It was not easy for Nova to talk to her friends about what was on her mind.

As Nova, Tia, and Ren approached Anthony's house on Friday night, a wave of anxiety sank over her like a wave she was doomed to ride.

Nova had mourned so much in her life, but tonight it was different... she mourned the simple act of enjoying herself.

Excitement felt wrong, even disrespectful, like laughing or moving through life as though nothing had happened was a betrayal. And yet, the confusion cut even deeper: she was meant to be savoring her senior year, but she felt detached, an outsider watching from the edge. Up until now, life had felt linear, but this swirl of emotions showed her, painfully, what it meant to be human.

Tia had spent the evening radiating confidence, bouncing from outfit to outfit, snapping pictures for her social media, eyes rarely leaving her own reflection.

Ren perched precariously at her window in front of her oval mirror, singing along to Tory Lanez, applying layer upon layer of electric blue mascara, fingers flying across her phone.

Nova lay on the bed, trying to drown the storm in endless reels until Tia finally dragged her into borrowed clothes, offering a glass of half golden rum, half orange juice as a bribe to "perk up."

Nova felt sick to her stomach with dread, sat up, trying to find a believable excuse so she could go home now before they had to leave.

Ren lived closest to Anthony, whose mother occupied a small, square red brick house just about ten streets over. The neighborhood was deceptively simple, houses built the same square, each with a fenced yard, mismatched drapes, crooked crosses on doors, and tattered election campaign flags fluttering in the breeze. The danger wasn't subtle; guns were common, the sound of shooting was uncommon, but it wasn't rare.

Tia was too caught up in her own confidence, and Ren already too tipsy to notice the full-blown anxiety twisting inside Nova. She had become skilled at hiding her emotions, promising herself she'd try this year. She didn't want Joel looming over her anymore, his grief and frustration spilling out. Nova a constant reminder of the wife he had lost.

As they approached his house, the rattling bass of heavy rap music could be heard from the gate.

"Welcome to my abode..." Anthony grinned, already high and a few beers deep when they arrived on his porch.

He was stood in an open shirt and his baggy black jeans, held up by a half broken belt, a bottle of expensive whiskey in hand.

Anthony apparently regularly had parties.

Nova had attended one last year after a football game, so it was full of people she knew and had been with all night. This time, it was different. It was one of the parties Anthony had for his friends, not just people he knew; and Anthony knew a lot of people Nova did not.

"Where's your mum tonight? Is that her?" Tia sniggered, nodding at the skeleton statue on the porch bench, wrapped in dim fairy lights put up for Halloween.

Anthony's gaze snapped to Nova, mouth slightly ajar. Tia hadn't noticed the shift, but Nova felt it immediately, the tension as the air recalibrated.

"No. She works nights. She's a bartender," Anthony said quickly, too quickly. Eyes flitting immediately to Nova to check her reaction. If it had been too close to home.

Nova pressed her lips together, chewing the inside of her cheek in irritation and anxiety. She inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, as Tia turned to look at her.

"Oh." Tia realized her mistake.

"It's fine." Nova said sharply, no laughter, no brushing it off.

She was tired of everyone tiptoeing around discomfort. Ren drew a slow, long drag from her vape, the music filling the resulting silence like a pulse through the night. Nova felt herself shrinking, wishing she hadn't come at all. Everything already felt ruined.

"Let's go in and get a drink."

When they stepped into the first room, they were swallowed by smoke; thick and stale, layered with weed, tropical perfume, and the sour tinge of spilled alcohol.

It clung to the walls and sat heavy in the air, as if the room had been breathing it in for weeks. After all, it probably had. A pair of battered speakers had been jury-rigged to an ancient record player, the needle long abandoned in favour of a loose aux cable. The sound was distorted and tinny, bass thudding without depth. But loud enough to satisfy a bunch of drunk teenagers on a long street.

A cluster of guys Nova didn't recognise crowded around a phone, voices raised as they argued about which track was best, shoving one another and laughing loud enough to hear them over the music.

The lounge itself was oddly sparse.

Most of the party had spilled into the yard or packed itself into the kitchen, chasing drinks and noise. Only a few guys occupied the ripped up black leather sofa in his lounge; slouched far apart like they'd melted into it. Beer bottles balanced between their knees, vapes and cigarettes dangling from their fingers, ash ground into the fabric and scattered on the floor, soon to be swept into the floor board cracks.

Nova didn't recognise anyone. Anthony tried to introduce people as they passed, but it all blurred together: boys from the year above who'd graduated and gone nowhere, mixed with Ant's crowd from his area. Friends of friends. Cousins of friends. Girlfriends of friends of friends.

Everyone was older than her, drunker than she'd expected, and carrying a sketchiness she hadn't prepared for.

"I though this was a high school party?" Ren pointed out as they weaved through everyone in the kitchen.

Nova awkwardly pressed up against a girl who was arguing with her boyfriend by the fridge, clutching onto her friends hand as they tried to make it through to the garden. Tia shot her a judgemental look, quietly begging them to fine with where they were. The noise was overwhelming, but Nova didn't want to be the 'sad girl who doesn't speak' again.

"Let's just have a beer." Nova suggested to the two girls as they huddled together outside.

It felt as though every eye was on her, but when she actually looked around, she realised most of the party had already collapsed into itself - people passed out, drifting, wrapped up in their own small worlds. Cobweb-laced blue string lights sagged across the garden, tacked into the brickwork with bent, rusted nails.

The yard was large and old, heavy with neglect, like it had been forgotten long before tonight. Her gaze snagged on a guy sprawled beside an empty, long-dried pool, stretched across a battered old couch sofa. His feet dangled off the edge; a burnt-out joint rested on his chest, a spilled beer pooled near his slack hand.

"Let's just see what happens. Everyone's a stranger till you give them a chance right?" Tia smiled as she cracked them each a beer. Referencing a movie Nova couldn't quite place.

"Everyone's on drugs." Ren whispered.

"Well, we went to Brent's that time in the summer didn't we? Wasn't so bad." Tia pointed out.

Nova hadn't joined them for Brent's party.

Brent Matthew's parties were never notorious by accident. They were the kind that spiralled fast - music screaming through speakers, bass punching the walls until the house felt like it might cave in on itself. Tia claimed it was the years of mould in the old farmhouse carpet. Strangers flooded every room, faces half-lit, eyes too bright or too empty. Pills and powder passed openly from palm to palm; bottles smashed underfoot and no one bothered to clean it up. Laughter snapped into arguments without warning, shoves turned into fights, and somewhere - someone was crying or fucking in a locked bathroom. By the end of the night, people were slumped in hallways, unconscious on stairwells, or sprawled in the garden like discarded furniture. By morning, the place looked bruised, blood on the carpet, holes in the walls, and the sour stink of regret. It was the kind of party not many high school students got invited to; but always wanted to be.

Anthony's, despite the similar crowd, wasn't anywhere near as bad.

"To final year."

Ant made them jump. He'd appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Nova and Ren's shoulders before releasing Ren to lift his cup into the air. It was quieter out here, far enough from the speakers that the music dulled into a distant thud. Nova could hear herself think again.

The drink was doing its job—numbing her, loosening the edges—more placebo than relief.
Whatever she was trying to drown hadn't gone away; it lingered instead, like a sore throat that came back after a cigarette.

"May our year be full of good grades, good games, loads of parties..." Ant continued, grinning. "Sex with everyone of every race and size—and Tia in those tiny cheerleading skirts."
Nova scoffed, clapping a hand over her mouth as she nearly spat her beer.

There was something about the way Anthony spoke: bold, stupid, unapologetic that always cut through her mood. Even at her lowest, he managed to pull a laugh out of her.

Last year, Nova had been the kind of girl who laughed easily, even when things weren't funny. She'd been approachable, confident—always kissing someone at a party, always excited to see a boy at a party, always dressed well, never leaving the house without makeup. She missed that version of herself. She missed brushing her hair properly. Dyeing her eyebrows. Lip gloss. Catching her reflection before leaving the house and smiling back at it.

"Let's just get really fucking drunk." Nova said quietly, draining the rest of her beer.

"Go easy, party girl." Tia teased, though worry edged her voice. "We've literally just got here."

Nova cracked open her second beer, punctuating it with a burp that made them all laugh. "I didn't pre-game." She reminded her. "And my feet are already killing me, so—"

"Hey, Tia, you wanna...?" Anthony tilted his chin toward the house, cutting Nova off mid-sentence

"Yeah!" Tia said, as if he'd jogged her memory. "Back in a sec, girls. Stay here."

Before Nova or Ren could ask anything, the two of them had disappeared inside, giggling like a private joke only they understood.

"Well..." Ren pressed her lips together, glancing at Nova with a mixture of disbelief and resolve. "That was... strange."

"Are they... like, dating?" Nova squinted. "I feel like I've missed a whole season of your lives."

"No." Ren's answer came sharp, defensive. "No. Absolutely not."

"What?" Nova snickered. "Jealous?"
Ren didn't respond fast enough, and Nova's grin widened. "You like him?" Ren's lower lip drooped, eyes darting away. "Anthony? Really?"

"No!" she said quickly, voice rising a little. "I don't even know him like Tia knows him. Besides... his party's weird."

They both glanced around the garden again.

Ren stood out immediately, skinny black jeans, barely anything on top, her hair pulled tight into a long, slick ponytail. She had never felt so overdressed, or so conspicuous. Around them were guys in baggy tracksuits and sagging jeans, caps pulled low over bloodshot eyes, bodies loose and careless in a way that came with being drunk and older. She'd thought they were going somewhere else. Tia had made them think otherwise, after all she was the one that had been texting Anthony all day.

Nova felt exposed in her short black skirt and heavy combat boots. She'd threaded silver charms through her hair and thrown on a baggy band hoodie, aiming for effortless, familiar. Instead, she felt too put together and not enough at the same time.

They'd dressed for a casual night: a few drinking games, people they knew, laughter that felt safe. Instead, they'd been dropped into the middle of a crowd of older kids they'd never met, all sharp edges and unreadable intentions.

Nova regretted letting Tia talk her into the patterned fishnets and heels. Out here, under the dim garden lights and wandering stares, they felt less like an outfit choice and more like a mistake.

"It's fine." Nova sighed. "I think I'd rather be surrounded by a bunch of people off their face than have to deal with the people from our school."

"Is there anyone we know?" Ren scowled. "I thought there'd be at-least someone."

"Some football boys." Nova said. "I don't know them like that though."

"Brent is here." Ren pointed out as soon as she saw him. "Shall we go say hi?"

Brent was a skinhead with a pretty face and a wall around him so solid it seemed structural. He dealt every drug ever invented, smoked, and ran mile after mile across the land that came with the house, like he was trying to outpace something that never stopped following him.

The farmhouse he lived in by the lake was huge and rotting in places, permanently unfinished. Rooms sat cold and unused, plaster cracked, pipes knocked and groaned through the walls at night. His parents were almost never there. When they were, they existed like strangers—passing through with suitcases, money left on the counter instead of conversation. No rules, no questions, no warmth.

He was older than most of them but stayed circling the same crowd, stuck between moving on and having nowhere else to land. A man of few nice words and several lines, with a reputation sharpened by loneliness rather than cruelty. Running was the only thing that made sense—burning off the excess, the anger, the emptiness—laps around a house that never really felt like home. Nova understood how he felt. She recognised a quiet tragedy in him. But equally felt repelled by him.

"Probably not." Nova took a deep breath and looked away.

"Good. I'm glad you said that." Ren sighed, taking a long drag of her vape.

Anthony returned a few moments later, alone.

Tia wasn't at his side, and he didn't explain why. Ren hesitated before heading inside. Anthony had waved her off with a lazy gesture, telling her to grab another beer from the fridge. Help yourself, he'd said, like it was nothing.

Ren weaved through bodies toward the kitchen, already regretting leaving the relative quiet of the garden, the fridge light ahead of her was her only fuel.

"Hey Ant." Nova began as soon as the moment fell silent between them, determined from the beer. "You know your cousin Harry." His face fell as his head retracted at her words. He looked down at Nova with confusion and it made her stall what she was saying. "What...?"

"That's just the last thing I expected you to say." He smiled nervously. Nova also felt shocked by her own question, not realising he had been on her mind before she spoke. Something about Brent had made her think of him; the same ponder of mystery her body remembered. "What about him?"

"He was at school today. I thought he was the year above us." Nova reminded him.

Anthony took a swig of his beer, his eyes distracted by something in the distance, or so he pretended to be. "Yeah, he's repeating the year. We spoke about this earlier."

"Why's he repeating?" Nova asked seriously.

"I don't know what happened." Anthony shrugged, almost sheepish.

His eyes darted to hers, then quickly away, flicking over her shoulder as if hoping she'd look elsewhere.

Nova had the distinct sense that he was nervous around her. She couldn't quite place why, only that something in the way he spoke to her: too defensive, too quick. He was tense, fidgety, too aware of her gaze, as if he knew he'd done something he shouldn't have.

"I already said that." He said, frowning. "Why do you even care? Do you even know him?"

"He's just... seeing the guidance counsellor too. I wondered if he'd lost someone." The words tumbled out before Nova could stop them, and the moment they left her mouth, she felt the pull of an urgency she hadn't realised she carried.

Anthony drew a deep breath, a slow, measured inhale that could have been relief (or sympathy). Nova couldn't tell which.

"No, nothing like that, Nova. Everything he's gone through... he did to himself."

"So you do know?" Nova teased, lifting her beer and arching an eyebrow.

"Thanks for the sixth sense, Nova, but it's none of your business." His hand brushed gently against her head, not tender, not exactly playful, but carrying a clear warning. Nova felt a flicker of guilt for pressing. "Harry... he's spent his whole life with people making his decisions for him. He doesn't know who he is or what he wants. He's used to getting what he needs so he has no idea who he is, ok? He's got a lot to figure out. I know he's all new and shiny to you lot but he's not, don't go digging in dirt that isn't yours."

"I'm just curious," Nova lied. Truthfully, it was becoming an obsession, a hyper-fixation to avoid her own grief. What landed him in the same place as me that morning? "Why is it such a sensitive subject?"

"I didn't know you were so pushy, Nova."

"When your mum dies, you feel like you can say whatever you want and people just generally let you." She shot back.

Anthony moved to hug her, but Nova stiffened, the gesture landing completely wrong. Her body went tight; her face soured.

After the brief, one-armed, forced hug, he pulled away, and Nova watched him retreat with an annoyed glare. He was dodging the conversation, that much was obvious. Nova's gaze followed him, annoyed, but underneath that annoyance, there was fascination.

The space around her fell silent as she realised she was alone, despite the way everyone's lip's moved around her everything felt so silent. Nova blinked, and suddenly the garden felt impossibly large. Tia and Ren were nowhere to be seen. She scanned the yard, her chest tightening as her heartbeat sped up. People leaned into each other, laughing and shouting over music that now felt louder, more chaotic, as if it was pressing against her skull. She couldn't see her friends anywhere.

She stayed hidden in plain sight until it was no longer possible, she tried to look for her friends inside. The ability to hold up a front was faltering, especially with no-one to distract her.

Nova remembered why she stopped drinking when her mother died.

Her emotions were sporadic enough without the influence of poison. It wasn't within her nature to smile through her tears and never had been, nor did she hold in the tears when she was angry. The worst part of holding all the memories at the front of her mind was not the anguish of enduring them, it was the pain and desperation to share them.

In moments where everyone was around her, she found her self feeling so isolated because she just couldn't say it. Because realistically no-one wanted to talk about it. It wasn't easy conversation to navigate and there was nothing that anyone could say that would change the past. There was no good that would come from wiping the smiles from her best friends faces to discuss something with no resolution at a party.

There was no resolution to death. There was no resolution to Nova's emotions other than sucking it up.

She made her way toward the kitchen, hoping the familiar hum of the fridge or the smell of beer would lead her to Ren at-least. Instead, she collided with another group clustered around the kitchen island.

The air was warmer here, heavy with smoke, the metallic tang of spilled alcohol mixing with laughter and shouting that felt just a little too sharp. Nova blinked hard when she saw lines wracked up on the kitchen island. And then Brent was there.

He leaned casually against the counter, one elbow hooked. Without a word, he extended a hand, holding out a joint. "Here." He said simply. "You look like you could use it."

She used to love to smoke, but she'd never had a joint after this much to drink.

It had also been over six months she'd touched weed. She thought maybe this moment happened for a reason, that the universe handed her a joint because she needed it. Nova hesitated, but something in her chest, a mix of anxiety, longing, and the creeping dread of being alone, made her reach for it

"You go to school with Anthony?" Brent asked, his voice deep and low. Nova realised she had never actually heard him speak.

"Yeah." Brent watched her take a slow drag from his joint. The smoke hit her throat, smooth and sharp all at once, and for a second the panic eased, a dull buzz threading through her veins as the old familiar feeling creeped up on her. She felt lighter again.

"You like to get high?" He mused. Nova cast her eyes up to his. But his gaze was so intense she had to look down at her beer.

"Sometimes."

"Nova right?" He smirked, looking down at her; making it clear what he was thinking. "I know you."

Around her, the party suddenly blurred. Laughter, shouting, footsteps, music, all became a chaotic haze. She had no anchor. And with Brent's burning gaze scorching the side of her face, the first real flicker of a spiral began to coil inside her.

Nova walked away without replying to hide in the bathroom, locking it behind her in a panic.

She always felt ridiculous when she got like this. The overwhelming hysteria and inability to calm down. It was like laughing alone in an empty room at nothing. It was impossible to think constructively when all one can do is focus on catching your breath as though you were a second away from drowning. If she let her self breathe too hard though, she became too aware of her own mortality and it only made her panic more.

Nova drove her feet down the drive-way, not looking back as she stumbled into the street and away from the thumping house. Nova checked her phone. She had lasted eighteen minutes at Ant's before having to leave.

The isolation of grief clung to her like smoke, twisting around her thoughts, impossible to shake.

It was relentless. Running endless laps in a dull, empty space that death had carved out inside her. Every memory, every absence, felt like a wound that refused to heal, splitting open over and over, raw against the fragile scar beneath. The ache was constant, intimate, and inescapable. It was too soon for this.

Life went on.

Regardless of her desperation for it to wait, at-least, for her to catch up. All she needed was her mother to tell her what to do. For to lose a mother was to lose your back up. The comfort of her advice was relief enough to make the right decisions.

But now she walked, aimlessly through her thoughts, alone and weeping. Wondering why all she could do was cause hurt and annoyance to the people around her and ruin everything she once had. It wasn't what her mother would want for her. To be a disappointment.

Nova staggered in the darkness with thoughts painted in black and white.

The dimly lit path was scattered with leaves, dead like crumpled balls of old parchment. The first of the early Autumn natural collapse. That was all her clouded eyes could follow. A treadmill of them swarmed her feet as she hurried into the silence of the night, aimless and wondering into the street.

With nowhere to go that would feel any less different, she searched through the quiet streets to find any thing or miracle that might clear her mind. Her mind continuing in pointless circles that tortured her every time life went quiet. There was no peace in solitude anymore. Even the silence was piercing.

An idle curb caused her to stumble. The floor felt like glass against her bare knees that fell with a crash, a shriek leaving her dry throat. The quivering trees loomed over to check she was okay, shuddering in the breeze over top. Her body held it's self in a shattered ball. Eyes sealed shut in pain. It seemed as though concentrated breathing was the only thing aside from crying she had the ability to do.

"Shit." The pain resonated in her shin down to the tips of her toes. The blood trickled down her knee when gravity hit.

Even under the cloak of the deep night, she could see the liquid run down her ripped fishnets tights like a Plinko board. Her fingers trembled—not just from the sting, but from the heavy mix of alcohol and weed that wrapped her senses in fuzz.

Minute but painful nonetheless. She straightened her back and clutched her jumper closer to her torso, carrying on into the night with a subtle limp that eventually passed. She poked at the gash, checking for debris with slow, clumsy movements, wincing at the sting, each twinge exaggerated in her slightly unsteady, spinning perception.

Nova sat on the curb, looking out onto the edge of town, not far from home. But far enough away to warrant an emergency phone call to Joel to pick her up. He did offer after all.

She hugged her self tight, rejecting the disparity of tears. Confused and overwhelmed. Nova couldn't continue in the same manner as she had been, that wasn't who she was anymore. But she wanted to be someone new.

Her path became illuminated by the bright head-lights of a jeep spinning around the corner, beaming so bright she sealed her sore eyes shut in distress.

Nova kept her head down as the car passed before stepping out into the road. Like a deer in headlights, she stayed impossibly still on the path, not wanting to be seen. She was hoping to remain unseen out of embarrassment mostly. She was unsure of the time but knew it wasn't safe for her to be out here in this area alone, drunk and stoned.

The car halted.

Nova's heart raced faster as the night stilled.

The vehicle rumbled in the early morning air but she didn't dare move in case it would provoke something strange to happen. Air tense around her as she watched her breath blur the number plate of the modern Chevy. The car roared to life and skidded back quickly, stopping adjacent to her trembling frame.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, her flood of tears hit a dam and she halted, trying to make out who was in the drivers seat of the car that pulled back.

Nova expected to see a stranger with intent to take advantage of a crying teenager look back at her, she didn't expect to see someone she recognised.

It took her a long moment to register who was staring back through the glass.

Her stomach lurched.

It was Harry. Anthony's cousin. The boy from this week's rumours.

Even in the darkness, he was unmistakable.

The same sharp, angular features, the same hard set of his jaw. In his truck - metallic black, beaten-up, still the one he'd driven since high school, its engine humming low and dangerous against the uneven street.

He had rolled the window down, forearm resting casually on the door, but there was nothing casual about him.

His other hand gripped the wheel, knuckles white, as his eyes locked onto hers. Confusion twisted his scowl, but underneath it - something colder, sharper, raw. Nova felt a jolt she couldn't quite name, a mix of recognition, disbelief, and something that made her chest tighten.

He looked like a ghost she'd only ever imagined, realer than she'd dared hope and far more intimidating than the week long chatter from her classmates prepared her for.

Harry stared at her, silently contemplating over what to say or do in this situation. She knew she must of looked a sight.

She stared back at him through swollen eyes and jagged breaths. Cheeks stained with black tears so dark it looked as though she had been hit in the face. Her makeup was smudged and sticky against her skin, melting under the brazen street lights.

"Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?" She exclaimed, her voice shaky enough to make her anger falter.

He looked hesitant to speak, so he switched off the roar off his engine in the middle of the deserted street.

"Are you okay?" He asked after a few moments of stiff silence. Nova gazed down the street he had just come from. Everything was still. "Has something happened to you?" When she didn't speak he looked back down the dark street.

"You're Anthonys cousin." Nova said drunkenly, her voice soft. Her eyes tried to adjust to the dark and light.

"Harry." He confirmed.

"Nova." She stated, in disbelief that he was infront of her.

They held each other's gaze and time stretched thin.

Nova's mind scrambled to catch up while her chest hammered against her ribs. Every detail of him seemed sharper in the dark—the way his eyes lingered on her, calculating, hesitant, and something else she couldn't name. The low rumble of his truck felt like a heartbeat, syncing with hers, loud and threatening and alive.

"Do you... want to get in?" His voice cut through the night, quiet but edged with something that made her pulse jump. "I can take you home. Or... the hospital." The words hung between them, soft but loaded. Every instinct screamed caution, every cell buzzed with curiosity.

Nova slipped into the passenger seat timidly, clutching her phone against her stomach through her pocket.

Her eyes darted across the dashboard, deliberately avoiding Harry, whose expression remained rigid with unease. She swept the excess material of her jumper out from the dip of her forearm again and swallowed the lump in her throat. The air between them felt thick, almost electric, only easing slightly once the door clicked shut behind her.

"You're bleeding." He said, as if she hadn't already noticed. Nova shot him an unimpressed look and pressed her clammy palm to the gash on her knee, trying to hide it. Harry gave her one last measured glance, then slid the keys into the ignition and twisted.

The engine rumbled, and he lurched the truck into reverse, hand gripping the back of her seat to guide the car smoothly as he twisted it around, retreating the way he had come.

"Palm Drive." Nova whispered, clutching the bottom of her skirt. "We live opposite Glen lake. I'm not sure if you know it."

Harry cleared his throat, nodding that he did, but Nova's eyes had already closed, forehead pressed against the glass of the passenger window.

Her head throbbed, each pulse magnified by the haze of alcohol and weed. The aimless wandering through floods of tears had drained her completely, only now, sitting down, did she realise how utterly exhausted she was.

Nova peered sceptically at him as discretely as she could. Harry was sat driving with the back of his finger grazing his top lip casually, one hand on the wheel as he sped through the streets. His casual posture, the subtle confidence in his every movement, made her head spin even more than the alcohol and joint already had.

Any normal person would of kept on driving. Especially someone like Harry, she thought. They didn't know each other after all.
Somehow, even in her fogged-out state, it distracted her from the self-pity she'd been marinating in for the last hour.

"Why are you driving around this part of town so late?" Nova asked suddenly. Her voice low and slurred from the exhaustion. "I thought I was going to get murdered."

Her words seemed to catch him off guard. His soft, surprised look made her cheeks warm, a guilty, fluttering heat spreading through her. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed by how vulnerable she must look, bleary eyes, messy hair, and all.

"I just went for a drive." He said quietly. The music on his speakers was turned all the way down; but it sounded like old Led Zeppelin. Nova couldn't quite place it. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Nova asked apprehensively, eyes still locked on her feet. "Why are you so concerned?" Her words slurred.

"Why are you walking around so late... crying and covered in blood?" His bluntness was shocking, yet there was no judgment in it. Just concern. His eyes flicked from the road to her repeatedly, careful and measured.

Harry quickly took in Nova's appearance with flitting eyes.

The head press pressed against the window. Eyes fluttering open and closed. He could tell she was drunk, probably unaware of just how badly her knee was bleeding. Her patterned tights were torn now, her long black hair cascading messily over her shoulders, nails and lashes smudged from rubbing at her face.

She looked vulnerable, and it tugged at him in a way he didn't quite understand. He chewed the inside of his lip, anxious, careful. Unsure what to do. Concerned that he had found her like that. Reflecting on the possibility that he might not of seen her and she would of been harmed in some kind of way.

"I fell," Nova said honestly, her head lolling back against the seat. The streetlights caught the glint of her necklace as the truck moved. "It was dark."

"You just walked from Anthony's?" Harry asked, voice low, careful. She tilted her head toward him at the sharp turn, her eyes half-lidded from the buzz.

"Yeah... How do you know?"

"Something happen?" He sounded gentle, concerned without pressing.

Nova shook her head, lost in the hazy swirl of her own mind. The joint, the alcohol, her lingering grief—they all made the world feel slower, darker, heavier at once. Ever since she had slipped into the seat a tear hadn't left her eyes nor had any intrusive memory attacked her.

Harry nodded, silently acknowledging her state, choosing not to pry further.

"I'm guessing you and Ant aren't close?" Nova murmured, her voice lazy, almost dreamy.

Her eyes wandered across the interior of his Jeep, comparing it to the beaten-up one her stepdad had. A half-drank bottle of water in the console caught her eye, and she didn't hesitate to take a long, sloppy gulp.

"Yes... and no." Harry's words were deliberate, careful, fists tightening briefly on the wheel.

Nova felt her heartbeat spike. Even in her intoxicated haze, she could tell he was thinking about what to say next. He was really handsome, and her chest tightened unexpectedly. "Our dads are brothers... but they don't really keep in touch. Anthony's dad doesn't live around here anymore."

"He's dead." Nova corrected him.

"Yeah..." Harry trailed off. "I was trying to say it the nice way."

Nova knew Anthony would be so angry at for having this conversation while he wasn't in the room. It wasn't fair to sit and let anyone pass judgement on his life. Only Nova didn't feel that way from how Harry spoke about it. He seemed genuine.

"Or you can say it the way it is." Harry grinned at her subtly, and she realised he was smiling.

Nova noticed it instantly, and heat rose to her cheeks. No-one ever smiled when she found death so easy to stare in the face. She wondered if he knew about why she was in the counsellors office too.

"Do you speak to your cousin?" Nova couldn't help but ask more.

"Sometimes." Harry looked at her as though it were a stupid question.

Nova recalled Anthony's unwillingness to share anything about his cousin, it all seemed the same taste with Harry. Nova knew the whole school found out about her mother. It was a big town with a lot of big mouths, who liked to dwell on big things that happened to small people.

"Here," he said simply, nodding toward her driveway. She exhaled shakily and slid down, brushing the edge of her skirt over the torn tights as she did. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, faint and sharp, clinging in the cool night.

"Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?" Harry whispered. "If something happened at the party... you can tell me."

"I just." Nova scoffed. "Smoked a joint and decided to leave."

Harry's eyes flicked to her knee again, and he smiled faintly, sharp but not unkind. "You should put a compression on that. Stop it bleeding. And... maybe a word of advice—don't go to those parties."

"Why?" she asked, frowning. "Are you Mormon?"

Harry laughed softly, wide and genuine, shaking his head. "Just... be careful. My cousin knows some bad people."

Nova opened the passenger door abruptly, refusing to say a word. She didn't need judgment on Anthony's life, even if he didn't know her yet. Her fingers lingered on the handle for a heartbeat too long, hesitant, caught between wanting to escape and not wanting the moment to end. The night air hit her face, sharp against the warm, stoned haze still swimming in her head. Her legs wobbled slightly as she stepped down, the gash on her knee throbbing anew with every careful movement.

Harry didn't move from the driver's seat. His eyes followed her, steady, quiet, as if weighing whether to say something more—or simply watch her leave. Harry watched her go until she disappeared behind the gate.