"And how stupid is that?" he added, a bitter edge creeping back in. "How stupid does that make me?"

I took a step forward before I even realized I was moving.

"Luke—"

He shook his head, stepping back this time.

"No," he said. "Don't—don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing," he snapped, frustration slipping through again. "Where you look at me like that and suddenly I'm supposed to feel better."

"I'm not—"

"You are," he cut in. "You always do."

I froze.

"Like I'm something you can just... pick up whenever you want," he went on. "Like I'm just there."

His voice dropped.

"And the worst part?"

A pause.

"I let you."

Silence.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

"Because I can't not," he finished.

That was it.

That was the breaking point.

"Bullshit."

The word came out before I could stop it.

Sharp.

Immediate.

Luke blinked.

"What?"

I took another step forward now, my breathing still uneven, my head still spinning—but something else had taken over.

Something stronger.

"Bullshit," I repeated.

His brows furrowed. "What are you—"

"All of it," I said, cutting him off this time. "Everything you just said."

His expression hardened slightly. "You think I'm lying?"

"I think," I said, my voice shaking but firm, "This is all bullshit."

The word echoed louder this time, sharper, like it had edges.

"All of it," I added, my voice rising, my chest still tight but now filled with something else—anger, years of it, finally finding its way out. "Everything you just said—bullshit."

Luke's expression shifted.

Not defensive.

Not angry.

But... confused.

"You're standing there acting like some kind of victim," I continued, stepping closer, my finger pointing at him now, "like this was all one-sided, like I never felt anything, like I was just—what? Oblivious?"

His jaw tightened. "That's not—"

"And you took everything," I cut him off, my voice shaking now but not stopping, "everything I felt, everything that happened between us—and you turned it into something that it wasn't."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, frustration creeping in.

"You ruined it," I snapped. "If anything, you're the one who ruined everything, because all of that " I didn't mean it" bullshit"I gestured at him, at everything he had just said. "That whole speech? It's bullshit."

He stared at me.

Really stared.

And then—

Something clicked.

I saw it happen.

His expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly, then lifted, like pieces falling into place.

"Wait," he said slowly.

A pause.

"This—this is what you were talking about all along?"

I frowned. "What?"

"The kiss," he said.

My stomach dropped.

"That's what this is about?"

I scoffed, shaking my head immediately. "It wasn't even a kiss—"

He blinked. "You just said we had something."

"I said we had things," I corrected, frustrated. "Not that we kissed."

"That's not what it sounded like—"

"Oh my God, Luke, that's not the point!" I snapped.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "So all this time—" he looked back at me, almost incredulous now, "you've been mad because I said I didn't mean it?"

I stared at him.

"Why are you saying it like that?" I asked, my voice dropping but still sharp. "Like it's not something to be mad about?"

"Because I didn't think it was," he shot back. "Why would I think that's what you were upset about?"

I let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Because it's obvious, Luke!" I said, my voice rising again. "We were literally about to kiss—"

"Almost kiss," he corrected.

"—and then right after," I continued over him, "you look at me and you say you didn't mean it!"

His face twisted. "That's not what I meant."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?" I snapped. "How am I supposed to translate whatever cryptic version of emotions you decide to throw at me that day?"

He took a step closer.

"So I'm supposed to guess that you're mad about that," he said, his voice rising too now, "when the next day you're talking to another guy like I don't even exist?"

"Oh, please," I rolled my eyes hard. "I dated Dylan a year later. A year. That wasn't even close to the same thing."

"You were already talking to him," he fired back.

"Because I was done with you!" I shouted.

That landed.

Hard.

"And you know why?" I continued, my chest heaving now. "Because of that. Because you stood there and said you didn't mean it like it was some kind of mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake!" he snapped.

"Then you should've explained it better!" I yelled.

"I tried—"

"No, you didn't!" I cut him off. "You said the words, Luke. You said, 'I didn't mean it.'"

He shook his head immediately. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

His voice dropped, more controlled but just as intense.

"That's not what I said."

We were close now.

Too close.

The room had gone darker without me noticing—the last light of the day slipping away until all that was left was shadows and the tension between us.

"I said," he continued, his eyes locked on mine, "that I didn't mean it like that."

I froze.

"What?" I asked, quieter now, but just as sharp.

"That's what I said," he repeated. "I didn't mean it like that."

"And what the fuck does that mean?" I shot back.

"It means," he said, stepping even closer, his voice low but firm, "that I didn't want that moment to happen like that."

"Like what?" I challenged.

"Like that," he repeated, frustrated. "In the middle of a fight, when I was pissed off, when I was jealous—"

I blinked.

"You were jealous?" I cut in.

"Yes!" he snapped. "That's the point!"

I stared at him.

Completely thrown.

"I didn't want our first kiss," he continued, his voice breaking slightly through the frustration, "to happen because I was angry or jealous or out of control. I wanted it to happen right."

My breath hitched.

"And you thought I would just... know that?" I asked, my voice rising again, anger rushing back in to cover whatever that had just been.

"Well, how was I supposed to know you thought I was rejecting you?" he shot back.

"Because you literally said you didn't mean it!" I yelled.

"I said I didn't mean it like that!" he yelled back.

We were shouting now.

Loud.

Uncontrolled.

"Then maybe say it better!" I snapped. "Maybe explain yourself like a normal human being instead of expecting people to read your mind!"

"And maybe you could've asked!" he fired back. "Instead of running off and acting like I didn't exist!"

"I didn't run off!" I shouted. "I was pissed!"

"At what?!" he demanded.

"At you!" I yelled. "Because you were mean!"

"I wasn't mean!" he snapped. "You misunderstood me!"

"Oh my God," I laughed bitterly, "this is all your fault because you never say what you actually mean!"

"And this is yours," he shot back, "because you never stay long enough to hear it!"

Silence hit for half a second.

Then—

"I didn't want to kiss you like that!" he said loudly, his voice cracking through everything. "I wanted it to be something real. Something that wasn't fueled by anger or jealousy or whatever the hell was happening in that moment!"

"There is no such thing as perfect!" I shouted back immediately. "There is no perfect moment, Luke! You could've just said what you felt!"

"I was trying to!" he yelled.

"No, you weren't!"

"Yes, I was!"

We were inches apart now.

Breathing heavy.

Voices echoing in the room.

Years of miscommunication, of almosts, of things left unsaid. Crashing into each other all at once and neither of us— was stopping.

Maddie's point of view — present day

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was—"

He stopped.

Abruptly.

Like something snapped into place in his head.

"This," he said, his voice dropping but somehow hitting harder, "this is the problem."

I frowned, breath still uneven. "What?"

"This," he repeated, gesturing between us. "Us."

I let out a dry laugh. "Oh, here we go."

"We are too different, Maddie," he continued, ignoring my tone. "Way too different. And you—" he pointed at me now, frustration spilling over, "you never listen to me."

I scoffed immediately. "Excuse me?"

"You don't," he insisted. "You hear what you want to hear. You always have."

I rolled my eyes hard. "Oh my God, stop putting this on me. This is literally your fault."

"My fault?" he echoed.

"Yes, your fault!" I shot back. "You just can't explain yourself like a normal person. Everything has to be this—this structured, controlled, perfectly planned thing with you!"

He tensed.

"And you know what?" I continued, stepping closer, my voice rising again. "If you weren't so fucking organized all the time, if you didn't need a plan for every single thing—even for a kiss—none of this would have happened."

His jaw clenched.

"There is no perfect moment, Luke!" I snapped. "There is no perfect plan for that! You just—you overthink everything until it's ruined!"

"You're really pissing me off right now," he said through gritted teeth.

"Good," I fired back instantly. "Because that's exactly what you've been doing to me for years."

He blinked, thrown off by the intensity.

"All I wanted," I continued, my voice shaking now, anger mixing with something deeper, "was to get you out of my head. And now I find out I've been holding onto this—this stupid thing—all this time because you couldn't just say what you meant!"

I let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through my hair.

"You had a plan for a kiss," I added, almost incredulous. "Do you even hear how insane that sounds?"

"It's not insane," he snapped.

"It is!" I shot back. "Get a grip, Luke. Not everything needs a blueprint. Not everything needs to be perfect. Just—be a little loose for once!"

He laughed—sharp, almost offended.

"I know there's no need to plan everything," he said, voice rising again. "I just like to. That's who I am."

"Well, it's exhausting," I muttered.

"And for some reason," he continued, stepping closer again, his voice tightening, "whenever it comes to you, nothing goes according to plan."

I blinked.

"Nothing happens the way I expect it to," he went on. "Not how I think it should. Not how I—"

"So now you're blaming me?" I cut in.

"You're not listening to me!" he snapped.

"And you're not listening to me either!" I shot back.

Silence cracked between us for half a second.

"You're so irritating," he muttered.

"Good, because I hate you," I snapped.

"Oh, perfect," he said dryly.

And then— He moved.

Fast. Too fast for me to process. One second we were arguing—

The next, his hand was at the back of my neck, firm, grounding, pulling me toward him.

My breath caught— And then his lips were on mine.

Not soft. Not careful. Not planned.

It was everything he wasn't.

It was heat.

Frustration.

Years of tension snapping all at once.

The kiss was rough, desperate, like neither of us knew where to place all the things we had been holding back, so it all poured into that one moment.

I gasped against him, my hands instinctively grabbing onto his shirt, like I needed something to steady myself.

He tilted my head slightly, his grip firm but not hurting, just enough to keep me there, to keep me from pulling away—even though I wasn't trying to.

It wasn't sweet.

It wasn't gentle.

It was overwhelming.

Like eleven years of almosts collapsing into something real.

Something unavoidable.

Something we couldn't take back.

We broke apart only because we had to breathe.

My chest rose sharply, my head spinning, my lips still tingling, my thoughts completely gone.

I stared at him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, breathless.

He looked at me—really looked this time—and there was something almost reckless in his eyes.

"Not following the plan," he said.

I blinked.

Still trying to catch up.

Still trying to understand.

"We were just fighting," I said, my voice quieter now, almost disoriented. "And now you're—"

"I told you," he cut in, a faint, almost crooked smile appearing, "it was effective."

I let out a shaky breath.

"I hate you," I muttered.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I know."

And then— He pulled me back in.