☾

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝐥𝗼𝐠𝐮𝐞.

La Push, WA.
February

Maija Lahote yawned softly, her face pressed to Quil Ateara's bare chest, where the steady beat of his heart thudded beneath her cheek. His arm draped lazily around her, fingers grazing the curve of her back beneath his old flannel. He always ran warm, and she always found herself curled into him like a magnet, like she belonged there.

His scent—earthy and familiar, like cedarwood and ocean salt—was comfort. It was home.

She traced slow circles across his skin, the rough pads of her fingertips drifting without thought. A lull had settled over them, late-night quiet interrupted only by the wind brushing the trees outside his window.

"Can I ask you something?" she murmured.

Quil's lips curved faintly against her temple. "Depends," he said, teasing.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, soft and unhurried at first, then longer—like neither of them wanted to let go. When he finally pulled back, her brows were pinched, eyes still wide open.

He knew that look.

Maija hesitated. Then, so softly it nearly got lost between them: "What are we, Quil?"

And just like that, the air shifted.

Quil's smile faltered. He blinked, like he'd been yanked out of some dream. The tension in his arm stiffened, and she felt it—felt him—retreating.

He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face, and the warmth of his body left hers. "Maija..."

She sat up too, pulling her knees to her chest. "You know what I mean," she said, staring at him. "Don't pretend you don't."

Quil stood, turning his back to her. He tugged his t-shirt on slowly, buying time. Time he didn't have.

"Maija, we've been doing this since we were kids," he said finally, voice low. "You've basically lived in my damn house since you were four. We kissed for the first time behind your dad's shed in eighth grade, remember that?"

She laughed, bitter. "Of course I remember. You tasted like Dr. Pepper and were shaking so hard I thought you were gonna faint."

Quil cracked a faint smile at the memory but didn't turn around. "Yeah. And then we did it again. And again. And by tenth grade we were sneaking into each other's rooms every night like idiots."

"And now?" she asked quietly. "What is this now?"

He hesitated. "It's us. It's always been us."

"That's not an answer, Quil."

"I don't have a fucking answer!" he exploded, finally turning to face her. "I don't know, okay? I don't know what we are. I just know I don't want to mess it up."

"You are messing it up!" Maija snapped, standing too. Her voice shook with emotion. "You always say that like it's some excuse. Like being scared gives you a free pass to keep jerking me around."

"I'm not jerking you around!"

"Yes, you are!" she cried. "We hook up behind bonfires, sneak kisses in your truck when no one's watching, and then you act like nothing's going on! You won't even call me your girlfriend, Quil. What the hell am I to you?"

He looked at her like she'd just sucker-punched him. "You're Maija," he said, like that should explain everything. "You're my best friend."

"That's not enough anymore!" she screamed. "God, do you even want me?"

"Of course I fucking want you!"

"Then why are you such a coward?" Her voice cracked. "I've loved you since we were thirteen, Quil. Since we used to sit in your treehouse and you told me I'd be the girl you married one day."

"That was kid shit!"

"Not to me," she whispered.

He stepped toward her, something desperate flickering in his expression. "I'm scared, okay? You want the truth? I'm fucking terrified. Because once we call it something real, once we label it, it changes. What if we break it?"

Maija's eyes welled with tears. "You already broke it."

He flinched like she'd slapped him. "Jesus, Maija. You're being dramatic."

"Oh, fuck you, Quil." She pushed past him. "You're just another selfish asshole who doesn't want to be alone but doesn't want to commit either."

His jaw clenched. "Yeah? Well maybe I don't want to tie myself to someone who turns every fight into a goddamn emotional crisis."

"Fuck you!" she spat. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to make me feel crazy for wanting to know where I stand!"

"Where you stand?" Quil stepped toward her, his eyes dark. "You stand wherever the hell you want, Maija. You always have. You don't even see anyone else but yourself."

She recoiled. "Wow," she said, shaking her head. "You're such a goddamn coward."

"And you're a fucking pain, Maija. Always pushing. Always wanting more. Like what we had wasn't already something."

"It wasn't! It was a half-assed almost-relationship with a boy too scared to grow up."

That shut him up. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked at her like he didn't even recognize her.

"I should go," she muttered. Her voice was flat now, like something inside her had cracked and stopped working.

He didn't stop her.

She grabbed her hoodie from the floor and pulled it over her head, wiping her eyes before he could see. She crossed the room, her boots thudding hard against the wood floor. At the door, she paused.

"You're gonna lose me, Quil," she said without looking back. "And when it finally hits you, it's gonna fucking hurt."

Then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.

Quil stood frozen, the echo of her words ringing louder than the slam. He stared at the door, his throat tight, fists clenched, stomach churning.

And for the first time since they were kids, he realized—he might've just fucked up the only thing that ever felt real.