Vise Versa

Dylan didn't go home right away. He wandered.

Past the diner. Past the playground with the rusted swing set where they used to pretend they were superheroes. Past the bus stop where he once waited with Aaron in the rain, both of them shivering and laughing like idiots.

Now, it was just wind and streetlight shadows. He ended up at the rooftop.

The old rooftop. Their rooftop.

He climbed the rusted ladder like muscle memory. It creaked, protesting his weight, but it held. The city stretched below in soft amber and bruised purples, and for a while, he just sat.

Breathing.

Trying not to cry again.

He opened his sketchbook. Closed it.

Opened it again. Nothing came. Not even anger.

He tried to draw Aaron's face.

The slope of his nose.

The warmness in his eyes.

The softness of his lips.

And the smile Dylan used to treasure.

But the page stayed empty. He couldn't remember how it looked anymore.

His fingers hovered. Then slowly, he began to write a message:

DYLAN: I'm not mad. I just wish I didn't care this much.

He stared at it. Then hit backspace. Deleted the whole thing. Threw the phone aside.

He curled up on the rooftop, hoodie pulled over his head, and let the silence eat him alive.

The night air stung her cheeks as Skie walked away from the diner, hands clenched in her jacket pockets. Conner followed.

"Skie, wait. Please."

She turned, eyes sharp and said in a voice filled with anger, betrayal and something else. "Why? So you can explain how you blindsided me in front of someone who made my life hell?"

"I didn't mean to," Conner said, breathless.

Paused.

"I thought maybe things had—"

"Changed? You thought? You didn't even ask me. You invited Alyah like we're just background characters in your new life."

He flinched then took a step back. "That's not fair."

She stepped closer. "No, what's not fair is pretending we're friends while forgetting what she did to me. What she said. You know it broke me. And you brought her anyway."

"I thought we were trying again. To heal."

"Heal? Conner, healing takes honesty. And you've been hiding since everything fell apart. You didn't just forget what she did to me. You forgot me."

She told him in a broken and trembling voice.

He looked at her like a punch had landed.

She told him, her voice broken and trembling.

"You don't get to call me your best friend when I'm the last to know who you've become."

She spoke softly but sharp.

Conner looked down at his shoes. "Maybe I don't know either."

"Then figure it out," she whispered, and turned away, leaving him standing under the streetlamp alone.

She walked away unsure what this means for their relationship as friends.

Inside the diner, Ruby twirled her straw. Her laughter had dimmed.

Aaron sat stiffly beside her, eyes on the door Dylan had walked through.

He hadn't followed.

He… he couldn't.

He stared at the door. And then at Ruby's hand resting on his chest. He didn't move.

He wanted you but I didn't know what held him back.

Ruby leaned in, whispering, "Don't overthink it, babe. He's dramatic. He'll bounce back." She said in a comforting term but she didn't know that her words has struck something deep in Aaron's heart.

He didn't answer.

Because in that moment, he didn't feel like himself. Not fully. Not truthfully. He remembered Dylan's eyes, just before he left.

They were screaming.

And he didn't know what that meant. And why they were so.

But he knew he had done nothing wrong.

Aaron wanted to move, but something in him was chained. Maybe fear. Or unsure thoughts.

Maybe both.

The Next Day

Skie stood at her locker, eyes dull. Dylan hadn't shown up to school.

She called him that morning. No answer. No text.

Worry pooled in her stomach.

Later that afternoon, instead of going straight home, she turned down a quiet street and rang a familiar bell.

Mrs. Adams, their elderly neighbor with three cats and a knack for baking banana bread, opened the door in her robe as she held one of her cats as they're trying to squeeze the life out of it.

"Skie, honey. You alright?" She said in a cranky old voice. But yet once so friendly.

She cracked. Just a little.

"I think I'm losing the only people who ever made me feel like I belonged," she said, voice fragile.

Mrs. Adams didn't say much. Just pulled her in for a hug that smelled like lavender and cinnamon.

Skie cried.

Not loud. But deep.

She sat down on Mrs Adam's couch and explain everything that happened going on.

She spoke about how everything was changing to fast, and how she didn't want them change because she wanted them to stay just the way they were when they were kids.

Those loyal, honest, and loving days she remembered all too well… but they were fading, swept away by the winds of change that carried chaos in their wake.

Mrs Adam listened attentively to every words Skies had. She never spoke a word as Skies poured out all her frustrating thoughts.

And when Skies had finished, she gave her a freshly baked banana bread and told her to come visit again the next day... because she had something to share.

Later that night, Conner sat in his room. A photo lay on the desk. The three of them, years ago. Summer sun. Popsicles. Stupid grins and dirty clothes.

He typed something in the group chat.

Then deleted it.

Then typed again:

CONNER: We were good once. I don't know who I am right now. But I miss who we were.

He waited.

No reply.

The silence was heavy.

He turned off his phone.

And for the first time in a long time, let himself feel it all.