A Date Later.

River’s POV

I was halfway through wiping down the kitchen counter again, when my phone buzzed.

Noah: soccer practice. 5pm. community field. don’t make that “I’m busy being sad and hot” excuse.

I rolled my eyes and dropped the sponge into the sink.

Me? Sad and hot?

Well. Maybe just sad.

The house was too quiet. Like it knew Ethan was gone.

I looked around. The bookshelf was missing his comic book collection. The kitchen didn’t smell like his awful burnt popcorn. Even the couch cushion he always sat on had a weird dent I couldn’t fluff away.

I had cleaned everything twice already. Maybe three times. The dishes. The bathroom mirror. I even dusted the top of the fridge. I’d never done that in my life.

I sighed and leaned against the counter.

There wasn’t anything left to clean.

And nothing left to say.

I walked into the living room. That one photo frame still sat on the shelf. The one from the beach last fall—me and Ethan, both sunburnt and smiling. I stared at it for a long time, thumb brushing over the edge.

Then I opened the drawer by the TV stand and dropped it in.

It landed with a soft thud against a pile of old receipts and tangled charger cords.

Gone, but not gone enough.

I stretched, grabbed my phone again, and typed back.

Me: i’ll think about it.

Almost as soon as I sent it, my phone rang.

I smiled when I saw the name: Mom.

“Hey,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear and flopping down onto the bed.

“River Stormhill, are you alive?” Her voice was warm, teasing. Familiar.

“Barely.”

She laughed. “That doesn't sound good.”

“It’s just school,” I said. “Midterms, assignments, heartbreak. The usual.”

There was a pause. Then, “Heartbreak?”

“Nothing dramatic,” I lied. “Just… stuff.”

“Mmhmm.” Her mom-senses were tingling. “Well, are you coming home for break? Your dad wants to take you fishing. I told him you wouldn’t last ten minutes without your phone.”

“I wouldn’t last ten minutes without a proper bathroom.”

She snorted. “So you’re coming?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Just don’t forget you’ve got a home here. With real bathrooms.”

We said our goodbyes, and after I hung up, I just sat there.

My chest felt weird. Not heavy exactly, just… stretched.

Like I was holding too many things in at once.

I stared up at the ceiling for a while before dragging myself up to change.

A pair of black joggers, my softest hoodie, and some old sneakers. It wasn’t soccer gear, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything that involved running or sweating. Noah knew that. Everyone knew that.

By the time I got to the field, the sun was starting to set.

There were boys already out there, running laps and laughing like they had all the energy in the world. Noah was in the middle, shirt halfway off, calling out plays like he was coaching some big-league team.

I headed for the bench without saying anything.

I wasn’t an athlete. I didn’t want to be.

I just needed to be somewhere.

I sat down, pulled out my phone, and opened Grindr.

Don’t judge me.

A guy’s gotta get his validation somehow.

The app loaded, and within seconds, I saw the usual line-up: gym guys, blank profiles, and that one guy whose pic was clearly taken in 2007.

I updated my name to something stupid because why not?

Username: TwinkSpiceLatte

It felt right.

After a few scrolls, someone messaged me.

GlazedDonut69: Cute pic. You local?

I laughed. Out loud. Which earned me a confused glance from a guy doing leg stretches.

I typed back.

TwinkSpiceLatte: I’m literally on a bench watching soccer. You?

GlazedDonut69: Watching people sweat is hot. You into cleats?

I blinked.

Then typed: only if they’re not kicking me with them.

The chat kept going. Silly. Flirty. Exactly what I needed.

GlazedDonut69: You look like trouble. But the soft kind. The kind that cries after cuddling.

TwinkSpiceLatte: I will absolutely cry on your chest. Especially if you buy me tacos first.

I was smiling, actual smiling, when I felt someone step up beside the bench.

I looked up.

Noah stood there, sweat on his forehead, soccer ball tucked under one arm.

He squinted at me.

“Are you on Grindr right now?”

I tilted the screen toward him. “Is this field a church?”

“No, but it’s kind of weird.”

“I’m weird.”

He plopped down beside me, tossed the ball to the ground, and leaned back on his elbows.

“Feeling better?”

“About?”

“Everything. Life. Break ups l. Ethan. The tragedy of you trying to play soccer once and tripping over your own foot.”

I laughed. “Okay, that was tragic.”

We sat there for a minute, watching the other guys pass the ball and yell over each other.

Then Noah asked, “You doing okay, though?”

It wasn’t a joke this time.

I let out a long breath. “I don’t know. The house feels empty. Everything feels... floaty.”

“Floaty?”

“Yeah, like I’m here but not all the way. Like I’m just filling space.”

He nodded, like he got it.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said. “Give yourself time.”

I glanced at him. “You should be a therapist.”

“Nah. I’d flirt with all my clients.”

I grinned. “You already flirt with me.”

“True. But only when your hair’s doing that cute swoopy thing.”

I pushed his shoulder lightly, and he laughed.

Then we both went quiet for a second.

Noah picked up his ball and spun it in his hands. “Come play with us next week. Even if you just stand around and look pretty.”

“I always look pretty.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I looked back down at my phone. GlazedDonut69 had sent another message.

GlazedDonut69: Wanna hang later? I’ve got wine and zero judgment.

I wanted to answer but decided against it so it won't make me look desperate. Though I reminded myself, I'll answer later.

Maybe after a few hours or a day.

Then I tucked the phone into my pocket and leaned back on the bench.