34 no regrets
Waking up feels like my brain filed a complaint overnight and forgot to tell the rest of me.
There's a steady, unimpressed pounding behind my eyes, the kind that makes even blinking feel like an unnecessary risk, so I stay still for a second longer than I need to and try to remember why everything feels slightly off.
It comes back slowly.
Not in a dramatic rush, not in a clean sequence-just pieces sliding into place whether I invite them to or not.
Music. Too loud. Declan talking like he was hosting something instead of attending it. Riley laughing somewhere in the background. Jess existing at a volume that should be regulated.
And then-
Madi.
That part doesn't come in pieces. That part is clear.
I shift slightly, pressing my palm against my forehead like that's going to help organize anything. It doesn't, but it gives me something to do while my brain decides to replay exactly what I don't need it to.
The costumes.
The way she looked at me like the whole thing was my fault even though it wasn't.
The way that stopped mattering after about ten minutes.
And then-
The rest of it lands all at once. Not hazy, not questionable. Just... real.
I let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer a better explanation than the one I already have.
It doesn't.
The door opens without knocking.
Of course it does.
"Good morning," Declan says, stepping inside like this is his room and not mine, holding a glass of water he doesn't offer me. "You look terrible."
"I feel worse."
"That's reassuring."
I don't look at him. "Why are you here?"
"I came to check on you," he says, sitting down like he plans to stay. "And by 'check on you,' I mean I came to confirm something."
"That sounds concerning."
"It should."
I finally turn my head just enough to look at him.
He looks-
way too entertained.
Which means this is about to be annoying.
"You," he says, pointing at me like he's presenting evidence, "were full on making out with her."
I blink once.
Slow.
"That's not a confirmation," I say. "That's a statement."
"It's both," he replies easily. "I saw it."
I push myself up slightly, sitting against the headboard, ignoring the way my head immediately protests.
"It wasn't-" I start, then stop. Because I don't actually have a sentence to finish that with.
Declan watches that happen in real time.
"Oh, this is even better than I thought," he says, leaning back like he's settling in for something.
"It wasn't like that."
"It was exactly like that."
"You don't know what 'like that' is."
"I know what two people making out looks like," he says. "I've had experience. Not to brag."
"That's unfortunate."
"For you," he corrects. "Because now I'm an expert witness."
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Of course it doesn't," he agrees immediately. "Just you and the girl you 'don't like' forgetting how public spaces work."
I don't respond. Because there isn't a response that doesn't sound like one.
He notices.
Of course he does.
"You didn't pull away," he adds, quieter now, but still with that same underlying amusement.
I look at him. He holds my gaze, waiting. And for the first time since this started-
I don't have a clean denial ready.
So I don't say anything.
Declan's grin sharpens slightly, not mean, just... satisfied. "Thought so."
I look away first, reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand and taking a long sip just to have something else to focus on.
It doesn't help. Because the memory doesn't go anywhere. If anything, it gets clearer.
The way she leaned in instead of away.
The fact that neither of us stopped.
The fact that it didn't feel like something we were putting on for anyone else.
I set the glass back down.
"You're overthinking it," I say, mostly because it sounds like something I should be saying.
"I'm not thinking at all," Declan replies. "I'm observing."
"That's worse."
"It's accurate."
I shake my head slightly, even though it makes the headache worse. "It doesn't change anything."
"Right," he says. "Because nothing screams 'no change' like you making out with her at a party in front of half the school."
"It wasn't half the school."
"Sorry," he corrects. "A generous portion of it."
I don't answer that. Because the part that matters... isn't the fact that people saw it.
It's that I don't regret it.
Not even a little.
That realization doesn't hit loudly, it settles.
Quiet and steady. And once it's there-
it doesn't move.
Declan watches me for another second, then leans forward slightly, like he's about to deliver something important.
"So," he says, completely serious for once, "navy or black suit?"
I blink. "What?"
"For the wedding," he clarifies. "I'm thinking navy for me, black for you. Classic. Timeless. Emotional."
"Get out."
"I'm planning ahead," he continues, ignoring me. "It's important to be prepared."
"Leave."
"You're welcome, by the way."
"For what?"
"For not recording it," he says. "That kind of content would've gone viral."
I grab a pillow and throw it at him.
He catches it, still grinning. "Violence isn't the answer."
"It is right now."
He stands up, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. "You're done for, by the way."
"I'm not."
"You didn't even deny it."
"I didn't agree either."
"You didn't have to."
He heads toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at me.
"You're smiling," he adds.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
He nods once, like he's storing that away for later.
"Sure," he says, and then he's gone.
The room goes quiet again.
I lean back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling again like it's going to offer a different answer this time.
It doesn't. Because there isn't one.
There's just the same realization, sitting there like it's been waiting for me to notice it properly.
I don't regret it.
Not the timing.
Not the setting.
Not the fact that it wasn't supposed to happen like that.
Nothing.
And I don't say that out loud. I don't need to.
Because the fact that I'm not denying it-
not even to myself-
says enough.