By noon, Sasha was already ready.

He'd woken up earlier than usual, practically bouncing out of bed to the quiet hum of the Clarke house. Brie and Harper were both gone for the morning, leaving him the run of the place - perfect.

He spent an hour in the shower, carefully conditioning his fluffy hair, and another hour deciding what to wear. The indecision wasn't because he didn't know what looked good. It was because he cared too much - every bow, every ruffle, every inch of him had to feel like something Dominic would look at and... soften for.

In the end, he chose his favourite skirt: cream-colored with two oversized pink satin bows on either side of his thighs, tied just right. He paired it with a soft baby-pink hoodie crop top with little puff sleeves, his knee socks ribbed and white with ruffles at the top. His slippers had tiny embroidered hearts this time instead of bears.

It was silly.

But it was cute.

And today, he wanted to be cute. Not just pretty. Not just stylish. He wanted to be adorable - the kind of adorable someone like Dominic would sigh over and then pull into his chest without a word.

He looked at himself in the mirror - cheeks still dewy, lip gloss shiny, hair fluffy and sweet - and he clapped softly to himself.

"Perfect," he whispered, giggling at his reflection before skipping back to his room.

But beneath the excitement, there was a jittery flutter in his chest - like he was balancing too high on something that could tip any second.

All morning, he thought of what he'd say when Dominic arrived.

He practiced in his head:

"Took you long enough, grumpy."
"You better have cleared your whole day for me!"
"Don't pout when you see where I'm taking you. You'll like it. I promise!"

And every time he imagined Dominic's faint little smirk, that dry voice that always almost teased but never quite committed, Sasha giggled into his hands and flopped onto his bed like a silly little bunny.

Because he was one.

He didn't want to admit how much of his heart had been stitched into this plan. This little...date? This fragile hope.

By one o'clock, he was perched on the couch. Waiting.

By two, he'd moved to sit by the window, watching for headlights.

By three, his phone buzzed - but it wasn't Dominic. Just Harper checking in. He didn't even answer.

Something in his chest had started to twinge. That sharp, nervous kind of ache that felt like maybe he was being ridiculous.

Maybe Dominic's just late.
Maybe something came up.
Maybe he forgot.

The thoughts chased each other in a loop, faster and faster.

By four, his fingers were wringing the edge of his hoodie, his lips pressed tight. He'd stopped looking at the clock.

By five, his knees were tucked up on the couch under him, bows slipping a little as he stared blankly at the TV. The cartoon on screen blurred into shapes he didn't register. He was too busy listening for a car door that never came.

And-

By six...

His shoulders sank.

His phone stayed quiet.

No message. No call.

No grumpy face pulling up outside his gate.

The words Dominic had said to him last night played over in his head:

"I'm not bailing."

But he had.

He'd lied.

Sasha's lip wobbled as he curled tighter into the couch, burying his face into his knees. His bows crumpled under him, his fluffy hair sticking up from where he'd tugged at it earlier.

And even though he told himself it was silly - even though the rational part of him tried to mutter excuses - his chest still ached. It wasn't about just today. It was about all the times before. The half-kept promises. The maybes. The jokes that always had a little distance in them.

He'd really believed this one would be different.

He sniffled softly, not even bothering to grab a tissue, and muttered bitterly into his sleeves:

"Grumpy people... always lying."

It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair. People forgot things. People bailed sometimes. But in Sasha's world, bailing meant rejection. It meant invisibility. It meant being too much or not enough.

For the first time since he'd met Dominic...

He felt like crying.

The front door opened not long after - Brie's voice carrying softly from the entryway.

"Sash? You home? How'd it go? ...Bubba?"

Her smile faltered when she saw him curled up on the couch, still in his pretty pink outfit, bows crumpled and fluffy hair mussed where he'd been tugging at it.

"Oh... baby..." she murmured.

She set her bag down and crouched by the couch, reaching out carefully.

But before she could say anything, Sasha suddenly jerked upright - blinking furiously to keep the tears in - and stomped off toward his room.

Because if he let Brie comfort him, he'd fall apart. He didn't want to fall apart. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to feel something stronger than that quiet devastation clawing through him.

Brie stood there, startled, watching her little brother storm away.

"Sasha- hey, wait! Come here, don't do that, talk to me-"

But he didn't stop.

His socks scuffed angrily against the floor as he stormed into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Brie went to follow, but Harper appeared at the end of the hall and caught her arm, shaking her head.

"Don't," Harper murmured quietly. "Let him... cool off. You know how he gets."

Inside his room, Sasha threw himself onto his bed and yanked at his bows, pulling them loose with shaky fingers. He dug into his fluffy hair and started tugging at it, fists twisting, nails scraping his scalp.

"Stupid... stupid grumpy... stupid me..."

It wasn't just disappointment. It was humiliation. He'd dressed up for someone who hadn't even thought to message. He'd waited like some wide-eyed silly fool. He was a silly fool.

Brie stood just outside the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

Inside, Sasha kept pulling and pulling, even when it hurt, even when his scalp stung and burned.

Harper's voice floated faintly behind Brie.

"He'll wear himself out."

But Brie's chest ached just watching the little shadows of him pacing behind the door.

Because no matter how many times Harper said it, it never got easier - seeing Sasha crumble like this.

And inside his room, Sasha collapsed onto his bed at last, still clutching handfuls of his hair, his cheeks damp, whispering to no one:

"I really thought... he wouldn't bail."