Since Forever

Across The Window

Millie lay flat on her back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She could hear the faint tick of the hallway clock, the hum of the fridge downstairs, Jacob snoring through the wall. Everyone else in the house seemed to fall asleep easily, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t this impossible thing.

She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow. Still awake. Her chest felt heavy, the kind of weight that only grew heavier when she tried to push it away. Dinner kept replaying in her head—the glass shattering, her stupid jump, Ethan’s grin, the way he’d said your secret’s safe.

She hated that it kept circling back to him. She hated that he was right.

Finally, she threw her blanket back and padded quietly out of her room. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the carpeted stairs as she climbed higher, up to the narrow pull-down ladder tucked in the hallway ceiling. She tugged the rope, wincing at the creak, then hauled herself into the attic.

The space smelled faintly of cedar and dust, filled with half-open boxes and old furniture shrouded in sheets. Millie came here sometimes when it all felt too much. The attic was far away from Jacob’s noise, her mom’s hovering, Lucy’s chatter. It was hers.

She flopped down onto the window seat, hugging her knees to her chest. The little square window overlooked the Hayes’ house next door. Their place stood so close you could almost reach across and touch it.

She leaned her forehead against the glass. Maybe she’d just sit here until she got tired.

Then—light flickered across the way.

Millie blinked. The Hayes’ attic window was glowing too, just a few feet across the narrow gap. At first, she thought maybe it was Mr. Hayes digging around for old boxes. But then a shadow moved. Taller, broader. A boy’s shape.

Her stomach dropped.

It was him.

Ethan.

And before she could duck, before she could even think—he looked up and saw her.

Ethan froze too, mid-step, caught in the glow of his attic lamp. For a second, they just stared at each other across the narrow gap — two kids, two windows, one secret neither expected.

Then he smirked. Of course he smirked.

“Carter,” he mouthed, exaggerating it so she could read his lips.

Millie’s face went hot. She jerked back, nearly tripping over a cardboard box. But the attic wasn’t that big, and the window was right there, so even crouched low, she knew he could still see her.

The faint creak of his own window sliding open carried across.

“You spying on me?” His voice was low, teasing, perfectly clear through the summer-night quiet.

Millie fumbled with her own window latch, popping it open a crack. Cool air rushed in. “I was not spying,” she hissed back. “I was… sitting.”

“In the dark. By yourself. At midnight.” He leaned casually against his sill, arms folded. “Sounds exactly like spying.”

Millie scowled. “You’re the one creeping around your attic. What are you even doing up there?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said simply. Then, with a lopsided grin: “Too busy thinking about all the ways I annoy you.”

Millie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched before she could stop it.

They sat there in the quiet for a moment, the crickets filling the space between their words. It felt… strange. Easier to talk with wood and glass and night between them. Easier than at the dinner table, easier than anywhere else.

“You really jumped today,” Ethan said suddenly. His tone wasn’t mocking now. “When the glass broke.”

Millie’s chest tightened. She opened her mouth, ready to snap, but the words tangled. “I— I just don’t like loud noises, okay?”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Noted.”

And that was it. No joke, no laugh. Just… noted.

Millie hugged her knees tighter, staring across at him, wondering why that made her feel both seen and completely exposed.

Ethan drummed his fingers against the sill, eyes glinting in the dim light. “You know,” he said, “this is kind of boring, just sitting here. We should… I don’t know. Make it interesting.”

Millie narrowed her eyes. “You always say things right before something stupid happens.”

He grinned. “Climb out.”

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach. “What?”

“Onto the ledge. Roof’s right there.” He tapped the shingles just outside his window, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Bet you won’t.”

Millie sat frozen, staring at the narrow strip of roof that jutted out beneath her window. It wasn’t even a proper ledge — more like a slanted patch of shingles that dipped toward the yard. Her palms went clammy just looking at it.

“That’s— that’s dangerous,” she sputtered.

“It’s like two feet,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Millie shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You’re taller. With longer legs. And probably hollow where your brain should be.”

Ethan smirked, leaning halfway out his window, balancing with ridiculous ease. “Scared?”

Her chest squeezed. Images flashed — glass shattering, tires screeching, the echo of her dad’s voice. She shook her head hard, trying to shove it back. “No,” she lied.

“Yes,” he countered, grinning.

Millie’s hands balled into fists. She hated the smugness in his face, hated the heat crawling up her neck. She leaned forward, shoved her window open wider, and stuck one foot out.

“Millie, wait—”

Too late. Her socked foot pressed onto the shingles. Wobbly. Unsteady. She clutched the frame, inching forward until both feet were outside. Her heart pounded so loud it drowned out the crickets.

Ethan blinked at her, surprise flickering into something softer. “You’re actually doing it,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” she hissed, clinging to the wood.

He shifted forward too, sliding out onto his own roof ledge with easy confidence. Within moments, they were sitting opposite each other, just a few feet of night air and empty space between them.

Millie’s knees shook, but she lifted her chin. “Told you I’m not scared.”

Ethan smirked. “You look terrified.”

“I look annoyed,” she snapped.

But the truth was—both were true.

Millie’s fingers dug into the window frame behind her, knuckles white. The roof sloped just enough to make her feel like one wrong shift would send her tumbling into the bushes below. Ethan, of course, sat there like it was a lawn chair, one knee up, his hair a messy shadow in the glow from his attic lamp.

“You’re shaking,” he said, voice lighter than the look in his eyes.

Millie bristled. “I’m cold.”

“It’s summer.”

“Then maybe I’m allergic to your face.”

That pulled a laugh out of him, low and unexpected. He shook his head, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. For a second, he just looked at her — not teasing, not smirking, just looking.

“You’re braver than you think, Carter.”

Millie froze. Nobody ever said stuff like that to her. People said she was fine now or she was strong for her mom or she’d get over it someday. But not that. Not braver than you think.

Before she could respond, Ethan stretched his hand out across the narrow space between their ledges, pinky finger extended.

Millie blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Round two,” he said simply. “Our first pinky promise was lame. This one’s better.”

She squinted at him. “Better how?”

“We keep this—” he gestured between their windows, between the two of them perched out here in the dark “—secret. No Jacob. No Lucy. No parents. Just us.”

Millie’s pulse stumbled. Just us.

“That’s not a promise,” she said, even though her voice had gone quiet. “That’s blackmail.”

He grinned. “Call it whatever you want.” His pinky wiggled in the air, waiting.

Millie stared at it, biting the inside of her cheek. It was dumb. It was childish. But if she didn’t do it, he’d never let her hear the end of it.

With a sigh that wasn’t nearly as annoyed as she tried to make it, she stretched her hand out too. Their pinkies hooked clumsily in the empty air, suspended between ledges.

For a heartbeat, they just stayed like that — tethered by something small, something ridiculous, something that felt a little bigger than either of them wanted to admit.

“Done,” Ethan said softly.

Millie pulled her hand back quickly, trying to mask the heat crawling up her neck. “Fine. But if you fall off that roof one night, I’m not saving you.”

His smirk returned, easy and sharp. “You totally would.”

Millie clambered back through her attic window first, careful not to look down. Her legs still felt shaky, but she refused to give Ethan the satisfaction of seeing it. She shoved the window down with a small thud, then flopped onto the window seat, her heart racing.

Across the gap, Ethan lingered a little longer on the ledge, arms stretched behind him, staring up at the stars like he owned the night. Finally, he slid back inside too, shutting his window with a lazy grin in her direction.

Millie narrowed her eyes at him through the glass, mouthing, You’re insane.

He mouthed back, You’re welcome.

She grabbed the nearest thing at hand — a balled-up sock from one of the attic boxes — and lobbed it at the window. It bounced harmlessly off her own glass with a pathetic thump. Ethan laughed so hard she could hear it even through the walls.

She turned away quickly, cheeks burning, but the sound followed her.

The attic quieted again, shadows stretching long across the floorboards. Millie curled up on the window seat, tucking her chin against her knees. Across the gap, Ethan’s light still glowed faintly, like a soft beacon in the dark.

She hesitated, then whispered into the quiet, “Goodnight.”

No way he’d hear that.

But across the way, in his own window, Ethan leaned back in his chair, and his lips moved at the exact same moment: Goodnight.

Millie didn’t see it. But somehow, she felt it.

And for the first time in a long while, sleep came quickly.