Us, In Another Ending

The car slowed at the grand stone gate.

Mildred adjusted the gold clasp on her handbag, though her fingers had gone cold. The driver rolled down his window, and from the other side, a man in uniform stepped forward and gave a polite nod.

"Welcome to the Ledger residence."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Ledger.

The name hit harder than she was ready for.

She didn't speak. Just stared as the iron gate creaked open, slow and certain-like fate itself.

Ledger.

It couldn't be.

Not him. Not here. Not now.

Still, her hand gripped her bag too tightly, knuckles pale. Her lips didn't move, but her mind was screaming.

Just a name, she tried to reason.

Just a coincidence.

But her gut knew better.

As they pulled up the curved drive, the house came into view-majestic, glowing with warm lights, soft laughter spilling through the windows. A beautiful home. A safe one.

But everything inside Mildred screamed: Danger.

She stepped out of the car.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Henry.

Older. Softer around the edges. But unmistakably him.

Time hadn't changed the way his presence clutched her ribs.

And from the way his eyes widened, just for a second..she knew he remembered, too.

They locked eyes.

And in that split second, decades collapsed. Everything she had buried, the fear, the fury, the guilt-came roaring back like a wave she couldn't outrun.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

Luke's hand touched her back gently. Crizzle stepped forward, cheerful, unaware.

"This is my dad, Henry," Mikey said, gesturing casually.

Henry said nothing.

Mildred didn't breathe.

Ophelia, elegant and composed, greeted them with a warmth that almost masked the ice that had just gripped the room. Almost.

For those who were watching closely, something had cracked beneath the surface.

Dinner was elegant.

A spread that belonged in a magazine. Laughter, wine, clinking silverware. Perfect on the outside.

But Mildred couldn't taste a thing.

Henry sat just across from her. He barely glanced her way.

But she could feel it...the silent current running beneath the table, sharp and cold.

Crizzle, halfway through a sip of wine, paused. Something was off. She felt it in the way her mother's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. But she didn't press.

Mikey, meanwhile, kept checking the time.

He wasn't nervous about the food or the guests.

He had a secret of his own.

And he couldn't hold it in anymore.

Mikey pressed forward, his throat tightening. He stood slowly, his chair scraping lightly behind him. His palms were sweaty.

"I... uh..." he cleared his throat. "Sorry, I didn't plan this. I mean, maybe I should've, but..."

He glanced nervously at his parents, then at Crizzle's.

His voice trembled.

"I love your daughter," he said, eyes flicking to Crizzle, then down to his shoes. "I-I've loved her for a while now. And I know... we're still young, and figuring things out, but I want to do this right. I want to... I want to be with her. Properly. With respect. With everything she deserves."

A few sharp intakes of breath.

Crizzle's fork dropped against her plate with a faint clink.

She didn't blink.

Mildred sat frozen, like ice sculpted in shock.

Henry's wine glass hung in the air.

Then...

"No. You can't!" they both shouted. Together.

Chairs scraped. The room stilled.

The music in the background played on, oddly cheerful. Mocking.

Crizzle turned sharply to her mom.

Mikey blinked. "W-What?"

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Then, from the end of the table, Mildred whispered it..

Not with cruelty. Not even with anger.

Just heartbreak.

"Because you are...."

Rosewood University – First Week of Class

Mikey Ledger wasn't late, but he might as well have been.

The campus buzzed like a kicked beehive suitcases dragged across cobblestones, students calling out to friends, and some freshman already locked in a battle with a jammed vending machine. The sun threw golden streaks over the redbrick buildings, and Mikey stood still in the chaos, sketchpad under one arm and absolutely no idea where to go next.

He spun his phone around in his palm, pretending he wasn't stalling. Google Maps had failed him for the third time. First day of college, and he already looked like a background character in someone else's story.

Then, a voice loud, amused, and a little bossy cut through the noise.

"Are you lost, or is this part of your brooding artist aesthetic?"

Mikey turned, eyebrows raised.

A girl stood a few feet away, balancing a steaming coffee, a huge canvas board, and a tote that was bleeding art supplies. Her hoodie had paint stains in at least five different colors. Her ponytail was loose, messy, and perfect.

She tilted her head. "Don't worry, I specialize in rescuing first-years who think they're too cool to ask for directions."

"I wasn't lost," Mikey replied, then immediately tripped over a crack in the pavement.

She blinked. "Right. Not lost at all."

He caught his balance, heat crawling up his neck. "Okay, maybe a little."

She shifted her grip on the canvas and offered him a smirk. "Follow me, Mystery Boy."

He didn't even hesitate.

"I'm Crizzle," she said as they walked toward the Fine Arts building.

"Mikey."

She nodded like she approved. "Nice. Mikey-the-mysterious. Sounds like someone who broods in the library and drinks black coffee even if he hates it."

"I do hate it."

"Knew it."

They slipped into the last two seats in the orientation hall, just as the dean started his welcome speech. Mikey tried to focus, but Crizzle kept whispering her own sarcastic version of the announcement.

"Five bucks says he practiced this speech in front of a mirror last night."

Mikey bit back a laugh. "More like ten. With dramatic hand gestures."

She snorted, earning a glare from a student in front of them.

By the end of the orientation, Mikey hadn't retained a single rule, but he knew Crizzle's favorite band, the name of her cat (Pickles), and her opinion on cafeteria food (do not trust the lasagna).

When they finally stepped outside, the sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the campus lawn.

"You hungry?" Crizzle asked. "There's a place near the dorms that sells decent fries. Kinda greasy. Kinda addictive."

Mikey nodded. "Lead the way, Rescuer of the Lost."

They sat by a window in a small, crowded diner just off campus, sharing a plate of over-salted fries. Crizzle talked fast jumping from art to music to her high school arch-nemesis who once ruined her mural with a spilled milkshake. Mikey just listened, half-staring, half-smiling, trying not to show how drawn in he was.

"So, what are you running from?" she asked, licking ketchup off her thumb. "Everyone in art school's running from something."

Mikey blinked. "Damn. Straight to the trauma?"

"Obviously."

He leaned back, tossing a fry into his mouth. "My dad wanted me in business school. Said art's a waste unless it's printed on money."

"And here you are."

"Yeah," he said, eyes dropping to his sketchpad. "Here I am."

Crizzle leaned forward, eyes serious for the first time. "Well, screw business school. You've got artist hands."

Mikey raised a brow. "Artist hands?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing his hand and flipping it palm up. "See? These are the hands of someone who doesn't just want to draw-he needs to."

Her touch was light, but her words landed hard.

He didn't pull away.

She finally let go, then downed the rest of her soda. "Anyway. That's enough emotional depth for one day."

"Agreed," Mikey said, trying not to look flustered. "Let's go judge people's dorm decorations."

"You had me at judge."

Back at Fletcher Hall, they paused outside the elevator.

"Room 304," Crizzle said.

Mikey grinned. "302."

She stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

A pause. Then, "Okay, so, if you turn out to be secretly annoying, I'm moving."

"You'll miss me too much."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "See you around, Mystery Boy."

And just like that, she was gone.

Mikey stood there for a beat longer, hand still holding the elevator button, heart doing a little tumble in his chest.

He didn't believe in fate. Not really.

But meeting her? It didn't feel random.

Later That Week

By Thursday, Mikey had memorized three things about campus:

The cafeteria's spaghetti should come with a hazard sign.

Fletcher Hall's elevator had a personal grudge against humanity.

Crizzle Hamilton wasn't just loud she was magnetic.

They weren't "friends" in the traditional sense. There hadn't been any official declaration. But ever since that first chaotic day, Crizzle had become part of his daily orbit like gravity pulling him in with each passing moment.

She'd show up out of nowhere with two cups of coffee and zero explanation. She'd crash his study breaks with chaotic playlists and unsolicited critiques of his sketches. And somehow, Mikey had started looking for her in every crowd like his day didn't start until she walked into it.

That afternoon, they were on the dorm rooftop again, a secret spot she'd declared theirs by simply pointing and saying, "This feels right."

The sun was mellow now, hazy light casting long shadows over the edge of the building. Crizzle lay on her back, arms folded under her head, while Mikey sat cross-legged nearby, sketchpad in his lap. Pencil moving, almost aimless.

"That one looks like a jellyfish," she said, pointing at the clouds above.

He followed her finger. "It's a duck."

"Nope. Definitely a jellyfish. A sophisticated one."

Mikey smirked. "You just like saying jellyfish."

She rolled onto her side to face him. "It's a fun word. Jelly. Fish. You can't be mad while saying it."

"Challenge accepted."

He gave her a mock serious face. "Jellyfish."

She laughed, tossing a crumpled candy wrapper at him. "You suck at this."

Mikey flicked it back at her with the tip of his pencil. "So what are we doing up here again? Existential crisis break?"

She shrugged. "I had a weird morning."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe." She paused, then asked, "Do you believe in fate?"

Mikey blinked. "That's a jump."

"I know," she said, eyes still on the sky. "I just keep thinking... what if people are meant to meet? Like, no matter the timing or place, they'd find each other anyway."

"You talking about us?"

She didn't look at him. "Maybe."

Mikey tried to swallow the sudden tightness in his throat.

"I dunno," he said, buying himself time. "I think some people feel... familiar, even if you've never met. Like your soul just recognizes theirs."

Now she looked at him.

"Wow. That was... poetic. Are you okay? You hit your head or something?"

Mikey chuckled, but the tension between them shifted. It wasn't heavy just present. Like static in the air before a storm.

Crizzle's voice softened. "You ever fall for someone too fast?"

His heart stalled.

"Crushes don't count," she added, watching his face closely.

He licked his lips. "Not really. I move slow."

"Liar," she whispered, almost teasing.

He tilted his head. "Why are you asking me all this?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. You're just... easy to talk to. You listen like you actually care."

Mikey met her gaze. "I do."

The words hung between them, unspoken meanings twisting in the silence.

Then her phone buzzed. She looked down, sighed, and stood. "Group project meeting. Library. Kill me."

"Want me to walk you there?"

"Nah, it's cool. They already hate me for being late."

She slung her tote over her shoulder and turned toward the stairwell, then paused mid-step.

"Hey, Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"That person you fell for... if they noticed you really noticed would you tell them?"

He looked at her. His fingers curled slightly around the pencil in his lap.

"Maybe. If I thought the timing was right."

Crizzle nodded. Like she understood. Like maybe she didn't need the answer said out loud.

She disappeared through the door without another word.

Mikey stared at the stairwell after she left, her question replaying over and over. His chest felt like it had been cracked open, just a little.

Was she asking for herself?

Was she... hoping it was her?

He didn't know. And it scared him that he wanted it to be true so badly.

The wind flipped the top page of his sketchpad, revealing a half-finished sketch her eyes. He'd drawn them from memory.

Again.

He pressed the pad closed.

Later that night, the hallway outside their dorm was quiet. Mikey passed her door slowly, the hum of soft music seeping through. Jazz. Not her usual playlist.

He paused. Just for a second.

Then, just as he took a step away-he heard it.

"Mikey..."

It was her voice. Gentle. Barely audible. Like a whisper not meant to be heard.

He froze, heart hammering in his chest.

Was she dreaming?

On a call?

Was she... talking about him?

He didn't knock. Didn't move.

Just stood there, with his whole body alive with questions he didn't dare ask.

The weekend sun crept in through Mikey's blinds, casting pale gold lines across his desk, his sketchpad, and the still-closed page he hadn't dared open since last night.

He hadn't slept much.

Crizzle's voice replayed in his head like a skipped song-

"Mikey..."

-soft, careful, like it hadn't meant to slip out at all.

Maybe she was on a call. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe it wasn't even about him.

But he was still here thinking about it, which said enough.

He finally got up, pulled on a hoodie, and stepped out just as Crizzle was locking her door.

She startled. "Jesus. Stalker energy."

"You say that like I didn't live two doors away," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiled, but it looked tired. Her hair was up, but looser than usual. No paintbrushes tucked in this time. No loud colors. Just her in a plain oversized tee, denim shorts, and barefaced honesty.

"I was heading to that diner near the corner," she said. "Want breakfast?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

They walked in silence most of the way, the good kind. Easy. Familiar. Mikey matched her steps, not too fast, not too slow. Their shoulders bumped once or twice, but neither said anything about it.

The diner was half-full mostly students and sleepy faculty with their noses buried in newspapers. The air smelled like butter and old coffee. They slipped into a booth by the window, and Crizzle ordered pancakes while Mikey got eggs and toast.

She stirred sugar into her drink without looking up. "You're quiet today."

"You were quiet first."

She smirked. "Touché."

A beat passed. Then she asked, "Did I say anything weird last night?"

Mikey blinked. "Like what?"

She frowned at her spoon. "I don't know. I think I was talking in my sleep again."

Again?

He played it cool. "Can't say I heard anything... specific."

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "So you did hear something."

He hesitated. "You said my name."

Crizzle groaned, burying her face in her hands. "God. That's embarrassing."

"It's not," he said quickly. "It was kind of... nice."

She peeked at him through her fingers. "Nice how?"

"Like... you were thinking of me."

She pulled her hands away slowly. "Maybe I was."

Mikey's heart stuttered. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like something unspoken hovered in the space between them real, raw, and fragile as hell.

But then the waiter dropped their food at the table with a loud clatter, and just like that, the moment was gone.

Halfway through breakfast, Crizzle said, "My dad texted me this morning. He wants to visit next week."

Mikey blinked. "That's good, right?"

She poked at her pancakes. "He'll just criticize the apartment, ask about my grades, and pretend to be okay with me being here. Same old."

"He's still not on board?"

"He smiles through it, but no. He thinks I'm playing pretend. Like I'll wake up one day and regret choosing this life."

Mikey leaned his arms on the table. "But this is your dream."

"Exactly," she said, voice sharp. Then she sighed. "Sorry. Just... frustrated."

"Don't apologize," he said gently. "You're allowed to be upset."

She looked down, blinking hard. "Sometimes I wish I could fast-forward. Just skip to the part where I've already proven him wrong."

Mikey gave her a soft smile. "And miss all the messy middle parts where we eat questionable cafeteria food and sit on rooftops mislabeling clouds?"

That got a laugh out of her. "Okay, fair."

He stared at her for a moment. "You're gonna make it, Criz."

She looked up, visibly caught off guard by the nickname.

He hadn't meant to say it.

But he didn't take it back.

Instead, he added, "You're stubborn, you're talented, and you've got more fight in you than anyone I've ever met."

Her cheeks went pink, and for once, she didn't know what to say.

She just nodded and whispered, "Thanks."

They walked back slower than they came. The sun was higher now, heating the pavement, filling the air with the lazy warmth of a weekend with nowhere to be.

When they reached their dorm, Crizzle stopped in front of her door.

"Hey," she said.

"Yeah?"

Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded.

"If... If I ever felt something more like, more than this friendship would it ruin everything?"

Mikey's chest tightened. "Depends."

"On?"

"Whether I felt the same."

She held his gaze. "Do you?"

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Too many things ran through his mind. Her laugh. Her trust. Her voice saying his name in the dark.

He wanted to say yes.

Every part of him was screaming to say yes.

But fear held him hostage.

Fear of messing it all up. Of losing her completely.

So instead, he said softly, "I think about it."

Crizzle's smile faltered, just a little. "Okay."

She opened her door, paused, then added, "See you later, Mystery Boy."

And she was gone.