Falling

|Aurelia Branson| "You're staring, sweetheart. Should I be flattered or concerned?" The voice, smooth yet edged with that familiar bite of sarcasm, slides through the noise of clinking glasses, laughter, and the distant bass of whatever pop song the DJ decided would best fit the glittering crowd in my parents' ballroom tonight. My breath catches for a second, fingers tightening around the delicate stem of my champagne flute as if the fragile glass is the only thing keeping me steady. I know that voice. I know it too well. I don't have to turn around to confirm it, but I do anyway, because some masochistic part of me needs to see her, needs to drink in every inch of Luna Moore standing behind me, leaning against one of the marble pillars like she owns the damn room, when, in reality, she shouldn't even be here. My heart hammers against my ribs as I take her in—the red hair I used to run my fingers through, now falling in careless waves over her shoulders, the sharp cheekbones that make her look like she walked straight out of a painting, the way the sleeves of her black dress shirt are rolled up just enough to reveal the firm lines of her forearms. And her eyes—God, her eyes—dark green and piercing, watching me with an expression that is neither kind nor cruel, just... knowing. It's the same look she used to give me when she had me pressed against the walls of the old gymnasium after practice, her breath hot against my ear, her lips forming words I should have never let affect me the way they did. "Why are you here?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, though I know she hears me over the music and the chatter around us. She tilts her head slightly, amusement flickering across her features, before she takes a slow sip from the glass in her hand. Red wine. Luna always drinks red wine, even at parties where everyone else is drowning in cheap champagne or sickly sweet cocktails. "Liv dragged me here," she answers, nodding toward the far end of the ballroom where Olivia Carter, her best friend and partner-in-crime, is currently engaged in what looks like an intense game of verbal sparring with one of the football players. "Something about needing me to witness her 'social suicide' firsthand." I swallow, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my fitted satin dress clings to my body, of the way my pulse is thrumming too fast beneath my skin. "Right. Well, enjoy the party," I say quickly, turning on my heel before I can make an even bigger fool of myself. But before I can take two steps, a strong hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. I suck in a sharp breath, my skin burning where she touches me. "Auri," she says, and damn her for still saying my name like that, like it's something sacred, something that belongs to her and her alone. I don't turn around, because I can't. If I do, I know she'll see the panic in my eyes, the fear that has nothing to do with her presence and everything to do with the fact that Carter is somewhere in this ballroom, probably watching us right now, and my parents are here, too, smiling and shaking hands and playing perfect hosts, completely unaware that their daughter is standing on the edge of something dangerous, something that could unravel her entire world with just one wrong move. "Luna," I murmur, my voice barely steady. "Let go." For a moment, she doesn't. I feel her hesitate, her fingers still curled around my wrist, warm and familiar and entirely too much. But then, finally, she exhales, releasing me as if the touch burned her just as much as it burned me. I don't wait. I don't look back. I walk away, ignoring the way my heart aches with every step I take. I weave through the sea of glittering gowns and perfectly tailored suits, past familiar faces offering polite smiles and hushed whispers, past the watchful eyes of my parents' friends who will, without a doubt, report back on every detail of my behavior tonight. My pulse is a steady roar in my ears, drowning out the music, drowning out everything but the lingering heat where Luna's fingers had curled around my wrist. I shouldn't have let her get that close. Not here. Not now. The Branson estate is a fortress of expectations, where I am meant to be the perfect daughter, the golden girl, the one who smiles and curtsies and pretends like every carefully curated detail of my life is exactly how I want it to be. And for the most part, I play the role well. Except when Luna Moore is in the room. I make it to the far end of the ballroom, where the double doors leading to the balcony are slightly ajar, allowing the cool autumn breeze to slip in and whisper against my overheated skin. I push them open fully and step outside, exhaling the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The night air is crisp, scented with roses from my mother's prized garden below. The sounds of the party are muffled out here, distant enough that I can almost pretend I am somewhere else—somewhere where my heart isn't pounding in my throat, where Luna Moore isn't standing in the same goddamn room as me, undoing months of careful self-control with just a single glance. I grip the balcony railing, tilting my head up toward the sky, where the stars are scattered in reckless constellations. I should go back inside. Carter is probably looking for me by now. But before I can turn, I hear it—the soft creak of the balcony door behind me, the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. I don't need to look to know who it is. "You always did like escaping to the balcony at these things," Luna says, her voice quieter now, less teasing. "Guess some things never change." I close my eyes for a second, steadying myself. "Why are you really here, Luna?" I ask, gripping the railing a little tighter. "Liv didn't drag you to this party. We both know you don't do anything you don't want to." She hums, stepping beside me, her body a little too close, her warmth a little too tempting in the chilly night air. "Maybe I wanted to see you," she says simply, and when I finally turn my head to look at her, I find that she's already watching me, her expression unreadable. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd still run away from me like you did before." I suck in a sharp breath, hating the way her words hit their mark. "I didn't run," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Luna gives a small, humorless smile. "No?" she muses, tilting her head slightly. "Then what would you call it?" I don't have an answer for that. Because the truth is, I did run. I ran the moment things got too real, the moment I realized what we were, what we could be. I ran because I was terrified—of my parents, of Carter, of what it would mean if I let myself love Luna the way I wanted to. But I can't tell her that. Not now. Maybe not ever. So instead, I do what I always do. I deflect. "You shouldn't be here," I say, my voice sharper than I intend it to be. "Not at this party. Not around me." Luna doesn't flinch. If anything, her expression softens, and that somehow makes it worse. "You say that," she murmurs, "but you don't mean it." I open my mouth, ready to argue, ready to tell her that she's wrong, but the words never come—because, at that moment, the balcony door swings open again, and a voice that sends dread curling in my stomach calls out my name. "Aurelia?" Carter. I stiffen, my fingers curling against the cool marble of the railing as the sound of Carter's voice slithers through the air, yanking me back to reality. The warmth of Luna's presence beside me suddenly feels suffocating, dangerous. Luna doesn't move. She doesn't even blink. But I do. I step back from the railing, from her, from the way her eyes search my face like she's memorizing every c***k, every fracture in my carefully constructed mask. Then I turn to Carter, plastering on a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Hey," I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray the panic clawing at my ribs. Carter stands in the doorway, framed by the golden light of the ballroom behind him, his tall, broad-shouldered frame casting a shadow over the balcony. He's dressed in his usual tailored navy suit, his blond hair perfectly styled, his strong jaw tight with something I can't quite decipher yet. His blue eyes flicker between me and Luna, suspicion darkening his gaze. "Been looking for you," he says slowly, his voice carrying the same careful restraint he always uses when he's irritated but doesn't want to cause a scene. Not yet. I force out a soft laugh, stepping toward him, putting distance between myself and the girl I have no business being near. "Sorry, I just needed some air." Carter's gaze lingers on Luna for a beat too long before his expression smooths into something unreadable. He smiles, but there's something behind it, something that makes my stomach knot. "Moore," he says, his voice almost friendly. Almost. "Didn't expect to see you here." Luna raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest in that infuriatingly casual way of hers, as if this entire situation is some kind of game to her. "Yeah, well," she drawls, "I like to keep people on their toes." Carter chuckles, but it's a cold sound. "Right." He turns his attention back to me, his smile tightening. "Come on, baby. Dance with me." I hesitate. Just for a second. But it's enough. Luna notices. Of course she does. Her jaw tenses, the teasing glint in her eyes vanishing, replaced with something sharper, something unreadable. But she doesn't say anything. She just watches as Carter reaches for my hand, his grip firm, possessive, as if he's staking his claim in front of her. I should pull away. I should tell him I'm tired, that I need another moment. But instead, I nod, letting him lead me back inside, back into the suffocating warmth of the ballroom, back into the world where I am the perfect daughter, the devoted girlfriend, the girl who doesn't make mistakes. The girl who doesn't love Luna Moore. But as Carter spins me onto the dance floor, holding me close, I make the mistake of looking back. And Luna is still there, standing on the balcony, watching me with an expression I can't quite name. Something inside me cracks. |Luna Moore| I should leave. I should walk back inside, grab Liv, and get the hell out of here before I do something reckless. But I don't move. Instead, I watch. I watch as Carter leads Aurelia onto the dance floor, his hand firm on her waist, his grip just a little too tight, his smile just a little too smug. I know what he's doing. He's putting on a show. For me. For everyone. But mostly for her. Aurelia doesn't fight it. She plays her part perfectly, just like I knew she would. She smiles at him, lets him twirl her under the chandelier light, pretends like she belongs here, like she isn't suffocating under all that silk and expectation. But I see it—the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch slightly where they rest against Carter's broad frame, the way she avoids looking in my direction even though she knows I'm still here. She thinks if she ignores me long enough, I'll disappear. Too bad for her, I don't f*****g vanish that easily. "You're brooding," a voice drawls beside me. I don't have to turn to know it's Liv. I hear the smirk in her tone, the amusement laced through every syllable as she leans against the balcony railing, swirling the champagne in her glass. "Shut up," I mutter, finally dragging my gaze away from the dance floor, but it's too late. Liv's already seen everything she needs to see. She sighs, shaking her head. "You know, for someone who claims to be over her, you sure do a piss-poor job of acting like it." I scowl. "I never said I was over her." Liv lets out a low whistle. "Well, that's painfully obvious." I shoot her a glare, but she just grins, unbothered as always. Liv Carter has been my best friend since middle school, which means she has years of experience in pissing me off and getting away with it. She's also the only person in this entire godforsaken place who knows the full truth—who knows what Aurelia and I were, what we could've been before she shattered it all with one cowardly decision. Liv watches me for a moment, something softer creeping into her usually sharp gaze. "What are you gonna do, Luna?" she asks, tilting her head toward the dance floor, where Aurelia is still spinning in Carter's arms, still pretending. "Just let her keep playing house with that asshole?" I exhale slowly, gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles ache. "What choice do I have?" I say, my voice quieter now, almost bitter. "She made hers." Liv hums, taking another sip of her champagne before setting the glass down on the railing. "Maybe," she says, pushing off and straightening her dress. "Or maybe she just needs a reason to choose differently." Before I can respond, she saunters off into the ballroom, disappearing into the sea of glittering bodies, leaving me alone with my own damn thoughts. I don't move right away. Instead, I glance back at the dance floor one last time, just in time to catch Aurelia looking at me. It's brief. A flicker of hesitation. A mistake. But it's enough. Because in that split second, I see it—I see the war waging inside her, the cracks in her perfect little performance, the part of her that still belongs to me, no matter how hard she tries to pretend otherwise. And just like that, my decision is made. I'm done waiting. I push off the railing, exhaling slowly, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the past two years. The air inside the ballroom is heavier than before, thick with perfume, laughter, and the constant, suffocating hum of forced civility. But none of it matters. Not when I have a goal. Not when I know exactly what I need to do. Aurelia is still dancing with Carter, her smile perfectly in place, her laughter light, effortless—except I know her too well. I see through the cracks. I see the tension in her fingers, the way she keeps a precise distance between them, the way she doesn't sink into him the way she used to with me. And it makes something inside me burn. Carter catches me watching. Good. His grip tightens on her waist, his smile stretching just a little too wide, like a challenge. Like he's daring me to try. I smirk. Challenge accepted. The song shifts into something slower, softer, the kind of melody that has couples pulling each other closer, heads tilting together, whispers exchanged between locked gazes. Carter moves to do the same, but before he can, I step forward. "Aurelia." Her name leaves my lips like a command. A demand. And it works. Her head snaps toward me, eyes widening, lips parting slightly in surprise. Carter's hold on her stiffens, but I don't acknowledge him. I only see her. I step closer, my voice smooth, teasing. "Dance with me." Aurelia blinks, her breath catching, her pupils dilating just enough for me to notice. But she doesn't speak, doesn't move—so I take another step, closing the space between us, just enough to make my presence impossible to ignore. "You—" Carter starts, his tone edged with irritation, but I cut him off without so much as glancing at him. "Unless, of course, you're too afraid." My words are deliberately slow, laced with that same lazy challenge I used to throw at her on the court, back when she was mine and I knew exactly how to make her stumble. Her breath shudders. She knows what I'm doing. And still—she places her hand in mine. I don't give her time to change her mind. I tug her toward me, smoothly, easily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, ignoring the way Carter bristles behind us. Let him. Let everyone watch. I slide my hand to her waist, feeling the way her body tenses beneath my touch, the way her breath hitches when our chests nearly brush. Her other hand is still in mine, delicate, warm, and just the slightest bit unsteady. "Relax, sunshine," I murmur, my voice low, intimate, just for her. Her fingers twitch. "Don't call me that," she whispers, but it lacks any real bite. I grin. "Why not? It still fits." She glares up at me, but her pulse flutters against my fingertips. "I hate you." I hum, swaying us slightly in time with the music, dragging my thumb over the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. "No, you don't." She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening around mine, and I swear, in that moment, the rest of the ballroom disappears. There's no Carter. No judgmental stares. No suffocating expectations. There's just her. And me. And the way we still fit together, even after all this time.