it was — his last message:
"Status? Did you slip in your own slime or what??"
A tiny, pitiful laugh escaped me — dry and empty. I exhaled sharply, thumbs flying as I typed.
Me: "I'm so sorry. I messed it up. Please talk to me."
No reply.
I stared at the screen like it might blink back to life if I begged hard enough. Then I noticed something that twisted the knife deeper — he was online.
Steven, the always responder.
Steven, who once replied to a "good morning" text with a 3-paragraph rant on why cereal should be classified as soup.
Now? Online. Silent.
I bit my lip and tapped the call icon, praying he'd pick up.
The first call — declined.
The screen darkened like it was slamming a door in my face.
I leaned back in the cab, slumping my head against the headrest, my throat tightening.
"I'm sorry, Steven," I whispered, more to the night than to the call.
I didn't know if it was the guilt or the weight of Hardin's voice still echoing in my head… but something told me I'd really screwed things up this time.
When I got out of the cab, I didn't hesitate. I walked straight to Steven's apartment like I belonged there — because honestly, I kind of did.
The guys hanging around the porch barely looked surprised to see me. That place had basically become my second home. Chaos HQ. The Den of Mischief. Whatever.
I spotted Travis and a few of the others doubled over in laughter about something undoubtedly stupid.
"Hey, guys!" I called, brushing stray strands of hair out of my face.
Their heads turned and I got a warm chorus of, "Hey, Luna!"
I made my way to where Travis was sitting and plopped beside him like a fallen leaf.
"Travis," I nudged, "have you seen Steven?"
Still snickering at a joke I missed, he nodded. "Yeah, he strolled in and out earlier. Had his guitar with him."
His guitar.
Bingo.
I instantly knew where he was.
But then Travis turned serious, the laughter fading just a bit from his face. "He didn't look happy. Did something happen between you two?"
I exhaled like a tired, guilty parrot. "A little fight. But I can handle it."
Then I shot up like a spring. "Bye, guys!"
"Bye, Luna!" they called, their voices fading behind me as I made a beeline for the place I knew Steven would be.
The large, slightly overdramatic stone fountain behind the building. His thinking spot. His storm-brooding, song-writing, sadness-absorbing throne.
And there he was.
My emotionally soggy bestie. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, strumming that worn-out guitar like a man stuck in an '80s heartbreak montage. He looked like a walking Tumblr post.
I didn't say anything at first. Just walked up and quietly sat beside him.
He paused his playing the moment I sat. But didn't look at me.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was raspy — from either singing or holding back an emotional breakdown. Honestly, any could go either way.
"Steven," I said gently, adding my usual playful note like a Band-Aid over a bullet wound.
"Not in the mood, Luna." His fingers grazed the strings, but the song was gone. He still didn't look at me.
"Please, Steven," I whispered.
Silence.
I looked at his side profile — jaw clenched, eyes forward, breathing slow like he was trying not to explode or cry. Or maybe both.
I hated that I put that look there.
He finally turned to look at me, slowly, like it took effort just to meet my eyes.
"You disappeared," he said quietly, voice edged with something sharp beneath the calm. "You left me crouched by the damn power room like a joke. You just forgot about the whole thing."
"I—I didn't mean to," I murmured, guilt squeezing my chest. "It wasn't like that—"
"You always say that, Luna." His voice cracked. "That it wasn't like that. That I'm reading too much into things. That it's all fun. All chaos. But when it's with him—"
I blinked. "Him?"
He scoffed, looking away again, shaking his head like he hated himself for even bringing it up.
"Hardin. Yeah. Don't play dumb."
"I wasn't—Steven, it wasn't anything like that."
"Then what was it?" he snapped, the fire finally spilling out. "Because from where I stood, it looked like you forgot I even existed. You were supposed to give the signal. We were supposed to do this together. But instead you're just... standing there with him like the whole damn world disappeared."
I swallowed hard. "I froze."
"Yeah?" he said bitterly. "Well I burned."
That hit.
Silence fell like a curtain between us.
I looked down at my hands. "I saw him by accident. I didn't know he'd be there. He said something— I panicked. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even realize how long I was standing there until you came."
He looked at me now, eyes rimmed red. "You left me behind, Luna."
My throat tightened. "I didn't mean to, Steven. I swear. You know you're my person."
"I was your person," he said softly. "But lately… ever since you set your eyes on that smug-stupid-face of a guy..., you've changed."
That broke something in me.
"Steven, I'm sorry. I messed up. I should've run after you the moment I saw your face."
He didn't speak.
So I reached for his hand — carefully, gently, like he was a skittish animal that might bolt.
"I missed the moment, Steven," I said. "But I'm here now."
He looked at our hands. Then at me. His voice was barely a whisper.
"You promise?"
I nodded. "On every last drop of slime we've ever dumped."
His lips twitched — a reluctant, sad little smile.
And then finally, finally, he leaned in and rested his head against mine.
We sat there in silence. No more guitar. No more anger.
Just us.
Right where we belonged.