"Right. Cherry. Should've known—matches the haunted burrito vibe."

𓂃𓈒𓍼ོ𓂃𓈒

There was always a hint of motor oil and sea salt air in Ash Vale's room—the remnants of summer fading as the days shortened. The walls remained an uneven canvas of dark blue and faded posters papered with a collage of nostalgic pictures. One corner held dusted MVP basketball trophies, the other half-devoted to a cluttered desk with a cracked laptop, tangled charger cords, and a sketchpad he never let anyone see.

The sheets were kicked halfway off his unmade bed, his pillowcases mismatched—one solid black, the other bearing a faded Anchorhead Stormrunners team logo.

  Buried beneath one of his chunky knit blankets, curled in as if ready to bolt, Livvie had hid. Strategically tucked, as she called it. Face half-buried, knees pulled close to her chest, her socked feet were barely visible as the screen before them screamed in full surround sound.

"I told you not to pick this one," she muttered, voice muffled under the blanket. "You did this on purpose."

Ash reclined against his headboard, arms crossed behind his head the thick muscle from his athleticism prominent. One eyebrow lazily arched as he watched the movie—and her. "You're the one who said you weren't scared of horror anymore," he reminded her. "Said, and I quote, 'I'm a mature adult now, Vale. Bring it.'"

Blue-green eyes surfaced with a visible glare, using the blanket as her personal shield. "Remind me to question my life choices better in the future. Especially when dolls are involved, Ash."

"Classic rookie mistake." He smirked, the faint light carving out faint lines that always appeared near his mouth—familiar, teasing. "The creepier the porcelain, the higher the body count."

Livvie groaned and shrunk under her safety blanket. The only one that didn't itch, or smelled like motor oil, while long enough to burrito herself in. Ash had considered hiding it once—just to mess with her—luckily for her sake he hadn't.

The old wooden fan creaked rhythmically above, offering little relief from the thick humidity that clung to Anchorhead Bay well after nightfall. A soft breeze drifted from the cracked window, laced with the familiar brine of sea salt and crickets baring songs near the creek.

"You're not even watching," she accused, peeking out just enough to squint at him. "You haven't looked at the screen in, like, five minutes."

"I'm watching," he said, not looking away from her. "Your facial reactions are just more entertaining than killer dolls."

"I do not make faces."

"Liv, you practically levitated during the closet scene."

"That was—" She paused, threw the blanket off her face, and pointed at the TV. "That was a jump cut. It doesn't count."

"Sure, and I'm the tooth fairy." Ash grinned; the kind of lazy, infuriating grin that meant he was absolutely winning. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, cupcake

She glared at him. "Everytime you say that I feel like a Hostess cake."

"Well," He leaned back smugly. "You've got filling—emotional damage, and sarcasm."

"And you've got crumbs for brains."

He laughed, tilting his head back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in easy comfort. The soft rays of moonlight traced the curve of his jawline, outlining the loose curls that had fallen slightly into his eyes, tousled from running his hand through it, a habitual tic of his. A worn black shirt clung loosely to his frame, riding up just enough to show a sliver of tanned skin. His sweatpants—faded and threadbare from years of basketball—hung low on his hips.

Livvie rolled onto her side to face him, careful to avoid glancing down. She fixed the blanket over her shoulders like a makeshift cape. "You're in a weird mood tonight."

He looked at her with a raised brow. "You're the one burrito'd on my bed like a possessed side dish."

She snorted. "Possessed side dish is definitely the name of your next band."

"I was thinking emotional baggage claim if I had one," he offered dryly with a shrug.

"That's better. I'd go to that show."

"Front row?"

"Only if Kit's not on drums again. He threw a drum stick at me last time."

"That's because you said he looked like a sweaty pineapple. Sage told me."

Livvie smirked. "He did, probably the reason why he quit."

"Look at you splitting the band."

"I plead the fifth."

A quiet smile curled at the corner of his mouth while she stayed curled up in his blankets, trading their usual banter—comfortable. Unbothered. Like it wasn't weird. It was a tradition they'd started when they were just nine—watching movies, pretending the world outside didn't exist for a few hours. It was a favorite pastime, these Friday movie nights.

The TV flickered again—someone screamed, causing Livvie to jump this time nearly barreling into him. "Ugh I hate those scenes. And looking at me like that, you're going to jinx me."

"I wasn't looking at you."

"You were doing the Look."

"There is no Look."

She raised a brow. "The Look, Vale. The one where you go all quiet and your eyes do that brooding thing." Her eyes narrowed with an angled tilt of her head, suspicious. "You're plotting something."

"I was thinking about popcorn."

"You're lying."

"You're still scared."

She rolled her eyes squeezing the blanket tighter. "You're so annoying."

"Says the one burrowed in my blanket. Surprised you haven't gone into heatstroke."

"I'm wearing a tanktop. You're the one that sweats through his shirts."

"I'm a guy, Liv. We're biologically designed to be gross."

"Ugh," She flopped onto her back dramatically, sighing up at the ceiling fan. "This town's going to eat us alive senior year, you know that, right? This summer heat included."

The screen's glow flickered softly across the room, illuminating the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose and more pronounced in summer. The dyed-pink ends of her long white-blonde hair she'd long since twisted into a messy bun from the sweat beading her skin. Her and Siverra would need more packets now that the color had faded.

"You and my menace of a sister going to raid our pantry again for Koolaid flavors?" Ash asked, voice lowered, casual. "Strawberry right?"

She didn't answer right away—just smirked into the blanket. "Cherry," she said finally. "But you were close."

He hummed like it didn't matter, that uneven grin tugging at his mouth. "Right. Cherry. Should've known—matches the haunted burrito vibe."

She blinked at him. "The what?"

He gestured lazily toward her. "You. Pink hair. Wrapped in my blanket like a cursed side dish. Jumping at every horror trope. Haunted burrito."

She opened her mouth to respond—when the doll popped up on the screen.

Livvie's scream pierced the air followed by a full-body jolt that sent her backward, limbs tangling into the blanket. In panic, her foot caught the edge of the bed, just as her elbow clipped solid plastic with a hollow thunk.

"Son of a—!"

A loud crash followed as their friend Kit's surfboard that had been leaning against Ash's wall for literal weeks—despite several near-misses—surrendered to gravity and fell flat across the floorboards.

Ash burst out laughing, keeling over.

Not the usual dry chuckle or that smug half-smirk she wanted to smack off his face most days. No, this was full-on, doubled-over, laughter. "Smooth, Liv," He clutched his side finally pulling in a breath, "really."

Livvie sat in a tangle of limbs and half-fallen blankets, her elbow cradled in one hand, pure outrage on her face. "I just got assaulted by plastic and you're over there dying?"

Ash grinned eyes slightly rimmed red. "You launched yourself into Kit's surfboard like it was a self-defense maneuver—what was I supposed to do?"

"Have empathy!" she snapped. "Show concern! Maybe help me instead of laughing like a cartoon villain."

She hurled a pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, still laughing.

"I swear on everything—if you dare put on Chucky after this, I'm stealing your bike and driving it into the bay."

"First of all, shorty," he said, stretching his arms above his head like a smug jungle cat, "you can't even reach the pedals on my bike."

"I'll wear stilts you giant."

"You're the one who asked for horror night."

"I asked for creepy ghosts and atmospheric dread. Not killer dolls and surfboard-related trauma."

He was still grinning once he slid off the bed and made his way toward the door. "So dramatic."

"You haven't even seen dramatic," she called after him. "And you better bring back peanut butter. The good kind. The one with sea salt."

"Are you seriously requesting drizzled peanut butter for popcorn, because you barely bumped your elbow?"

She flopped dramatically back onto his mattress like a star fish. "It's called self-care. I might have a fracture."

"Pretty sure you just bruised your pride."

"Just bring me the peanut butter, Vale, and no one gets hurt."

His laugh echoed down the hall and faded as he headed toward the kitchen.

Livvie exhaled, her heart still pounding from the jump scare. Her elbow throbbed dully, the surfboard still sideways across the wood floors.

She glanced around his room again, half-wrapped in his blanket, surrounded by his chaos. Posters from old skate brands, a dusty Stormrunners team pennant, a pair of beat-up sneakers tossed under the desk. And there—peeking just slightly from beneath a worn hoodie—was the edge of his sketchbook.

She stared at it for a beat.

Ash never talked about what he drew. Once, when she'd reached for it without thinking, he'd snapped the cover shut so fast the regret came like an instant gut punch.

Private, he'd said. And when Ash Vale called something private, it meant don't ask twice.

Somewhere in the kitchen, cabinets opened and closed, followed by the microwave and the soft clink of a spoon scraping against glass.

She smiled.

This—this chaotic, stupid little moment in the middle of August—was everything she didn't want to admit she'd miss when senior year swept in like a storm tide.

Because something told her it wouldn't always be this simple. It was nerve-wracking to think about the future. Here at her best friends home she didn't have to for awhile and for now, that was enough.

Livvie shifted sitting back up against the headboard cushioned by a pillow she often crashed on in the past. Peeling back the edge of the blanket she inspected her elbow.

  Sure enough—right at the bend, a small plum bruise had surfaced.

"Stupid surfboard," she muttered, like it had personally wronged her.

The door creaked open a second later. Ash strolled back in like he hadn't just left her for dead in a horror movie. "Peanut butter," he announced, tossing a spoon toward her like it was a sacred offering. It landed with a soft bounce on the blanket near her foot.

"You're lucky I'm too injured to throw it back at your head," she said, but took it anyway.

In his other hand, he carried a slightly scorched bowl of popcorn—because of course he'd nearly burned it—and the jar of the good peanut butter: thick, sea-salted, and heartbreakingly low.

"I considered getting the natural kind," he said as he climbed back onto the bed. "Y'know, the one you have to stir and hate."

"I would've pushed you out the window."

  Ash ushered a hushed laugh and plopped beside her again, his shoulder bumping into her as he balanced the popcorn between them. Livvie drizzled the peanut butter over it with over-the-top precision, intentionally ignoring how close he leaned just to mess with her aim, even as he grimaced.

They returned to the movie—if it still qualified as one. The plot had long since devolved into blood, melodrama, and a suspicious scene that she wasn't prepared for.

"Oh no," Livvie muttered, immediately tensing.

"Oh yes," Ash said, elbowing her with a crooked smirk.

On-screen, two characters—who had just been running for their lives through a haunted attic—were now stumbling straight into the trap. The music shifted suddenly, absurdly, into a full 2000s slow jam, all flickering candles, shadowed silhouettes, and soft-focus regret. But behind them—half-glimpsed in the corner of the frame—a pale figure moved.

Livvie hadn't noticed until the screen flickered again.

She snapped her head to the side, the strands loosed from her bun stuck to the corners of her mouth. "Okay, no. I know what's coming and I'll seek refuge in my popcorn."

"C'mon, it's character development," Ash teased, leaning a little closer. "They're traumatized. They need comfort."

"Yeah right before they're gutted. Don't make me throw peanut butter at you."

"You'd never waste good peanut butter."

He wasn't wrong. Still, she yanked the blanket up over her face again, only her nose and forehead visible like a creature of judgment and emotional boundaries.

"I'm not watching this part if they start macking on eachother. You make it weird."

"Wha—" Ash opened his mouth—likely to prove her point—when his phone lit up on the nightstand.

Livvie froze when it didn't buzz or ding.

It sang.

"Let's get it on... let's love, baby..."

Her head turned toward him, eyes wide, as Marvin Gaye's voice filled the room like a cosmic punchline.

Their eyes locked on each other as they both said in deadpan voice,
"Kit."

Ash grabbed for his phone with a roll of his eyes. "He changed my ringtone again. I swear to—"

He answered it without checking the screen. "You're dead to me."

Kit's voice exploded through the speaker, wildly enthusiastic for ten-thirty at night. "Bro. BRO. Tell me you're not watching that trainwreck horror flick without me. Only saw a few scenes when I was ushering and I had dibs on the Megan Fox twin!"

Livvie smacked her forehead with the spoon. "How does he know?"

"I feel it in my soul!" Kit shouted. "Also, Liv posted popcorn twenty minutes ago and said, quote, 'Ready to suffer.' I knew. You couldn't resist the haunted doll movie."

"Kit, it's awful," Ash uttered a hushed laugh. "Like... award-winning trash."

"It's cinema, and you're disrespectful," Kit replied, his signature grin prominent in his voice. "Also—did Liv survive the closet scene? Or did she throw herself into the fireplace again?"

"I hate you," Livvie yelled toward the phone, curled back into her blanket cocoon. "I hate you with a passion of a thousand fiery suns."

"She nearly died tripping over your surfboard," Ash added with a snicker.

"My baby?!" Kit howled. "What did she do to Farrah?"

"It's a surfboard, not the Mona Lisa," Livvie snapped.

"You watch your mouth!"

Ash switched to speaker and tossed the phone between them. "What do you want?"

"To remind you that yours truly will be stopping by the garage tomorrow. I was going to bring that surfer chick we met a few weeks back."

Livvie peeked out. "If it's that girl who thinks mustard is a personality trait—"

"She likes surfing and chaos. She's a vision, Liv. A storm soon destined to leave this coastal paradise."

"She stole my fries once and said it was 'manifesting abundance.'"

"Details, Liv."

Ash choked on a laugh with a hint of his usual sarcasm. "Sounds like your soulmate."

"You're both haters," Kit declared. "Anyway. Yours truly will see you fine specimens eleven sharp tomorrow. And tell Liv she owes me a slushie for scuffing Farrah."

"She hit her elbow," Ash said.

"Then she owes me two."

The call ended with a click.

Ash stared at the phone. "I'm changing my passcode again."

"If I hear 'Let's Get It On' one more time," Livvie muttered, "I'm calling child services."

He passed her the popcorn, nudging it against her knee. "I take it your good now?"

She looked at him.

The way the light hit his hair. The crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he smiled and handed her the popcorn first, without asking. The fact that even after years of movie nights, of inside jokes, of her pretending not to feel everything—he still didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah," she said finally, repositioning her back against the headboard. "I'm good."

He pressed play, the haunting music rising to a crescendo.

She knew exactly what that meant and hid once more beneath the blanket. "Another jump scare. Nooope, I choose to live."

Ash smirked, setting down the remote before glancing over at her. "Mom works a double tonight so if you crash here, know it's not a doll coming to steal your soul."

"Comforting, really, Ash. I'll remember that in my nightmares when I, inevitably, leave you behind."

And just like that they settled back into their same old rhythm.

___________

Authors Note: Hello loves. So I've been working on this story for awhile. I still will forever remain a nerd for the Star Wars universe but I am wanting to branch out with original works again as well. Finally trying my hand at it with more confidence. I would love to hear what you think so far. I have a feeling Ash and Kit are about to worm their way into your hearts as they have mine with our beloved Livvie.

There will be a total of three books in this series.🤍