[Emily’s POV]

Monday morning is like a bad referee call—unexpected and deeply unfair. I’ve been watching Maddie go through the motions for three days now, existing somewhere I can’t reach.

She’s making coffee when I decide I’m done pretending. I sit at our tiny table and clear my throat. “We need to talk.”

Maddie’s shoulders tense, but she keeps her back to me, pouring coffee with the kind of focus usually reserved for triple axels. “Okay.”

Just ‘okay.’ Not even a question mark. I push down the frustration and try again. “You’ve been distant for a long time already. You’re going through the motions but you’re not actually here. I need you to talk to me.”

She finally turns, coffee mug clutched like a shield. “I’m here. I’m literally standing right in front of you.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” I stand up because sitting feels wrong for this. “You’re physically present but mentally you’re somewhere else. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”

Her jaw tightens. “I’m dealing with a lot right now, Emily. Regionals is in two weeks, my ankle’s still recovering, and I’m stressed. I’m sorry if I’m not being the perfect girlfriend.”

The deflection stings. I step closer, not letting her dismiss this with sarcasm. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about you being perfect when I’m asking you to just be honest.”

My voice rises, even though I don’t want it to. “We survived your injury. We survived you coming out. We survived your dad cutting you off. We survived Nationals. All of it because we talked honestly.”

She looks away, walls going up. I push harder. “Stop acting like I’m a stranger when I’m the person who’s been here through everything. I’m the person who loves you. If something’s wrong, you need to tell me.”

For a moment her eyes shine with tears. But then she blinks and the moment passes, replaced by resignation.

“I know I’m not fully present,” she says finally, voice controlled. “But it’s just pre-competition nerves, okay? The stress is getting to me.” She tries for a smile. “After Regionals I’ll be better. Scout’s honor.”

The joke falls flat. I search her face, looking for truth. Every instinct screams she’s lying. “Okay,” I say, and my voice betrays how much I don’t believe her. “After Regionals.”

The relief on her face is so obvious it hurts. The conversation ends as abruptly as it began. We both know I just let her off the hook. We both know she’s still lying.

That evening when I get back to the dorm, Maddie’s already there. She looks up when I walk in, and something in her expression makes my stomach flip. “Hey,” she says, standing. “How was practice?”

“Fine.” I set down my bag, watching her move across the space between us. There’s intention in the way she’s walking, purpose that wasn’t there this morning.

“I was thinking,” she continues, and her hand reaches for my waist, pulling me closer. “About this morning. About us.”

Then she’s kissing me, her mouth insistent against mine, hands sliding under my shirt. I respond automatically, my body remembering how much I’ve missed this.

Her kiss deepens and I let myself fall into it, into the familiar heat of wanting her. But then something catches up, and I pull back slightly, breath coming faster.

I pull her up to kiss me again, tasting myself on her lips, and flip us so I’m on top. Her eyes widen slightly, surprised, but then I’m kissing down her body and she’s arching into my touch.

I take my time, mapping every response, every gasp and moan. When I finally settle between her legs, her thighs already trembling with anticipation, I look up to find her watching me with something that might be desperation.

I don’t look away as I lower my mouth to her, as I taste her and feel her shudder beneath me. Her hands fist in my hair, holding on as I work her with my tongue, finding the rhythm that makes her hips buck and her breath come in sharp, ragged gasps.

“Emily, fuck, please—” Her words dissolve into a moan as I increase the intensity, my fingers joining my mouth to push her closer to the edge.

When she comes, it’s with her back arched and my name torn from her throat, and for a moment, everything feels right again. For a moment, we’re just us—no distance, no lies, no walls between us.

But afterward, when we’re lying tangled together, my head on her chest and her fingers tracing patterns on my shoulder, the silence feels heavier than it should.

I’m quiet, listening to her heartbeat slow, recognizing the transaction we just completed: sex instead of honesty, physical closeness instead of emotional truth.

Beside me, Maddie goes still, her fingers stopping. In the growing darkness, I wonder if she’s realized it too—that she just used intimacy to deflect from actually addressing what’s wrong.

The guilt settles over us like a weighted blanket neither of us asked for but both of us are too tired to push away.