˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—
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The couch cushions were lopsided. Milo had taken over the left side and fallen asleep with his hoodie over his face, breathing like he'd run a marathon. Freya and Swayam were passed out across bean bags, limbs tangled like siblings who didn't know how to share space. Even Julian was snoring, one sock off and half a slice of pizza resting tragically on his chest.
It was 1:47 a.m. The movie was long over. The chatter had faded into late-night silence, broken only by shifting blankets and the occasional crunch of someone still pretending they weren't tired.
Malachi hadn't moved in a while. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out, picking at the string on his sweatshirt.
He wasn't tired.
Not even close.
Across the room, Arabella sat curled on the opposite end of the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves bunched around her hands. Her phone screen lit up her face for a few seconds at a time—messages, probably. Or scrolling. Avoidance.
They hadn't spoken all night.
Not one word.
And that was fine.
It was what he expected.
Maybe even deserved.
Still... it was messing with his head. The silence. The avoidance. The way she hadn't even looked at him, not once, not even when Meg made a dumb joke about on-screen chemistry and the whole room had laughed.
She hadn't cracked a smile. She just got quiet.
She always did that when she was shutting down. He remembered.
He hated that he remembered.
Meg slipped out of the room, probably to grab water or check on something, and for a second—just one breathless, stretched-out second—it was just them.
Malachi looked at her.
"Bella."
Her eyes stayed on her phone. "Don't call me that."
His chest tightened. "Sorry."
She finally looked up, slow and deliberate. Her eyes were tired, but sharp. Tired in that way that wasn't about sleep.
"Why now?" she asked. Voice quiet. "Why talk to me now?"
He shrugged. "I didn't think ignoring each other all night made sense."
"Oh, now it doesn't make sense?" Her laugh was bitter and low. "You've had plenty of time to say something. Months. Years, even. But now, here, surrounded by half-asleep Disney kids and pizza crusts, that's when you decide to care?"
Malachi didn't answer. Because there wasn't a good answer. Not one that wouldn't make her roll her eyes and walk away again.
"I'm not here for drama," she said, voice steadier now. "I'm not here for closure, or forgiveness, or... whatever you're trying to do. We're coworkers. That's it."
"I know."
"Do you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Because you're looking at me like I'm still yours."
That hit. Hard.
He blinked. Swallowed the lump in his throat. "You were never mine. Not really."
Arabella stood up slowly, careful not to wake Freya as she stepped around her. She moved toward the hallway, past where he sat—too close now, even without touching.
She paused at the doorway.
"You don't get to decide when it's convenient to care again," she said, not turning around.
Then she was gone.
Malachi sat there for a long time after, the silence pressing heavy around him.
Tomorrow, they'd be on a flight together. They'd be playing people in love. Saying lines that would probably echo real things they'd said once, or never got to.
And that terrified him.
Because if there was one thing he knew about Arabella Jade Walton, it was this—
She could pretend better than anyone.
And this time, he wasn't sure she'd ever stop.
The bathroom light was too bright.
Too white. Too clean.
She blinked at herself in the mirror, splashing cold water onto her face like it could erase the last five minutes.
The sting on her cheeks from the cold was grounding. Real. She clung to it.
She didn't cry.
She wasn't going to cry.
The door creaked open behind her.
"Hey," Milo's voice came in soft, cautious. "Is it okay if I—?"
Arabella didn't look at him, but she didn't tell him to leave either. She reached for a towel and dabbed at her face, holding her breath.
He shut the door gently behind him and leaned against the sink next to her, his reflection appearing beside hers like some older brother energy she didn't ask for—but maybe needed.
"You good?" he asked.
Arabella stared at her own eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"Because no one here's blind," he said, shrugging. "You've been quiet all night. And it's not the tired kind."
She clenched her jaw. "I'm not doing this."
"I'm not asking for a monologue," Milo said, tone light, but the concern was there. "Just... if you need to breathe, I'm here."
Arabella looked at him then. Really looked. Milo was the goofy guy, the guy who made weird jokes and always knew everyone's coffee order and did little dances when he got excited. But right now, he just looked... steady. Like he'd been around this stuff before.
"He broke me," she said suddenly. The words slipped out like they'd been waiting too long in her throat.
Milo didn't flinch. Didn't rush to say something to fix it. Just waited.
"I was all in," she went on, staring back at the mirror. "And he was... reckless. With everything. With me."
Milo nodded slowly. "Yeah. He's not the best with handling things that matter. I've seen it."
Arabella blinked, surprised. "You knew?"
"I figured something happened back then," he said. "The way your name made him shut down? I guessed it wasn't just a casual thing."
She sighed, gripping the edge of the sink. "I don't want him to think I'm still—like, affected. I don't want him to think he still has that kind of power over me."
"Then don't let him," Milo said. "But you don't have to pretend either. That's not strength, that's just... hiding."
Arabella was quiet. The kind of quiet where your heart beats too loud in your own ears.
"You don't owe anyone a performance tonight," he added, gently. "Least of all him."
She let out a shaky breath and nodded, almost too small to see.
Milo pushed off the sink and headed for the door. "You coming back out, or do you want me to make up an excuse for you? I can say you got abducted by a raccoon in Meg's backyard."
Arabella cracked a smile. "Tempting."
He grinned. "The offer stands."
She looked at her reflection one last time. Brushed the flyaways off her forehead. Then followed him out.
And even though her chest still ached with everything unsaid, it helped knowing someone had her back—even if just for a night.
A/N
the A/N is that there is no A/N I'm tired
~Flying3raccoon out 🍁