episode 7....
494 Words
The sun was barely up when Sage reached across the table and brushed a crumb off Leah’s lip, laughing soft when Leah caught her hand and kissed her knuckles like they had all the time in the world, and maybe they did, because the cabin smelled like coffee and pine and there was nowhere else Sage would rather be, especially when Leah rested her head on her shoulder and murmured something about maybe carving a piece of them together next, and Sage said “we already are” without thinking, and neither of them looked away. Hailey didn’t mean to glance in through the window when she passed, didn’t mean to slow her walk or press her fingers tighter around the coffee she picked up for Shane, but she did, and she saw the way Sage leaned into Leah like it was the easiest thing in the world, and she hated how that made her stomach dip, hated even more when she realized she wasn’t mad, just… off. Shane was waiting by the bus stop like always, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his usual can of Joja, and when Hailey handed him the coffee he blinked like it was a surprise, then said, “Thanks,” like he didn’t get why she was being nice but liked it anyway, and she said “you always look like you need it,” and he smirked and said “you don’t look half bad either,” and somehow that counted as flirting. They walked in sync without talking much, just matching footsteps and the occasional brush of sleeves, and Hailey wondered if this was what comfort was supposed to feel like—not butterflies or fire, but something quieter, steadier, like standing in the shade instead of chasing the sun. Sage spent the afternoon with Linus planting basil, dirt under her nails and sunlight in her hair, and when Leah showed up with lemonade and a sketchbook, she didn’t say anything, just sat beside her, ankles touching, like that was the whole plan. Shane met up with Hailey at the bar later and watched her eyes more than he listened, and when she laughed at something he said—actually laughed—it was like the world tilted a little softer. Leah and Sage danced alone under the trees after dark, no music, just the hush of leaves and the rhythm of their breath, and Sage whispered “you make everything feel new,” and Leah smiled without looking up, because she already knew. Hailey lay awake in her room that night, Shane’s jacket still draped over her chair, Sage’s voice in her head saying things she’d never said to her, and it didn’t hurt exactly—it just lingered, like smoke from a fire she never meant to light. But she turned on her side and whispered “it’s fine” into the dark, and maybe this time, she almost believed it.
- Writer
