The Santa Monica sun sank low, gilding the apartment complex's pool where Skyler clung to Dean, her arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of an adrenaline rush, her smile wide and unguarded, as if the moment had swept her up. Dean's pulse raced, a reckless why not now? driving him forward. He leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a fierce, passionate kiss, a spark that burned away the world. For a brief moment, Skyler kissed him back, her hands tightening on his shoulders, their connection electric against the cold water.
Then she froze, her smile fading. A shadow crossed her eyes, quick and sharp. She wanted him—ached for him—but the secret she'd held since before meeting Dean, her best friend, stopped her: her acceptance to Oxford, applied for months ago, a truth she hadn't shared with her friends, dreading the moment she'd have to leave. Her fingers trembled as she untangled herself, climbing out of the pool, her wet bathrobe clinging to her skin. "Sky?" Dean called, his voice rough with confusion, but she grabbed her clothes and hurried toward the door, her steps unsteady.
Dean scrambled out, water dripping from his robe, chasing her to the elevator. He blocked her path, breathless, damp hair falling into his eyes. "Sky, wait. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have kissed you." His hands flexed, as if reaching for her, then dropped.
Skyler's gaze was guarded, her lips pressed tight. "Dean," she said softly, her voice heavy. "You're a good friend." Her fingers clutched her clothes, betraying the sadness she tried to hide.
Dean's breath caught, heartbreak surging. He couldn't let it end like this. "Sky, I love you," he said, his voice raw but simple, water dripping onto the floor. "I've tried to fight it, to keep it friendly, but I can't. I love you. If you don't feel the same, just say it, and I'll back off. But I can't pretend anymore. I'll see you around." His eyes burned as he stepped back, his chest tight with the weight of his words.
Skyler's face stayed unreadable, masking the ache inside. She stepped into the elevator, and as the doors closed, Dean turned, his steps heavy, dripping wet, heading back to his apartment. He glanced back once, but her expression gave nothing away.
Inside the elevator, Skyler's phone buzzed, her mother's name flashing. She'd texted earlier, checking in, and Skyler had dodged her questions about Dean. Now, she answered, her voice low. "Skyler, I'm proud of you for Oxford," her mother said, her tone warm but edged with expectation. "But you need to tell Dean. Your sister's teasing about him bringing you home all the time, and I thought he was your boyfriend, but you can't let feelings derail your future." The words landed like a quiet command, her pride for Skyler's achievement tangled with pressure.
"I told him we're nothing now," Skyler said, her voice barely above a whisper, cracking with regret. She leaned against the elevator wall, the hum swallowing her words, the pain of pushing Dean away sharper than she'd expected.
Back in his apartment, Dean stood by the window, still drenched, the Santa Monica skyline fading into dusk. His phone felt heavy as he dialed his dad. "Hey, Dad, I'm cutting my stay here short. I'm coming home soon."
A deep voice answered, steady. "Alright, son. I'll make arrangements. Which school do you want to attend?"
Dean didn't reply right away. His gaze lifted to the stars, just piercing the twilight, faint but steady, like the nights he and Skyler had laughed under them, pretending their feelings were just friendship. The kiss, her trembling hands, her guarded words—they lingered, a truth he couldn't grasp. He'd bared his heart, but her secret—Oxford, a future an ocean away—had pulled her back. As the stars blinked, their light dim and distant, Dean felt the weight of a summer undercover, a love he'd traced in vain, slipping through his fingers like starlight.