CUT TO: DAMIEN'S APARTMENT — MORNING
Sunlight spills through the half-closed blinds, casting faint lines across the wooden floor. The small apartment smells like coffee and slightly burnt toast.
Sienna stands in the kitchen, wearing Damien's oversized hoodie over her uniform, flipping a pancake in a pan with intense concentration.
Damien watches from the couch, hair messy, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
DAMIEN: (hoarse) You're burning it.
SIENNA: (glaring) Say that again, and I'll throw the pan at your face.
He smirks, the tiniest ghost of amusement flickering through his exhaustion.
DAMIEN: (softly) You're still burning it.
SIENNA: (gritting teeth) I swear to God, Montemayor.
She flips the pancake — it lands lopsided, slightly charred at the edges. Sienna sighs, sliding it onto a plate and plopping it in front of Damien.
SIENNA: (deadpan) Bon appétit, Your Highness.
Damien picks up the fork, stabbing the pancake lazily.
DAMIEN: (teasing) You're not the best cook, huh?
SIENNA: (shrugging) I make instant ramen like a pro. Take it or leave it.
He bites into the pancake — it's dry, but he eats it anyway.
DAMIEN: (quietly) Thanks for staying.
Sienna leans against the counter, crossing her arms.
SIENNA: (softly) You think I'd leave you alone after last night?
He doesn't answer, just stares at the plate, shoulders hunched.
SIENNA: (gently) You wanna talk about it?
DAMIEN: (flatly) No.
She nods, not pushing.
SIENNA: (lightly) Okay. But you still have to get your butt up and practice today.
He looks up, eyes dark with exhaustion and frustration.
DAMIEN: (sharp) Not in the mood, Siea.
SIENNA: (tilting her head) You think moods win tournaments?
He blinks, surprised at her sudden shift in tone.
SIENNA: (stepping closer) You think your dad's words are gonna disappear if you just sit here and rot?
Damien clenches his jaw, looking away.
SIENNA: (softer) You wanna shut him up? Do it on the court.
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.
He swallows hard, running a hand down his face.
DAMIEN: (quietly) I don't know if I can.
Sienna crouches down in front of him, resting her hands on his knees, her voice steady and sure.
SIENNA: (firmly) Then let me remind you how.
CUT TO: BASKETBALL COURT — AFTERNOON
The sun blazes down on the empty court, heat radiating off the pavement.
Damien dribbles the ball, sweat dripping down his face, muscles screaming with exhaustion.
Sienna stands on the sidelines, yelling like a coach.
SIENNA: (shouting) Faster, Montemayor!
He grits his teeth, pushing through the drills, sprinting, shooting, missing, trying again.
SIENNA: (clapping) COME ON! This is nothing for a star player, right? Or did the "Prince of the Court" turn into a rookie?
He scowls, the insult lighting a fire in his chest.
DAMIEN: (panting) You talk a lot for someone not playing.
SIENNA: (smirking) Oh? You wanna lose to me?
She snatches the ball from him, spinning on her heel, and shoots — the ball swishes through the net effortlessly.
Damien blinks.
DAMIEN: (shocked) ...What the hell?
She grins, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
SIENNA: (casually) Played shooting guard at my old school. No biggie.
He stares at her, chest heaving, then bursts out laughing — loud, unrestrained, like he hasn't in weeks.
DAMIEN: (grinning) Are you kidding me?
SIENNA: (flashing a peace sign) Sorry, Prince. You're not special.
Damien shakes his head, still catching his breath, but for the first time in days, he feels lighter.
They play one-on-one until the sun starts to set — Sienna laughing, Damien shoving her playfully, both of them collapsing on the court when their legs give out.
The sky is streaked with orange and purple, the distant sound of traffic buzzing in the background.
They lie side by side on the pavement, bodies aching, staring at the clouds.
DAMIEN: (softly) Thanks, Siea.
She turns her head toward him, her voice quieter, more serious.
SIENNA: (whispering) I'll always be here, you idiot.
Damien's heart stutters, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
But he doesn't say anything.
He just reaches out, intertwining his pinky with hers, holding on like it's the only thing keeping him steady.
And for now, it is.
TO BE CONTINUED...
YOU ARE READING
Between Bruises and Butterflies
Teen FictionSt. Augustine Academy is no ordinary school. It's a playground for the rich, a battlefield for the broken, and a maze of friendships laced with betrayal. When a new transfer student steps through its gates, she carries more than just her sketchbook...
