The weeks after her birthday drifted by like smoke through fingers-visible for a moment, then gone. Scarlet kept herself busy, kept herself moving. Anything to avoid that gnawing silence Alec had left behind.
Mornings were the hardest. She had grown used to seeing him. In the halls. At the coffee shop. Even the way he'd glance at her in class, eyes burning with something unspoken. But now? Nothing.
At Lucia's bakery, Scarlet kneaded dough and stared at the door every time it opened. But it was never him. Just townsfolk, students, and the occasional teacher stopping in for cinnamon rolls. Without realizing it, her smiles for customers had grown dull, her laughter quieter. Even Lucia noticed, asking if she was getting enough sleep.
Not really.
Instead, she filled her free time with Brett. He was easy to be around, easy to joke with, easy to flirt with. And yet, even when she laughed at his sarcasm or leaned into his side during movie nights, her chest ached with the knowledge that it wasn't quite right. She didn't want to compare-but she always did.
There was a night, about a week after her birthday, when the group had gone out to The Den. Reenie had finally felt steady enough to join them, and Scarlet had used the outing as an excuse to pull Reenie closer into the circle. She even asked her to join the cheer squad officially. Reenie hesitated at first, but with a quiet nod and a hopeful glance at Zack, she agreed. It gave her purpose, something to focus her energy on. Scarlet understood that more than she could say.
But that night at The Den, even with the strobe lights, the thrum of bass, and the buzz of beer on her lips, Scarlet's gaze kept flicking to the door. Just in case he walked in.
He didn't.
Now, as she sat in Literature class without him for what felt like the hundredth time, Scarlet twisted a strand of hair between her fingers and stared at the empty spot behind the desk. The one that used to hold her professor, her tormentor, her flame. The ache in her chest pulsed sharper than she wanted to admit.
And then came the dream.
The night after her party, she'd passed out on the deck, beer still in her veins and music still ringing in her ears. But just before waking, she remembered a voice-low, familiar, broken by emotion-whispering, Happy birthday, Starling.
She'd brushed it off. Chalked it up to a dream. But some part of her held onto it, tucked it away like a secret she didn't want to question too closely.
The week dragged on, and nothing changed.
Until a Thursday morning, standing at the front counter of the bakery, everything shifted.
The bell above the door chimed, and Scarlet looked up-expecting another delivery man or one of the regulars.
But it was him.
Alec.
Wearing black. Hair tousled. Expression unreadable.
He didn't look at her. Didn't speak. Just stepped to the counter, ordered a black coffee from Lucia, and left with barely a glance.
Scarlet stood frozen. Heat coiled in her chest like something alive and dangerous.
Ana nudged her with a knowing look. "So... he's back."
Scarlet didn't answer. She couldn't. Not with her throat tight and her mind swirling with too many questions.
"Anyway," Ana added, "have you thought about the Battle of the Bands for the festival?"
Scarlet blinked. "What?"
"Saturday night. It's happening again this year. We should do something. You can sing, I can play. We just need to form a group."
Scarlet gave a half-smile. "We're not exactly a band."
"Doesn't matter," Ana grinned. "We're talented. And besides, this might be exactly what you need."
Right on cue, the bell jingled again. Brett stepped inside, giving Scarlet a lazy smile. "Morning, ladies."
Ana's eyes lit up. "Hey, random question-can you play guitar?"
He blinked. "I mean, yeah. Why?"
"We're putting together a group. Battle of the Bands. You in?"
Brett grinned. "I'm in if Scarlet's in."
Scarlet rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Fine. Let's do it."
And just like that, the spark returned.
It wasn't the same fire she'd had with Alec, but it was something. A distraction. A plan.
A stage to sing on... and maybe, just maybe, a way to stop thinking about the man who refused to say a word.
-----
The sharp echo of our footsteps bounced across the empty auditorium as we stepped through the backstage door, the scent of aged velvet curtains and floor polish strangely nostalgic.
Brett whistled low. "This place is huge when no one's in it."
"I feel like I'm about to embarrass myself publicly," I muttered.
"Oh please," Ana said, tossing her bag beside the grand piano. "You're a supernatural goddess with a better voice than half the pop charts. You'll be fine."
She was right-probably. I hadn't sung on stage in years. Not since high school talent shows and humming around Lucia's kitchen, just loud enough to annoy Ana. But something about the idea of performing again-this time, with my friends-felt like oxygen.
Reenie appeared moments later, still wearing a hoodie and earbuds. "You guys are really doing this?"
Ana beamed. "Only if you join us."
Reenie looked like she might bolt-until Brett tossed her a mic.
"No pressure," he said. "Just pretend it's karaoke, but with judgmental lighting and maybe a haunted organ in the corner."
Zack sauntered in last, a drumstick already twirling in his fingers. "Heard there'd be chaos. Figured I'd contribute."
"Perfect," Ana said. "We're officially a band."
I stood center stage, hands gripping a mic, trying to steady my heartbeat.
Brett slung a guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted the tuning. "What are we opening with?"
"Something easy," Ana said. "Maybe that duet Scarlet and I used to mess around with in high school?"
I nodded. "Yeah. 'Shadows and Sparks.' I still remember the harmony."
Brett plucked a few intro chords and looked over at me. "You lead, I'll follow."
And just like that, we began.
It was rough. Messy. Slightly off-key at times. But there was laughter between verses, and when Zack picked up the beat with his drums, everything fell into a strange kind of sync. Reenie didn't sing, but she swayed in time, mouthing the lyrics until Ana shoved a second mic into her hand with a teasing glare.
By the third run-through, we weren't half bad.
By the fourth, I forgot about Alec.
Forgot about the ache of unanswered questions and the shadow he always left behind.
I was just here, barefoot on stage, surrounded by people who were still choosing to show up for me-even when everything else felt uncertain.
When the final chord echoed into silence, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
"You guys..." Ana said, beaming. "We might actually not suck."
Brett stepped toward me, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "I told you this would be fun."
His fingers lingered longer than necessary.
The others began to pack up-Zack complaining about not having coffee yet, Reenie muttering something about skipping second period, Ana pretending not to notice the look Brett gave me.
When we were alone on stage, I turned to him.
"You really didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," he said, voice quieter now. "You've seemed... somewhere else lately."
I swallowed. "It's been a weird few weeks."
He stepped closer, not pushing, just present. "Well, I figured maybe if I could help distract you for five minutes... it'd be worth it."
There was a pause. My heart thudded. I wasn't sure if it was adrenaline or something heavier.
"I'm not trying to make things complicated," Brett added. "I just... like being around you, Scarlet. And if there's someone else... you don't have to explain it. I'm not asking for anything you're not ready for."
I looked up at him, surprised by how honest he sounded.
Then he kissed me.
Softly at first, careful. His hand hovered near my waist like he didn't know if he was allowed to touch me. I didn't pull away. I let it happen. Let myself feel wanted for the first time in weeks.
Then I stepped back, not rejecting-just uncertain.
"Thank you," I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He gave a small nod, lips slightly parted like he wanted to say more, but didn't.
The silence between us wasn't heavy.
Just... waiting.
------
I made it to Literature just before the bell. My hair was still windblown from the walk across campus, my cheeks warm-not from the kiss, but from the confusion left in its wake.
The room felt colder when he walked in.
I didn't turn, didn't flinch. But I felt him.
Alec.
I was already seated, notes out, pen in hand, pretending I wasn't holding my breath.
He entered like a ghost-silent, unreadable, wrapped in black from his boots to his coffee. His presence sucked the air from the room. He didn't look at me. Not once. Just strode to the front of the class, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot-not from drinking, but from something else.
He looked like someone who'd been fighting shadows alone. And maybe losing.
And all I could think was-you're here. But where the hell have you been?
For weeks, it was like he vanished off the face of the earth. First a day. Then two. Then a week. Then more.
No calls. No texts. No notes. No crimson eyes watching from the shadows. Just silence. The kind that didn't echo-it drowned.
The first week, I was angry. Bitter. Told myself I didn't care. I even told Ana he was probably brooding in a cave somewhere with a whiskey bottle and a guilt complex. She laughed.
The second week, I wasn't laughing anymore.
I checked the woods behind the school. Walked past the rooftop we'd shared once in a storm. I even opened the old map drawer in the library, thinking maybe he'd tucked something away-a note, a clue, a reason.
But there was nothing. Just... missing pieces.
That third week, something inside me cracked.
I let Brett in. I let myself get swept into something warm and easy. Something that didn't ask questions. I kissed him at my birthday party. Let him touch my skin like it didn't still burn for someone else.
But even then, when the night ended and the house was quiet, it wasn't Brett I dreamed about.
It was crimson eyes. Thunderstorms. A boy I couldn't remember and a man I couldn't forget.
And now he was back.
Like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn't tilted and left me spinning in his absence.
He didn't greet the class. Just wrote a single word on the board in bold white chalk:
Longing.
I stared at it, my chest tightening.
He spoke finally-his voice low and detached. "Today we're discussing thematic loss. The kind that lingers. That rewrites a character from the inside out."
No one said a word.
Alec turned slowly, letting his gaze drift across the room like a blade. It slid right past me.
I didn't know whether to scream or sink through the floor.
He lectured like a ghost-present, but not whole. He quoted lines from Wuthering Heights, talked about souls torn apart by fate, about love buried under betrayal.
And the whole time, he never looked at me. Not even once.
-----
I was shaking by the time the bell rang. My notebook was covered in inked spirals and half-written questions I didn't dare ask aloud.
As students filtered out, I lingered-waiting, hoping.
But Alec just packed up his things, didn't even glance my way.
When he passed me, his arm brushed mine.
It felt like a spark. A curse. A goodbye.
And then he was gone.