Hannah's POV
Tonight marks the end of summer. The last warm night before the world turns gold and crisp and crumbles under leaves. Fall begins tomorrow—and part of me is buzzing with excitement. I can't wait to see how Stardew changes with the season. The colors, the light, the quiet.
But tonight? Tonight is for the Moonlight Jellies.
It's my first time seeing them, though my dad used to tell me stories about the glowing sea, about how the jellyfish float in like a silent parade of stars. He said it was magic. Gentle, unexplainable magic.
I used to think he was exaggerating. I don't anymore.
Still, the thought of seeing Sebastian and Alex makes my stomach twist. I haven't spoken to either of them since the surprise party last week. Since I pulled away from Sebastian like he was a mistake. Like I owed Alex something. But why do I feel like I owe Alex anything at all?
I stare at myself in the mirror, frustration curling in my chest.
I'm wearing a moss green sweater dress—soft and a little more form-fitting than usual. My long hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, and for once, I did my makeup. Not for anyone in particular, I tell myself. Definitely not for Sebastian.
But when I look at my reflection, the question lingers:
Who are you trying to impress, Hannah?
The clock ticks closer to 9:30 PM. The festival begins at 10. My heart won't calm down.
The air outside has a different weight to it. Cooler. The first breath of fall carried on the breeze. Leaves skitter across the road like they're running toward something, and overhead, the stars are brighter than I've seen them in weeks. The whole world feels like it's holding its breath.
As I reach the beach, the soft sound of music carries over the water. Lanterns sway gently on strings, casting golden reflections across the waves. The sand is cool under my boots, the faint scent of salt and firewood wrapping around me like nostalgia.
Pierre has a souvenir stall near the bonfire, with Caroline laughing at something he says. Her green hair glows faintly in the moonlight. For a moment, everything feels picture-perfect. But I know the cracks that run underneath.
I glance toward the dock and immediately spot Alex—tossing a football in the air with one hand like it weighs nothing. Haley watches him with eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Penny stands beside Sam, who's holding her hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the Earth.
Alex sees me. Gives a lazy, effortless wave.
I wave back, but the second I do, he looks away, laughing at something Sam says. My brows pull together.
We're just friends, I remind myself.
I step onto the dock, my boots knocking softly against the wood. I glance back once more—Alex is still smiling. And for some reason, that makes me smile too.
I turn toward the far end of the dock where the crowd is thinner. That's when I see her—Abigail—her purple hair swaying as she paces in excitement. She lights up when she sees me.
"You made it!" she calls, her voice bouncing across the water.
And then I see him.
Leaning against the railing behind her like he's part of the night itself, Sebastian turns his head at the sound of her voice—but I know he already knew I was here.
Our eyes lock. And in that instant, time stutters.
His stare is unreadable, intense. It pins me in place like a compass to true north. My pulse stumbles, and the dock beneath me suddenly feels like it might dissolve.
He says nothing. Just looks. Through me. Into me.
Then Abigail bounds into my line of vision, snapping me back to the real world.
"I knew you'd come!" she beams, grabbing my hand.
"I love jellyfish," I manage to say, though my voice is distant.
"These aren't just jellyfish," she insists, pulling me toward the edge of the dock. "They're the guardians of the ocean."
Sebastian glances away. Our moment ends as quickly as it began.
"You keep Seb company," Abigail chirps. "I'm gonna grab us those Moonlight Banners!"
As she disappears, I find myself standing beside him, alone again.
"I thought you didn't like festivals," I say, breaking the silence.
"I don't," he answers, voice low. "But... this one's different. This one, and Spirit's Eve."
"Of course the spooky one," I tease gently, trying to find a way back to us.
Silence again.
"So... about the other night—"
"Don't." His voice is quiet, but firm. "I know."
"You know?" I repeat, caught off guard. "You know what exactly?"
"That you were tipsy. That you leaned in. Then pulled away. I know what that means."
"No," I say, heat rushing to my face. "You don't know."
He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sliding back to the water.
"I was going to say I'm sorry," I continue, "for pulling away like it was something wrong. When it felt... right."
That gets him.
His eyes flick up to mine, guarded but wide.
"I talked to Abby," he admits after a long pause. "She told me to stop overthinking everything. Said if I wait too long... people stop waiting."
Hope rises in my chest. I hold my breath. Maybe now. Maybe he'll finally say it.
But instead, he just nods. "It's not that simple."
Frustration builds inside me like a storm.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because if I let people in... they might leave."
His voice is flat. Final.
I feel my throat tighten. "Why do you expect people to leave?"
"Because they do," he says. "They always do. My dad did. Your mom did. People leave."
He says it like it's a fact of nature. Like gravity.
And suddenly, I don't have anything left to say.
Because he's right.
The jellies begin to appear—glowing silently in the waves. They drift like spirits across the water, and everyone on the dock goes still. Mesmerized. Hushed.
But I'm not watching them.
I'm watching him.
Sebastian stands like a shadow beside me, so close and still so far away.
And even though the ocean is lit up with magic, all I can feel is the ache of almost.
Sebastian's POV
I don't usually come to festivals. Too many people. Too much noise. Too much pretending like we're all one big happy town. But Abigail made it hard to say no tonight. She's been on about the Moonlight Jellies for weeks—calling them "ghosts of the ocean" and "glowing proof the world isn't totally shit."
I guess part of me needed to believe that.
So here I am. Standing at the edge of the dock, arms crossed, hood up, half-hoping I'll disappear into the night air. The sea is black, stretching out like ink, the breeze already colder than it was this morning. The season's changing. You can feel it in your bones.
People gather slowly—soft music floating through the air like a lullaby. Lanterns line the dock, their yellow light flickering against the dark water. It's... beautiful, I'll admit that. Eerie, too. Like the world is holding its breath for something sacred.
Abby bounces beside me, high on nostalgia or maybe sugar. She's talking about the jellies and how they "reconnect us to the unknown." I just nod, letting her talk. That's kind of our thing—she talks, I listen, and somewhere in the middle, we understand each other.
But then she stops talking.
She squints past me, into the night.
"You made it!" she calls out suddenly, voice bright enough to cut through the breeze.
And I know—I know—without turning around, exactly who she's talking to.
Hannah.
I turn anyway.
There she is.
Walking down the dock like she doesn't know the whole damn sky rearranged itself just to make her glow under it. Her hair is loose, catching the wind, and she's wearing this green sweater-dress that fits her in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.
She looks... different. Not in some dramatic way. Just—like she gave a damn. Like she wanted to show up and be seen. And that wrecks me more than I'd ever admit.
Our eyes meet.
And for a second, it's like nothing else exists. Like the jellies could rise right out of the water, and I wouldn't flinch. There's no wave, no smile, no words. Just that look. That pull.
Then Abby moves, cutting the connection, and Hannah looks away.
I exhale, long and slow.
"You keep Seb company," Abigail says to her, already darting off toward Pierre's stall. "I'm getting us Moonlight Banners!"
And just like that, I'm alone with her.
Again.
"I thought you didn't like festivals," she says, her voice gentle but curious.
I shrug. "I don't. But this one's different."
A pause.
"So... about the other night..."
"Don't," I interrupt, and my voice is sharper than I mean for it to be. "I know."
She blinks, thrown. "You know?"
"You were tipsy. You leaned in. Then you didn't. I get it. Mixed signals. It happens."
It's a lie. I don't get it. I haven't stopped thinking about that night—about how close we were, how badly I wanted to close the space between us. But the second she pulled away, I shut the whole thing down in my head. Wrote it off like I always do.
But now she's looking at me like I've got it all wrong.
"No," she says, firm. "I was going to say I'm sorry... for pulling away like it was something wrong. When it felt right."
My throat tightens. That word. Right.
I glance up at her. She's flushed, nervous, vulnerable.
God, she's brave.
I think about what Abby said in the garage, just a few days ago.
"You either make a move, or someone else will."
And I know she's right. She was right. Because Hannah's here, looking at me like she's still waiting.
And I can't say anything.
"I talked to Abby," I finally say, my voice low. "She told me to stop overthinking everything. That if I wait too long, people stop waiting."
I want to keep talking. I want to say, And I don't want you to be one of those people. But the words won't come.
Instead, I just say, "It's not that simple."
Hannah frowns. "Why not?"
Her question shouldn't sting—but it does.
She doesn't know what it's like, having your heart break before you even knew it was something that could shatter. She doesn't know what it's like to get good at being alone because you've always had to be. People leave. They always leave. And I'd rather live in shadows than risk watching someone walk away again.
"If I let people in... they can leave," I say. "If I don't, they can't."
She goes quiet. I know it hurts her, and I hate myself for that. But it's the only truth I know how to offer.
She turns to the water, eyes glinting in the moonlight.
We both go silent as the jellies appear.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of glowing, bioluminescent shapes rise from the sea. They drift like spirits through the water, casting the dock in a soft, holy light. Everyone else gasps and points, whispering excitedly.
But all I can think about is her, standing beside me, her hands clenched at her sides, trying not to fall apart.
And me—trying not to fall with her.
We're watching magic drift by, and I can't find the courage to reach out and take the one thing I want most.
Maybe I don't deserve it.
Maybe I never did
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