The next morning, everything felt off.
Rae sat through class, tapping her pencil against her notebook, pretending to listen while her mind kept circling back to last night — to the laughter, the dares, the questions flying through the room — and Xander, sitting stiff and silent, barely meeting her eyes.
It gnawed at her.
Xander was many things — sarcastic, reckless, annoyingly cocky — but he was never distant. Especially not with her.
By the time school was over, Rae couldn't take it anymore.
She spotted him across the street, sitting alone at a small table outside a café, picking at a sandwich like it had personally offended him.
He looked completely lost in thought, one foot tapping restlessly against the pavement, his backpack slouched next to his chair.
Something about the sight of him — so unlike the Xander she knew — made her heart twist.
Steeling herself, Rae crossed the street, weaving through the slow trickle of people, and walked straight toward him.
He saw her coming, but he didn't move. Didn't even try to get up or walk away. Just sat there, waiting.
Rae dropped her backpack onto the grass and sat down across from him.
"Hey," she said.
Xander gave a noncommittal grunt in response, still not meeting her eyes.
Rae drew in a breath, willing herself not to lose her nerve.
"Can we talk?"
Xander shrugged like it didn't matter. "We're already talking."
"You know what I mean," Rae said, voice sharp. Then, a little softer, "About last night."
He finally looked up, meeting her gaze with something unreadable in his dark eyes.
"You were... different," Rae said carefully. "You barely spoke to me. You didn't even joke around. You acted like you didn't want to be anywhere near me."
Xander ripped a piece off his sandwich and tossed it to a bird pecking nearby.
"Maybe I didn't."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Rae swallowed. "Why?"
He shook his head, a tired smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"Because you're a fool."
Rae blinked, stung.
"Thanks?"
"I mean it in a good way," Xander muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're... you're good, Rae. Too good. And people like me? We mess up good things."
She stared at him, heart cracking a little.
"You think you're going to mess me up?"
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Already did."
Rae opened her mouth, but nothing came out. There was too much she didn't understand. Too much she hadn't realized until this moment.
Xander leaned back against the tree trunk, tipping his head up toward the sky.
"I was gonna buy a crossbow, you know," he said after a long pause.
Rae frowned, confused. "A crossbow?"
He nodded.
"For your boyfriend."
Rae blinked.
"My what?"
Xander tilted his head enough to glance at her, one eyebrow raised.
"Your boyfriend," he repeated. "That Milo guy."
It took Rae a second to process what he was saying. Then she let out a startled laugh.
"Milo? No, no, no, he's not my boyfriend."
Xander just looked at her, skeptical.
Rae pushed her hair out of her face, stumbling over her words.
"I mean, Milo's... he's a really good friend. One of my best friends, honestly. He's just always there for me, you know? But not like... that."
She laughed again, awkward and too loud, trying to fill the heavy silence stretching between them.
"He's not my type," she added, waving a hand vaguely. "I mean, he's sweet and funny and all, but... I don't see him that way. Never have."
She didn't notice Xander glance over her shoulder, didn't see the flicker of guilt cross his face.
Because standing a few yards away, just close enough to hear every word, was Milo.
He stood frozen for a moment, her voice ringing in his ears.
Not like that.
Not my type.
Never have.
Something hollow cracked inside his chest.
He turned and walked away before either of them noticed.
Xander watched him leave, something tight in his throat. But he said nothing.
Rae kept talking, oblivious.
"I mean, it'd be weird, right? Me and Milo. We're like... a team. You don't date your team."
Xander finally broke in, voice low.
"Maybe you should."
Rae blinked at him. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Forget it."
They sat there in silence, the weight of unspoken things pressing down harder than either of them could bear.
---
Milo didn't remember the walk to Grayson's house.
He barely noticed the world around him — the passing cars, the kids biking by, the distant sound of a lawnmower. It was all just a blur, background noise to the sharp ache burning in his chest.
He rapped on Grayson's door once, twice.
Grayson opened it in a hoodie and jeans, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth.
He took one look at Milo's face and lowered the spoon.
"Dude. What happened?"
Milo stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and dropped onto the battered couch.
"I told you," Milo said, voice rough. "I'm not her type. I never was."
Grayson closed the door and followed him into the living room, eyebrows knitting together.
"Back up. What are you talking about?"
Milo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I heard her talking to Xander. About me. She said... it'd be weird. Me and her. She laughed."
Grayson grimaced. "Ouch."
Milo let out a bitter laugh.
"Yeah. She thinks of me like... like her brother or something."
Grayson plopped down next to him.
"She actually said that?"
Milo hesitated.
"...No. But I could tell."
Grayson leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head.
"Look, man. Maybe she's just scared. Sometimes people laugh when they're scared."
Milo shook his head.
"She wasn't scared. She just doesn't think of me that way."
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
"And she never will."
Grayson was quiet for a long moment. Then he said,
"You deserve someone who sees you, Milo. Not just... what's convenient."
Milo didn't answer. He stared down at the floor, heart pounding, wishing he could turn it off — the hope, the hurt, the stupid, stubborn part of him that still wanted to believe.
Grayson nudged him with his elbow.
"Come on. Let's write some heartbreak songs. I've got my guitar upstairs."
Milo managed a small, broken smile.
"Only if you promise not to cry."
Grayson grinned.
"No promises."
They disappeared upstairs, the house filling with the low, aching strum of guitar strings — two boys chasing away the hurt the only way they knew how.