summer fling🌴

Grape Punch and lip balm

bright, childish, and unapologetically bold. It stains your tongue purple

"I kissed a girl and I liked it"

The bass thuds through the floorboards, rattling the bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. Somebody's senior year playlist bleeds into the backyard where a dozen people are dancing on the grass. You're leaning against the fridge, a red Solo cup in your hand, the world tilting just a little sideways from the cheap vodka someone spiked the punch with.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, the lock sliding home with a cheap tinny sound. Stephanie's back hits the tiles, your hands still on her waist, her purple nails digging into the fabric of your shirt. Her lips are warm, tasting of cheap punch and something sharper—nerves, maybe, or that reckless spark she carries like a second pulse.

She breaks the kiss first, but doesn't pull away. Her forehead rests against yours, breath coming quick and uneven. "Okay," she whispers, not quite looking at you. "That happened."

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but she beats you to it.

"So what now?" Her voice is steadier than her hands. She's still gripping your shirt like she's afraid you'll evaporate."Because I don't do the 'we pretend this didn't happen' dance. I'd rather crash and burn." She finally meets your eyes, and her smile is sharp, defiant, a little bit terrified. "I like you. I've liked you for a while. Stupid, I know. But there it is."

She waits. One heartbeat. Two.

You look at her—really look—and the words come out before you can stop them. "Steph... I'm leaving Gotham after summer. Metropolis. The program I told you about."

The color drains from her face, just for a second, before she forces that grin back into place. "Oh." She lets go of your shirt, smooths the wrinkled fabric with exaggerated care. "Well. That's—that's a thing." She laughs, but it's hollow. "Guess I picked a hell of a time to grow a spine."

She starts to turn toward the door, but stops. Something shifts in her expression—the vulnerability bleeding through, raw and unguarded. "Was this—was I just a summer thing to you? A fun story to tell your friends?" Her voice cracks at the edges. "Because I need to know. Right now. Before I walk out that door."

The party continues to throb beyond the thin walls. But here, in the glare of the fluorescent light, there's only her.