The late evening air was crisp, the kind that crept under your coat and nipped at your skin. Stacey walked across the school field, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. The stadium lights were off, but the faint glow of the moon cast just enough light to make out a figure slouched on the bleachers, a beer can dangling from his hand.
Brent.
She rolled her eyes, climbing the steps toward him. From this distance, he looked even more miserable than usual. His hair was a mess, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world was pressing down on them.
"You look pathetic," Stacey said bluntly, breaking the silence as she reached him.
Brent groaned, not even bothering to lift his head. "Thanks for the support."
She slid onto the bench beside him, crossing her legs and tugging her coat tighter against the chill. "Support isn’t my specialty," she replied, glancing at him.
"Could’ve fooled me," he muttered, taking another sip of his beer.
"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked.
Brent shrugged, swirling the liquid in his can. "Needed to think."
"And drinking alone in the cold helps with that?"
"Maybe.".
She exhaled, turning her attention to the empty field below. "Look, I don’t like you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t like me."
Brent let out a soft laugh. "That’s one thing we agree on."
"But," she continued, ignoring him, "we both care about Betty. If Marcus hurts her—"
"I’ll kill him," Brent cut in, his voice dark. He straightened slightly, his shoulders tensing. His jaw clenched as he looked away, staring at some indeterminate point on the horizon.
“Right.” Stacey raised an eyebrow. "For once, we agree."
Brent chuckled softly. "Never thought I’d see the day."
"Neither did I. But here we are. United in mutual disdain for Marcus and his endless talent for screwing things up."
Brent laughed again, a little lighter this time, and glanced at her. "Guess that makes us allies."
"Don’t push it," she said, but her tone had lost its usual sharp edge.
They sat there, the silence between them no longer heavy, just... there. Stacey caught herself sneaking glances at Brent, noticing the way his hair fell into his eyes.
"You know," Brent said suddenly, breaking her train of thought, "if things aren’t messy now, I think we’d really clicked.”
Her lips curving into a small, almost playful smile. "And you’re every bit as hopeless as I imagined."
Brent smirked, raising his beer can in mock salute. "Glad I could meet expectations."
For a moment, Stacey let herself laugh, the sound surprising even her. It was strange, sitting here with someone she’d written off as little more than a complication. But now, she wasn’t so sure.
"Just so we’re clear," she said, "if Marcus screws this up, I’m holding you to that whole ‘killing him’ thing."
"Deal.".
Their eyes met, and for the briefest second, Stacey felt something unfamiliar flicker in her chest.
“But first, you need to settle this thing with Megan.”